I’ve been to Barcelona a lot. I know the rhythm, the transfers, the feel of its mornings. But on this day, I let muscle memory take the lead—and it quietly failed me.

In this episode, I follow the wrong train back to where I started. A moment of forward motion gone subtly, stubbornly off-course. It’s a small story. But also, maybe, a quiet reminder that familiarity is not the same as presence. And that even seasoned travellers still get lost—sometimes in the best possible way.

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