The Labyrinth of Horta
- May 15
- 4 min read
Entering the Labyrinth of Horta was like reviewing my life in a matter of minutes. I’ve always preferred parks that are wilder and more natural, like those in South America or England, where nature almost overwhelms you without much organization. Yet, the geometry of gardens always carries a hint of mystery. I had visited all the parks in Barcelona except this one. It didn’t seem particularly special, but everything changed when I decided to enter the labyrinth.
“It must be easy. Let’s go for it — I’ll find the exit in five minutes. I don’t see anything around here. I feel a bit alone, but I hear people in the nearby passages. Well, I’d better focus and keep trying,” I thought.
In the meantime, I encountered a group of deaf and non-verbal people who scattered into other parts of the labyrinth. Only the girl guiding them and one other from the group remained. We started searching for the way out, laughed along the way, and then I continued on my path. After a while, we ran into each other again. I explored various routes until I reached a fountain in the middle of the park. It seemed like people reached this point and looked at each other, wondering, “What now?”
I found the girls again, and spontaneously, we devised a strategy to find the exit. Half an hour had passed. People were laughing; they were from different nationalities. The atmosphere was fun, and even the pets joined in to reach the destination. I heard an elderly man cheerfully say, “Hope is the last thing to be lost.”
Sometimes we need these words to keep going, to redirect ourselves, and to find our way. These are the phrases that prevent us from getting lost, stagnating, or believing that we are only what we think.
“Let’s try again, girls.” And we continued.
So, what does it mean to keep going? Among the too-green, meticulously pruned pines, the passages that ironically lead me back to the start teach me that to keep going is to:
Reconnect with the harsh solitude and feel boundless joy;
Remember those who have left and feel them more alive than ever;
Get knocked down by failure repeatedly and thank each blow;
Stumble a thousand times over the same obstacle, until you can laugh at yourself;
Have life change abruptly just when everything seemed perfect, and learn to embrace uncertainty and believe that trust does exist.
At that moment, I decided to become a messenger. I remembered the words of my Californian coach, Kristin Vierra, who had encouraged me to reflect and find my purpose. Amidst it all, I lay down on a bench to drink some water. As evening fell, many people took a break, sitting in corners and passages before finding the exit. The park would close soon, but a pause was more than necessary.
She appeared right in the middle of the path because in life, there’s always someone to help you. Always. And how was the reflection?
There had been many losses. I faced them as best I could, resurfaced, and then got a bit lost. I drifted and even stopped writing. I only wrote for my job and nothing more. It was a cool spring afternoon, and I was on the Poble Nou pier. The wind gently stirred the waves. In the distance, a group of dancers performed to classical music, as if they were rehearsing a choreography just for the pleasure of it. They looked so happy, with a touch of Buenos Aires in the passion of their movement. With an authenticity I’d never seen before, theatrical yet thoroughly enjoying their surroundings. Stage of the sea, curtain of the sky, with themselves, and above all, in community.
Suddenly, the tears wouldn’t stop. The wind grew stronger, the sky darkened slightly, and the dance group reached a state of total ecstasy.
“Who are you? Why do you deny it? I’ve lived in many countries, many places, and haven’t stopped,” I thought. At the same time, “No more excuses. The time has come.”
That’s how I ended up in an online session with my coach, looking out at the square that fills me with life with its music, children, cinema, pets, and the famous bakery La Casa Portuguesa. And underneath all that lies a Civil War air-raid shelter. This is living with history.
By now, it was getting dark in the labyrinth. Many had started distributing snacks, as energy was waning, and we still needed to find the exit.
“What did you unlock yourself from?” she asked me.
Kristin, it was when I saw those dancers that I regained my sense of purpose. Now I can write about it. I am nothing more than a messenger eager to tell the world those human stories that have changed so many lives, especially discovering the exact moment when their lives changed and regained their true meaning. That exact moment: that’s it. The how, when, where and why. And here I am, starting with myself.
Suddenly, the guide began to laugh and celebrate. We had arrived!
“What? I’m stunned.” In the blink of an eye, we were in front of the main fountain. How did we find the exit? I didn’t even notice. They were smiling, and we took some photos outside the labyrinth.
I climbed the stairs of the historic Italian-style building to view the labyrinth from above. In the distance, the sea was visible, and up close, a bright light.
You left me on the path, but I carry your DNA with me everywhere I go.
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