Superilla Eixample

For over a century, the Eixample was defined by the Cerdà grid—a relentless, beautiful, but ultimately suffocating machine for moving cars and people through a haze of diesel fumes. It was a masterpiece of urban planning that forgot one thing: the people actually living in it. Enter the Superilla, or the Superblock. It is a radical, high-stakes experiment in urban surgery, and the stretch of Carrer del Comte Borrell and Consell de Cent is its beating, sometimes contested, heart. This isn't a park in the way you’re used to. There are no gates, no manicured lawns, and no 'keep off the grass' signs. It is a street that decided it didn't want to be a street anymore.

Walking onto the Superilla Eixample for the first time is a disorienting experience for anyone who knows the old Barcelona. You expect the screech of brakes and the smell of exhaust; instead, you get the sound of a toddler falling off a tricycle and the sight of elderly men occupying benches like they’re front-row seats at a theater. The asphalt has been ripped up and replaced with granite blocks and permeable paving. The intersections, once dangerous whirlpools of traffic, have been transformed into 'plazas'—open squares filled with oversized planters, wooden benches that look like modern art, and playgrounds that actually get used. It’s a vision of a city that has decided to stop apologizing for its density and start embracing its humanity.

But don't let the pretty planters fool you; this place is a political lightning rod. To some, it’s a green utopia, a breath of fresh air in a city that desperately needs it. To others—mostly the ones who need to drive a delivery van or a taxi—it’s a bureaucratic nightmare that has pushed traffic to the surrounding streets and sent property values into the stratosphere. You can feel that tension in the air. You see it in the high-end specialty coffee shops that have sprouted like mushrooms where dusty hardware stores used to be. It’s the classic Barcelona struggle: the fight between preserving the soul of a neighborhood and the inevitable creep of gentrification.

The best way to experience the Superilla is to do exactly what the planners intended: nothing. Sit down. Watch the flow. You’ll see the 'Green Axes' (Eixos Verds) in action—pedestrians reclaiming the center of the road, cyclists gliding past without fear of being doored, and the local dogs sniffing at the new Mediterranean flora. The planting is deliberate—low-water, hardy shrubs and trees that will eventually provide a canopy of shade over the granite. It’s a work in progress, a living laboratory for how we might survive the next century of urban living.

Is it worth your time? If you want the 'classic' tourist experience, go to the Gothic Quarter and get lost in the alleys. But if you want to see where Barcelona is going—for better or worse—you come here. You grab a vermut from a corner bar, find a spot on one of those chunky wooden benches, and watch the city try to figure itself out. It’s honest, it’s messy, and it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than another souvenir shop. It’s a reminder that a city isn't just a collection of buildings; it’s a negotiation between the people who live there and the space they’re allowed to occupy.