As part of our ‘Travel Writers Test AI Travel Advice‘ series, we set a writer loose on the streets of Barcelona, where he must obey a ChatGPT-generated itinerary. Can AI get it right this time?
The waiter winced slightly and muttered, “We drink vermouth earlier in the day, not now.” It was well past aperitif hour, and the judgment in his voice was not masked even remotely.
The disappointment carried in his strong Spanish accent was only worsened by the fact that I am well aware of this custom after three years of living in Barcelona.
So what would possess me to commit such a cardinal sin in the eyes of the Catalan waiter if I truly knew better?
The answer is ChatGPT.
ChatGPT should be my enemy. It’s become a source of anxiety for many writers. Every time we explain to someone how we pay the rent, the response is usually something like, “Aren’t you worried AI is going to take your job?”
I do my best to pretend I’m not worried. But maybe I am a little worried. So teaming up with ChatGPT feels a little bit like training my own replacement. If I’m being honest, I hoped this GPU-powered typing machine, the all-knowing cloud computer, would fail to plan the perfect day out in Barcelona.
This was my prompt:
“Dear ChatGPT, I’ve been living in Barcelona for a few years now. I have a free day. I need a plan. I want to get a feel for the city, Catalan culture, food, and history, and I want this to be something different, maybe even a little weird.
I need a carefully planned day starting early on Sunday morning. I want to know where to go, which restaurant, which bar, what to order, etc. Please check the weather on Sunday (tomorrow), 1st of January 2025. Thank you!”
My future was now in the invisible hands of OpenAI’s algorithm.
Breakfast & Coffee in the Old City (08:30–10:00)
First stop, breakfast. Here, my interest in Catalan food appeared to have been overlooked. ChatGPT commanded me to head to Federal Café, which happens to be right around the corner from my apartment, run by a friend of mine, and where I’ve been working regularly for the past year.
Although the cafe is in no way located in the “Old City,” I was more than happy to obey my orders. So I left my apartment early and walked into Federal, as I had the day before. Jorge looked slightly surprised to see me so early, especially on a weekend, so I explained what I was doing.
He looked confused, but the café was bustling with tourists, and there wasn’t much time to elaborate.
I took my seat, ordered a coffee, and just as I was about to order food, remembered that today decisions of such magnitude were not for me to make. So I asked ChatGPT.
“Try pa amb tomàquet (bread rubbed with tomato, olive oil, and salt) and a café con leche, classic Catalan breakfast staples,” it responded.
Unfortunately, Federal isn’t the pa amb tomàquet sort of place. I sent a picture of the menu, and this time it suggested I order eggs Benedict. I assumed it would make up for the lack of Catalan cuisine later in the day.
The café was full of loud groups chatting in German, English, and Russian while I quietly ate my breakfast and double-checked my schedule for the day. It wasn’t exactly the traditional Catalan experience I had been promised, but the food was good, so I didn’t mention the disappointment to my AI companion.
I finished breakfast, paid the bill, and a few minutes past 10.00 it was time to head for the actual Old City.
Gothic Quarter & Old City (10:00–12:30)
I walked towards the Old City with what didn’t feel like a particular “weird” or “unique” set of instructions.
The first stop was Barcelona Cathedral. The 177-foot-tall spire was constructed between the 13th and 15th centuries and towers over the old city. Tourists gather outside the main entrance’s magnificent, intricately detailed arch and gargoyles, trying to snap the perfect selfie.
I stood for a few minutes admiring the building. I walk past it regularly, yet it continues to impress me. What strikes me most is the contrast between the main façade and the sides: the front has been cleaned recently, while the older stone along the edges remains darkened by centuries of dust. It feels unmistakably Gothic, a reminder that despite Barcelona’s increasingly modern image and reputation as a beach holiday destination, this is an ancient city, shaped and reshaped by successive civilisations.
ChatGPT suggested that I visit Plaça de Sant Felip Neri next, just around the corner from the cathedral. I was impressed by the recommendation. It’s a site many visitors miss or pass through without realising its significance.
At first glance, the picturesque little plaza appears to be little more than that: a small pocket of open space in an otherwise crowded maze of narrow streets. A fountain sits at its centre, surrounded by a church, a school, and an expensive restaurant.
Look more closely, however, and the walls of the church and the school are scarred. Chunks of stone are missing, not through neglect or poor maintenance, but because the Italian air force dropped a bomb on the square on January 30, 1938, during the final years of the Spanish Civil War.
January 30 was a school day. Official records suggest that 30 people were killed, most of them children who had been playing in their square during their break time as they had done every day before.
Today, the damaged walls remain untouched. The school still functions, and every day, the plaza is closed off once again, not as a memorial, but so a new generation of children can play in the same space. In that quiet routine, the square stands as a testament to what happened here, and to the resilience of the Catalan capital.
As a large group of tourists, intently listening to their guide explain the historic significance of the quaint square, arrived, I checked ChatGPT for instructions.
Traditional Catalan Lunch (12:30–14:00)
Lunch wasn’t a smooth experience. In fact, lunch never happened. First, my AI overlord directed me to Mercat de la Boqueria, the central food market, famously overpriced and overcrowded. The opposite of a traditional Catalan lunch spot. Needless to say, I wasn’t too enthusiastic about following this order, and I was slightly relieved to find the market was closed.
ChatGPT was very apologetic and directed me to another restaurant, promising me the perfect local lunch. The next restaurant was a 20-minute walk back through the old city. It was also closed.
I received the same aggressively comforting and detailed apology, along with a series of new suggestions. This time, I asked, “Are you sure these are open?” to which ChatGPT, possibly threatened by my insubordination, told me I needn’t worry; it was all under control.
I Googled three of the restaurants. Two of them were shut, and one had closed permanently some time ago.
I skipped lunch.
Gaudí Without Worship (14:30-16:30)
It was reassuring that I wouldn’t need to worship Gaudí as I made my way towards Passeig de Gràcia, where two of his most famous buildings are surrounded by high-end fashion retailers and jewellers.
I stood outside Casa Batlló and Casa Milà for a few minutes, deep in the swarm of tourists snapping pictures and recording short videos. At this point, I started to feel like I wasn’t a tourist, a local, or a traveller. I was ticking off a list of places, with no risk and little reward.
Feeling a little dismayed by the rather predictable stop on the itinerary, I left after ten minutes.
The next stop was the Bunkers, a popular spot up in the hills surrounding the city, well known as a viewpoint and a place where, in the past, local youths would drink and get high.
The Failed Utopia View (17.30-18.30)
I’m still not entirely sure what ChatGPT meant by “failed utopia” as I wandered up to the Bunkers del Carmel. This was once the site of the Republicans’ air defence battery. With a perfect view over the city, they held out against Franco’s fascist forces with anti-aircraft guns positioned high above Barcelona.
I hadn’t been to the bunkers for years. I first visited around ten years ago, before it became a popular tourist spot. Now the walk up is dotted with “tourists go home” banners hanging from apartment windows and lamp posts, an unfortunate sign of the times in Barcelona.
A Chinese tourist asked me to take a photo of him, and as I was several hours into a day of solely conversing with ChatGPT, I felt a real conversation wouldn’t hurt. However, as he started telling me about his life in Guangdong, one of his friends, attempting to climb over a fence with a sign clearly reading “do not cross,” slipped and cracked his head on the concrete.
He was fine. I was bored and a little dismayed by the state of the bunkers. The small museum built to tell the site’s role in the fight against Franco’s forces was completely empty, the number of selfie sticks overwhelming, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
I pulled out my phone and told ChatGPT it was time for that local meal. Perfect, it responded, there’s a great Catalan restaurant just a few minutes from the Bunkers.
Catalan Dinner With a View (19.00-20.00)
I walked into the restaurant and was greeted by a young waiter who smirked as I asked if there was room for one in the seemingly abandoned establishment.
He handed me the menu, which was mostly Mexican and Italian. I ordered a quesadilla. The Catalan culinary experience had been indefinitely postponed.
I sat in the restaurant and began to think about what had been a strange day on my own in the city.
It wasn’t a bad day. It was a ChatGPT day. Frustratingly agreeable, safe, and predictable. A risk-free adventure, too safe to create any real emotion, but not dull enough to invite justifiable criticism. Decisions were made based on the amalgamation of information from travel blogs with the best SEO. A soulless adventure, but one that nonetheless ticks the right boxes and serves its purpose, even if it lacks the human creativity required for a real experience.
