Parc de Carles I

The 1992 Olympics didn’t just give Barcelona a facelift; they performed a radical, scorched-earth reconstructive surgery on the city’s coastline. They tore down the soot-stained factories of Poblenou and replaced them with the Vila Olímpica—a dream of Mediterranean modernism that, decades later, feels like a strange, quiet bubble compared to the chaotic pulse of the Ciutat Vella. Parc de Carles I is the grassy expanse of this experiment, a long, V-shaped stretch of lawn and stone that serves as a buffer between the roaring traffic of Avinguda d'Icària and the Mediterranean Sea.

Let’s address the elephant in the room—or rather, the giant bronze ass. The park’s most famous resident is 'A Santiago,' a 6.5-meter-tall sculpture by Eduardo Úrculo. Locally and affectionately known as 'El Cul' (The Ass), it is exactly what it sounds like: a massive, disembodied pair of buttocks perched on a pedestal. It’s the kind of irreverent, slightly absurd public art that reminds you that even in its most planned, sterile neighborhoods, Barcelona refuses to take itself too seriously. It’s a tribute to the traveler, supposedly, but mostly it’s a landmark for kids to play around and for tourists to do a double-take while looking for the beach.

Walking through Parc de Carles I isn't about checking off a box on a 'best things to do in Barcelona' list. It’s about the transition. The park is defined by its rows of cypress trees—tall, dark sentinels that give the space a slightly melancholic, almost Roman feel—and its wide, sloping lawns. In a city where every square inch of shade is contested territory, the sheer amount of open grass here is a luxury. You won’t find the buskers or the overpriced mojito vendors of the Gothic Quarter here. Instead, you’ll find the locals: the morning joggers from the nearby apartments, the retirees sitting on stone benches, and the dog owners who have turned this into an unofficial canine social club.

There’s a certain 90s-modernist aesthetic that permeates the place. The stone walls are sharp, the paths are geometric, and the water features—when the city isn't in the middle of a drought—are designed to be sleek and unobtrusive. It can feel a bit cold if you’re looking for the crumbling charm of the old city, but after three days of dodging selfie sticks on La Rambla, the relative silence of Carles I is a godsend. It’s a place to breathe, to read a book under a tree, or to simply watch the light change as the sun dips toward the Port Olímpic.

Is it perfect? No. The proximity to the main road means you never quite lose the hum of the city, and some of the paved areas feel a bit weathered, showing the cracks of thirty-plus years of salt air and sun. But it’s honest. It’s a park that actually serves the people who live here rather than the people who are just passing through. If you’re heading to Nova Icària beach and the crowds are starting to make you feel claustrophobic, take a detour here. Sit on the grass, look at the giant bronze butt, and appreciate a corner of Barcelona that isn't trying to sell you a souvenir t-shirt. It’s a quiet, green slice of the 'New Barcelona' that still feels like it belongs to the neighborhood.