Espai interior d'Illa

Barcelona’s Eixample is a masterpiece of urban planning or a claustrophobic grid of internal combustion, depending on how much diesel you’ve inhaled that day. Ildefons Cerdà, the man who designed this sprawling chessboard in the 19th century, wasn’t a sadist. He was a visionary. He imagined wide streets and, more importantly, lush green lungs inside every single block. He wanted the working class to have air, light, and a place to breathe. Then the developers moved in, greed took the wheel, and those promised gardens were choked out by concrete, warehouses, and parking garages. For a century, the 'interior d’illa'—the heart of the block—was a lost world.

But the city is clawing it back, one block at a time. The Espai interior d'Illa at Carrer de Còrsega, 199—officially known as the Jardins d'Elena Maseras—is one of these small, hard-won victories. You don’t just stumble upon it. You have to look for the unassuming passage, a literal hole in the wall of the Eixample’s relentless facade. You walk through a corridor that feels like you’re trespassing on someone’s private life, and suddenly, the roar of the motorcycles on Còrsega vanishes. It’s replaced by the rhythmic 'thwack' of a tennis ball or the high-pitched negotiations of kids on a playground.

This isn't a 'must-see' in the sense that it has gold-leafed altars or Gaudí’s hallucinogenic curves. It’s a park for the people who actually live here. The 'apple' (or 'poma' in Catalan, which confusingly means both fruit and city block) has been hollowed out to create a sanctuary. You’ll see the 'bancs'—the benches—occupied by grandmothers who have lived in these flats since the transition to democracy, watching over toddlers with the hawk-like intensity only a Mediterranean matriarch can muster. Above you, the real Barcelona is on display: laundry drying in the sun, the hum of air conditioners, the occasional clink of a coffee cup from a balcony.

The space is named after Elena Maseras, the first woman in Spain to enroll in university, a medical student who had to fight every step of the way just to sit in a classroom. There’s a quiet dignity in that. The garden itself is functional—paved areas, some hardy Mediterranean flora, and the kind of shade that feels like a mercy in July. It’s a place to sit with a book, a cheap beer from the corner 'supermercat,' and realize that the best parts of a city aren't always the ones they charge you twenty euros to enter.

Is it worth it? If you’re looking for a postcard, no. If you’re looking for the soul of the Eixample—the part that refuses to be just a backdrop for tourists—then yes. It’s a reminder that even in a city as crowded as Barcelona, there are still secrets hidden in plain sight, tucked away behind the heavy wooden doors and the exhaust fumes. It’s a small, paved apology for a century of bad planning, and it’s beautiful in its own mundane, essential way. Come here when the sun is hitting the top of the buildings and the shadows are long. Sit on a bench. Listen to the silence. This is what a neighborhood feels like when it’s allowed to breathe.