Bodega Marín

The existence of wine and taverns is older than the discovery of walking upright. Bars are places where you can unwind, relax and have a drink (most of them), where you can be seen (the hip spots), where you might never return (you know the ones, where there's not an ounce of humanity), or where you can conspire with like-minded clientele (we're thinking of La Tranquil·litat, in Av Paral·lel, that anarchy bar par excellence from Rosa de Foc).

What would we do without our bars? They open up, they close down, and against all odds, a few survive. One such unsinkable treasure is Bodega Marín. What's it got that others haven't, that brings in a faithful clientele and makes passers-by stop in and fall in love? It's the charm of authenticity. The smell of wine barrels tells the story of nearly a hundred years of tradition: the walls covered with bottles of all sizes and origins that could tell a thousand stories; the black-and-white speckled floors where you could lose yourself and start to imagine you're living in four dimensions.

If you can tune in to languages spoken, the conversations the locals have will surprise you, because you'll hear more truths than at an intellectual gathering. At the Marín you can enjoy good vermouth, wine, beer, and other beverages. They've also got snacks for when you're feeling peckish. But mainly customers come in to meet with friends, chat, share stories, and talk with owners Tere and Antonio. They come to feel part of the neighbourhood and forget about the pressures of work, and to ignore the call of laptops and mobiles, but instead to just spend some time with other human beings in a small, cosy and inviting spot.