Despite being one of Europe’s most visited destinations, Barcelona is not, I’d argue, a hotel city. There’s no culture of meeting up at hotels for after-work drinks or late-night jazz, and in the three years I’ve lived here, I’ve never once been tempted to splurge on a staycation. Why book a pricey city stay when you can hop on a train and spend the night at a chic wine country retreat in Priorat or a beachfront B&B in the Costa Brava?
At least, that’s how I felt before checking into the 92-room Borneta Barcelona, which opened last year in the vibrant El Born neighborhood. I first stumbled upon the boutique property by chance, after catching an exhibition at Fundació Foto Colectania and strolling along Passeig de Picasso. There, under the rounded archways of the Porxos de Fontserè—a series of elegant 19th-century buildings designed by Catalan architect Josep Fontserè (also the mastermind behind the neighboring Ciutadella Park)—I spotted a group of locals sipping coffee in the sun. I wandered inside the bright, bustling space and ordered an espresso; only after being handed the bill did I realize I had stepped into the city’s newest boutique hotel.
Intrigued, I decided to check in myself.
Designed by London-based interiors whiz James Thurstan Waterworth of Soho House fame in partnership with Barcelona-based studio Heres Arquitectura, Borneta feels less like a traditional hotel than a stylish members’ club. Instead of a standard lobby, guests enter through a small reception area that connects to a bright living-room-like space—all terracotta and olive-green tones, Spanish antiques, timber floors, and textiles by Barcelona’s 80-year-old family-run Gancedo brand. Artwork by some of the city’s most promising young talents, including Spanish-Guinean artist Chidy Wayne and Catalan painter Alicia Gimeno, adds to the sense of place.
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When I arrived, guests lounged on powder-blue sofas, sipping vermouth and nibbling on olives, while locals carried out a business meeting in the moody Library—a snug side space with rust-colored walls, plush velvet sofas, and shelves stocked with books curated by Casa Fahrenheit on the past and present of El Born. I took a seat at the bar, under a ceiling-sized skylight, where a waiter promptly appeared to ask if I was interested in trying their Mediterranean Negroni—a herbal, heady concoction of lemon-thyme gin, red bitter, and Cocchi Americano vermouth, with a swirl of grassy extra-virgin olive oil.
“Why not?” I shrugged, deciding I was finished with work for the day.
Feeling pleasantly buzzed, I headed up to the rooftop just in time to watch the sunset, stretching out on a lounger by the plunge pool. The sky turned streaked with vivid pinks and purples, reflecting off a mirrored poolside sculpture by Argentine-born artist Pilar Zeta. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken in the city from a high-up vantage, taking in its rugged mountain scenery, the ancient skyline of El Born, and the lush foliage of Ciutadella Park (currently undergoing a multi-million-euro revamp). I’d forgotten how lucky I was to call the city home.
That night, a friend and I met for dinner at the hotel’s clubby, open-kitchen Volta restaurant, helmed by Italian chef Andrea De Benedictis. Divided into four sections, including a raw bar and a selection of “killometer-zero” dishes spotlighting local ingredients, the menu is a crossroads of Spanish, French, Italian, and North African flavors. We ordered dishes from each: a delicate tartare of corvina with cucumber and beet, a creamy egg dish layered with potato foam and truffle shavings, and a silky taglioni pasta with cockles and bottarga—all washed down with generous pours of crisp Catalan Xarel·lo wine. Around us were snippets of conversation in Spanish, Catalan, French, and English, and we craned our heads, trying to figure out what everyone was ordering for dessert (the Roquefort-laced Basque cheesecake, topped with a dallop of cherry coulis, reigned supreme).
Back in my room, I collapsed into the feathery bed, waking up the next morning to sunlight streaming in through my private terrace. I made myself a cup of tea—an aromatic Earl Grey from the fantastic local teashop Sans Sans—wrapped myself in a robe, and stepped outside, relaxing under the shade of an olive tree. I had a work call that morning and a few urgent errands to run, but my real-life responsibilities could wait, if only for a few minutes—I was still on vacation.