The Level at Meliá Barcelona Sky

Barcelona is a city that usually hits you at eye level—the smell of roasting coffee in Gràcia, the damp stone of the Gòtic, the frantic elbowing on La Rambla. But at The Level at Meliá Barcelona Sky, the city becomes a silent, shimmering map spread out beneath your feet. This isn’t the Barcelona of postcards and floppy hats; this is the 22@ district in Sant Martí, a neighborhood of glass-walled tech hubs and old industrial chimneys that refuse to be forgotten. If you’re looking for a 'hidden gem' in a medieval alley, keep walking. This is a high-altitude sanctuary for people who want to see the chaos without necessarily being part of it.

Arriving here feels like being initiated into a corporate cult with better perks. You don’t check in at the main desk with the masses. You’re whisked up to a private floor where the air smells like expensive citrus and the staff treats you like you’ve just closed a multi-million euro merger. The building itself, designed by Dominique Perrault, is a jagged glass tooth cutting into the skyline. It’s cold, it’s modern, and it’s exactly what you want when the humidity of the Mediterranean starts to feel like a wet wool blanket.

The rooms are less like hotel quarters and more like observation decks. Floor-to-ceiling windows turn the Mediterranean Sea and the Sagrada Família into wallpaper. You wake up, hit a button to open the blinds, and watch the sun hit the Torre Glòries. It’s a protein rush for the ego. The beds are massive, the linens are crisp enough to cut paper, and the bathrooms are stocked with the kind of toiletries you actually want to steal. But you’re not here just for the bed; you’re here for the access.

'The Level' is Meliá’s way of saying 'VIP,' and the heart of that experience is the Level Lounge on the 28th floor. This is where the indulgence—and the gluttony—kicks in. Throughout the day, there’s a steady rotation of snacks, tapas, and an open bar that makes the steep price tag feel like a bargain if you play your cards right. You can sit there with a glass of Cava, picking at local cheeses and Ibérico ham, watching the sky turn purple over the Balearic Sea. It’s quiet, it’s civilized, and it’s a world away from the tourist traps charging fifteen euros for a frozen pizza downstairs.

When you finally decide to descend, you’re in Poblenou—the realest neighborhood left in this city. It’s a place where old men still sit on plastic chairs outside workshops while tech bros drink oat milk lattes next door. You’re a fifteen-minute walk from Bogatell Beach, which is where the locals actually go to swim because they know better than to set foot on Barceloneta. The hotel’s YHI Spa is another necessary detour; it’s a dark, moody space where you can soak away the grime of travel before heading out for dinner at one of the nearby old-school bodegas.

Is it authentic? That depends on what you’re looking for. If authenticity means suffering in a cramped room with no elevator because it’s 'historic,' then no. But if you want to understand the new Barcelona—the one that’s looking toward the future while keeping its feet in the sand—this is it. It’s polished, it’s professional, and it’s unapologetically comfortable. It’s the kind of place where you can be a ghost in the machine, watching the city breathe from three hundred feet up, glass in hand, completely untouchable.