What should life be? The answer could be in Barcelona

“Goodbye, have a nice trip.” With that, Lorenzo was about to usher me out of his hostal. “But I haven't paid you yet,” I said. “Oh-ho, sorry,” he said, laughing, shaking his head at himself. I handed him 150 euro and said my goodbyes again.

Lorenzo is a charming man whose fiefdom consists of one beautiful floor, all antique furniture and walls of pink and red, in a building with a grand entrance in the L'Eixample area of Barcelona. This part of town has the air of a suave flaneur, more laid-back yet as sophisticated as the flamboyant La Ramblas, a few streets away.

L'Eixample radiates the classic relaxed Spanish attitude towards time, money, life, the universe and everything. They mull over these, any day of the week, at the outdoor cafes that speckle the wide pavements. Does time matter? Possibly not that much, if people in suits are not hurrying to their tasks. Does money matter? Going by Lorenzo's easygoing outlook towards payment, the average Catalan does not lose much sleep if a couple of hundred euro slips through their fingers.

Does food matter? Oh yes. Barcelona, anyone can see, has found the meaning of life. Why did humans come out of the caves, fighting off sabre-toothed tigers, scaling the peak of the evolution mountain? Was it to become a wreck chasing insane targets, or was it to sit with friends in peace and enjoy a long, lovely meal? The answer, to a Catalan, is a no-brainer. This is not a mindless fast-food fast-track culture; this is a people that celebrates the philosophy that things of beauty deserve time and attention. And Barcelona is beautiful in every way – the locals are gorgeous women with warm rose-flushed skin and slim men with poetic features; the streets are lined with edifices of eye-watering magnificence; everyone speaks with a smile. To live in a city like this and not drink in every bit of it is doing oneself an injustice. So, Barcelona sits back, raises a toast to its riches, and lets the tourists do all the hard work.