Semàfor Mortadel·lo i Filemó

Most tourists spend their time in Barcelona staring up at stone giants and melting facades, neck-deep in the Gothic Quarter or dodging selfie sticks at the Sagrada Família. But if you want to see the soul of the city—the part that doesn’t care about your Instagram feed—you head to Sant Martí. Specifically, you head to the corner of Carrer del Treball and Carrer de Concili de Trento. There, at a standard-issue pedestrian crossing, you’ll find something that is quintessentially Spanish, deeply nostalgic, and wonderfully absurd: the Semàfor Mortadel·lo i Filemó.

For the uninitiated, Mortadelo and Filemón are the two most famous secret agents in Spanish history, though 'secret' is a stretch and 'agents' is being generous. Created by the legendary Francisco Ibáñez, these characters are the pillars of Spanish slapstick. Mortadelo is the tall, bald master of disguise who can turn into a toaster or a rhinoceros in a single panel; Filemón is his short-tempered, long-suffering boss who usually ends up flattened by a piano. Ibáñez, who lived in this neighborhood for decades, passed away in 2023, and the city decided that a bronze statue wasn't enough. They gave him the traffic lights.

When the light is red, you see Filemón, arms crossed, looking exactly as grumpy as a man who has spent sixty years dealing with incompetence should look. When it turns green, Mortadelo appears in his signature frock coat, mid-stride, beckoning you to move. It’s a small thing, sure. It’s a traffic light. But in a world of homogenized urban design, it’s a middle finger to the boring. It’s a reminder that this neighborhood produced one of the greatest creative minds in European comics. This isn't just one of the quirky things to do in Sant Martí; it’s a pilgrimage for anyone who grew up smelling the ink of a fresh T.I.A. comic book.

Right across the street sits the Gabriel García Márquez Library, which was named the best public library in the world in 2023. It’s a striking timber-framed structure that looks like a stack of open books. The library houses an extensive Ibáñez collection, making this specific intersection a holy site for Spanish pop culture. You aren't here for a 'gastronomic adventure' or a 'breathtaking vista.' You’re here to stand on a sidewalk in a working-class barrio and appreciate the fact that a city can honor its heroes with a sense of humor.

Is it worth the trek? If you’re only in Barcelona for forty-eight hours and you haven't seen the Mediterranean yet, probably not. But if you’re tired of the tourist circus and want to see how locals actually live, take the L2 metro to Bac de Roda. Walk past the apartment blocks and the neighborhood bakeries. Stand at the curb. Wait for Mortadelo to give you the go-ahead. It’s a protein rush of pure nostalgia, a three-color high that costs absolutely nothing. There are three other sets of these lights scattered across the city—at Gran Via/Bac de Roda, Comte d'Urgell/Manso, and Ronda de Sant Pere/Passeig de Gràcia—but this one, in Ibáñez’s own backyard, is the one that matters. It’s honest, it’s funny, and it’s exactly what the man would have wanted.