"Ah yes, there's a place just around the corner" "I'll write it down for you" the friendly Spanish hostel worker said from the front desk. He slid me a card on which he'd written "lebar". I thanked him even though he'd clearly misunderstood. I was looking for a place to wash my clothes, not my sorrows. With a pack filled with laundry, I entered the breezy Barcelona streets.
"Surely there's gotta be a laundromat around here" I thought. "Lavandaria", I translated the word. No Wi-Fi, no maps. I roamed without direction. Through a window, not far, I spotted a stack of washers. Above, a neon sign read “LeBar”.
On one side, a stack of steel drums, and on the the other, a chic cafe with contemporary decor. Lofted ceilings, and massive windows supplemented the industrial light fixtures which draped. “Laundry Bar” spelled out in an elegant tile mosaic entryway. At the back counter, a selection of snacks and drinks, and a welcoming face.
"She might be the best one yet" I wrote about the charming barista who served me a San Miguel caña after assisting with my clothes. I snacked on "chips" and guac, while watching the bubbles and passersby. The sun poured in from outside. The people were all smiles. I closed my journal, folded my clothes, thanked the barista, then headed for the park. With its ambiance and offerings, LeBar made the chore of laundry feel more like a treat.