Sometimes it’s nice to step out of your own rhythm for a moment. Not far away, not something big — just a different city, a different atmosphere. Girona is that kind of place for me. I hadn’t been for a while, and I noticed how good it felt to walk around there alone again, without a plan, without any hurry.
I was there early that morning. So early that the shops were still closed and the city was only just waking up. On Plaça de la Independència I sat down first for a café con leche. A typically Spanish square, with arches and galleries where cafés and restaurants sit tucked underneath.
The Christmas stalls were already there, but still closed. In December, at nine in the morning, there’s hardly any sun in that spot — sitting inside wasn’t a luxury. I looked around, and let the day begin slowly.
Sometimes you don’t need to go anywhere — you just need to step out of your own rhythm.
In winter, Girona feels different from the coast. The streets are narrower, the colours warmer. Christmas lights hang between old façades and balconies — not flashy, but understated. The light bounces off the stone, cafés are open early, and everywhere there’s the smell of coffee, chocolate, and something sweet you can’t quite place.
The pace is slower than in summer, but the city is alive.
I walked through the city and enjoyed how varied it is. Girona isn’t a city of nothing but clothing shops. It’s the specialist places that stay with you: shops with chocolate, with olive oil, with salt from different regions, with beautiful bottles and jars that have real care in them.
Even if you don’t buy anything, it’s simply nice to look. It invites you to wander.
That morning I was also looking for essential oils. Not something you find in every shop, but exactly the kind of thing you might find in smaller, more traditional places. And in the end I found what I was looking for, in a herboristería where everything felt calm and matter-of-fact.
The kind of place where you don’t have to explain why you want something — it’s just there.
Before heading back, I walked across Pont de Pedra. On the bridge, the Christmas stalls were open by then: small stands with artesania — handmade and simple. I bought something small — a star-shaped beeswax candle. Warm in colour, with that soft honey-like scent. I didn’t need anything more.
Towards the end of the morning, around one o’clock, I decided to sit down somewhere. Not just for a coffee, but for something you really only get properly here: that thick Spanish hot chocolate you can almost eat with a spoon.
I chose a chocolatería that has existed for generations — one of the oldest in the city. The kind of place where you know they’ve been making it the same way for years.
I ordered and sat outside on the terrace. The sun was soft, the city calm. Time passed. I looked around, took another sip of water, and thought maybe it was busy inside. Eventually I thought: if it stays like this, I’ll just leave in a bit.
Right at that moment, someone came outside. She saw me sitting there, put her hand over her mouth and said: oh dios. She had completely forgotten about me. With genuine apologies, she came back a moment later — not with the drink as planned, but with a hot chocolate in a takeaway cup. Free, as an apology. It was such a small, human moment. Not a perfectly planned ending — and somehow exactly right because of that.
With that cup of thick hot chocolate in my hand, the morning was complete.
Girona didn’t give me a big story that day — but it gave me exactly enough.