(Traducció al català aquí)

I cried tears of joy the moment my parents gave me, who’d just turned 18, the most amazing gift – a ticket to join their friends on a road trip through Senegal that summer.

I’d never cried happy tears before. Those who know me are aware that I am not one to show her feelings very openly – and that’s when it dawned on me that travel was my passion.

Growing up I never went on vacations with my family, as they were always working. However I was extremely lucky that my widowed great-grandpa would take me with him on spa trips and cruises around Europe. We were an interesting duo to walk the Acropolis cobblestones, fear for our lives on a bus going up the narrow roads of Portofino, and haggle with vendors at the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul (I am really good at it.) In Sant Petersburg they fed me “pretend” caviar and I felt the fanciest person on earth.

“But you grew up in paradise!” – some people tell me when they find out I was raised here in Mas Palou. I had no clue I was living in such an amazing place. I’d climbed all of the trees a gazillion times. “What else is there to do all by yourself with no neighbors?” My sister was born when I was seven, so a good chunk of my childhood I was hanging out by myself. Reading, of course, but even that gets old.

As a teenager, you guessed it: I couldn’t wait to get out. Via an older boyfriend with a motorcycle. Then a boyfriend with a car. All I wanted was to be with my friends in town, plan ways to be elsewhere. I had an unbridled desire to explore the world.

I went to college in Barcelona and even though I spent most of the week at my friends’ apartment there, I still officially lived in Mas Palou.

During the schoolyear and in the summer I’d work so I could pay for little vacations for myself. I spent a whole summer in a rainy town south of London as an au pair to an amazing American family. Then another summer I volunteered for a nonprofit in Ethiopia. I volunteered in Turkey, too. Then I studied abroad in Beijing.

The 6 months I spent in Beijing were some of the happiest in my life. That was the first time in my life when I lived in a city, officially. And I loved it so much. I’d bike to school around my neighborhood, Wudaokou, testing all the dumpling stalls and inhaling the disgusting air. I’d go out every single night. I’d stuff my face with sushi and Korean fried chicken. Got a wisdom tooth pulled out and stitches in my chin. I took a train all the way to Hong Kong. My parents and Anna visited me and we had the best time although not everyone was as adjusted to the spices as I was. Spoiler: my mom.

For a month I backpacked by myself around the mountains in the south of China, took a bus to Laos with the lovely company of many, many chickens, then took another bus to Thailand. Of course my parents had no clue I was doing this. How was I supposed to tell them I was climbing a mountain in Shangri-la with a random Belgian dude with dreadlocks I’d just met? I only told them the epic after landing in Barcelona with a suspicious tan in the middle of February.

Then came the time to graduate. This whole time I was getting a bachelors and masters in Business. Many are shocked when I tell them I went to business school, even myself. But was I going to work for an investment bank after school? Of course not. I moved right back to China for 2 years to teach English with an American nonprofit. Clearly my goals in life didn’t involve making a lot of money.

During that time in rural Guangdong I taught English to 80 roudy pre-teens in one small classroom. Picture that. If you’re wondering if I spoke Mandarin, it was barely enough to get around, but boy did I learn fast – it was survival mode as none of the students spoke any English. They were working part-time in factories. That part of Guangdong, around the city of Shantou, was (probably still is) where most of the underwear in China (probably the world) is made. It made more sense for my students to make money sewing bras than to study, as competition was so fierce and many were told they wouldn’t make it to university, and I don’t blame them. But that’s another story.

The whole time I was interested in education and social justice, and with most of my colleagues in China being American I couldn’t resist wanting to get a taste of the American college experience. My college experience had been far from a Liberal Arts dream and I was so excited to try something new. Learn about lofty topics, change the world.

Fast forward a few months and I am in New York City. My parents are elated that I am now “a quick flight away” and that they can google my address because it’s not a series of weird characters. I was ridiculously fortunate to receive a full scholarship to go to Columbia University to study Public Administration and International Development. Honestly it still feels like I won the lottery.

As for the city, never had I felt completely “at home” anywhere until New York.

It was the drive, the energy, the hustle, the openness. Everything was possible and exciting. Too many things happened in New York for me to try to keep this episode brief. In short, I think I became an adult there.

I lived in different parts of Harlem, did all sorts of jobs, studied with brilliant people. Some of my favorite memories aren’t in campus: getting front row student-priced tickets for the NY Philharmonic, complaining about joining plans in Brooklyn, going to the Pride parade, trying every type of food in every Borough, crossing slush puddles like a true New Yorker (this wasn’t fun). I learned about feminism, moved in with my boyfriend at the time, traveled a lot.

The anonymity of the big city where everything was permitted. I was hooked.

As I am typing this I get a videocall from a college friend who’s recently moved to New York from Brazil. He tells me his new colleague told him he’d been to this very nice wine retreat in Barcelona: Mas Palou. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? These coincidences happen very often and I love them.

Back to the story. After New York I wound up in Madrid working for an education nonprofit, and that was quite an adjustment. I mourned the loss of what I thought was going to be my life in the city that has my heart. But it turns out Madrid is superb in every way and I enjoyed every minute of my time there. Somehow I reconciled myself to the fact that New York and America weren’t the greatest, only possible places to be. I rediscovered Spanish culture and thoroughly loved Madrid and its people.

Soon enough I started itching for the next thing. I got a job with Minerva Schools, a new innovative university where students do their learning online but travel as cohorts and live together in 7 different cities around the world. I spent a year living and working between San Francisco, Seoul (South Korea) and Hyderabad (India).

If you’re wondering why I didn’t end up working for the United Nations or the World Bank like many of my former Columbia classmates, I realized I wasn’t cut out for big organizations. My personality isn’t compatible with office work, I just cannot live with myself when I have to sit in a chair for too long or when I have to follow orders that don’t make sense to me. Actually, I realized I probably can’t work for any organizations. Chronically insubordinate, not fit for the corporate or office life. It would have been nice to find out earlier, but what counts is finding out what works for you and being able to do that. Having the privilege to do it, I guess.

So at this point I was in India, it had been almost a year with Minerva building partnerships, designing events, connecting people. Something happened that I can’t fully explain with words. Somehow all my cumulative experiences aligned and it became absolutely clear that I was going back home. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a fact. I had learned so much, traveled to so many places. I’d experienced working for academia, international development organizations, startups, sales companies, consulting, nonprofits, schools. I needed to do my thing, work for myself.

There was nowhere that felt right except going back to Mas Palou and figure out what to do there. Not once did I consider looking for an actual job.

This was quite shocking to my family, of course. And everyone who knew me was surpirsed too. People were asking “You’ll be home for good?” and I didn’t really know what to respond because of my prior pattern of jumping from one place to the next. Some people tried to comfort me telling me I’d eventually find a job – because it didn’t make sense to them that I’d leave my previous life to move back to the countryside by the vineyard managing a guesthouse.

It’s been almost two years and I’ve had no regrets. I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be successful. You can have fancy degrees, a really high-paying job, and not feel happy. You can listen to what society tells you it’s right for you or you can listen to what feels right to you. Sometimes they are similar, sometimes these are quite different.

For me, I really like the hospitality business. I love the food and wine industry. There’s interaction with people, it changes all the time, it’s fast-paced. It’s challenging. There’s design, marketing, art. It allows me to share our home, our culture, our wine with others. People around the world are so different but everyone is moved by the same experiences and has very similar desires to share, be happy, feel good. People will give you their most precious treasure – time – and you get to turn it into unforgettable memories. What are the things people remember when they are old and about to die? The relationships they’ve had with people and the memories related to them. Who can tell me this is not an impactful job?

All about food and wine. Photo by Emma Espejo

When I moved back here almost 8 years later it was with a different set of eyes. Seeing everything so differently from when I was growing up. Everything felt special and unique, beautiful and irreplaceable. It was so easy to see our region, Penedès, as a perfect travel destination. A historical wine region that is very close to Barcelona, very close to the ocean, filled with delicious restaurants, markets, artisans. Centuries and centuries of extraordinary traditions. A long history of winemaking. While it’s easy to overlook the very place where you’ve spent your whole life, more and more locals are claiming the potential that is here, ready to be discovered.

Going back to the moment when my 18-year-old self got a postcard with a giraffe in it and was told she would be traveling to Senegal, I think what got me so excited maybe wasn’t travel itself but the sheer possibility of something new, exciting. An experience.

Now what I hope to do is to continue to facilitate experiences, to improve this region where people come to have a great time with their loved ones, to learn something new, to experience different traditions, to taste the fruits of our land. Sitting outside talking and enjoying the fresh air, having an unforgettable meal that lasts for hours, teaching a new dish to someone who comes from the other side of the globe, painting a wall, planting a vegetable garden with the family, pruning the vines. Those to me are lofty topics.

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Leaving Mas Palou to come back

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Leaving Mas Palou to come back