After the funeral, I returned to our home in Mijas. Without Brian, the house felt unbearably quiet—like the silence was amplifying my grief. The doctor had suggested staying busy, so I decided to take a road trip up the Spanish coast. It was something Brian and I had always talked about but never managed to do. This felt like the right time—a way to honor him while searching for a sense of peace.
My trip ended in Barcelona, one of Brian’s favorite cities. We had visited before, losing ourselves in the Gothic Quarter and marveling at Gaudí’s work. But this time, I planned something different: a visit to Priorat, a wine region Brian loved. I booked a tour with Barcelona Inside and Out, known for their personal touch, and set off to explore.
The drive from Barcelona to Priorat was stunning. The city’s busy streets gave way to rolling hills and steep cliffs. As we neared the region, vineyards came into view—terraces carved into the hillsides. Our guide, a local with an easy warmth, shared stories about the area’s winemaking history, dating back to the 12th century when Carthusian monks planted the first vines.
Our first stop was a family-run winery. The scent of oak barrels and fermenting grapes greeted us in the cellar. The winemaker, an older man with a deep passion for his craft, explained how Priorat’s bold red wines are made, primarily from Garnacha and Cariñena grapes. The unique slate-rich soil and steep slopes create wines with intense flavors and complexity.
Tasting the wines was an experience. Each sip revealed layers of dark fruit, spices, and a distinct minerality. Brian had loved Priorat wines for their depth and strength. Sitting in that cellar, with the winemaker’s voice weaving through the air, I felt a bittersweet connection to him.
We continued the tour with a drive through the vineyards. The terraced hills were breathtaking, their stone walls—built centuries ago—still supporting the vines. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting golden light over the landscape, it felt like a moment suspended in time.
The second winery was larger but just as focused on craftsmanship. We learned about the aging process and how tradition and innovation work hand in hand here. One wine stood out—a Garnacha so velvety and layered it seemed to unfold endlessly. I bought a bottle to bring home, knowing it would hold a special place in my memories.
The day ended with dinner at a hilltop restaurant overlooking the vineyards. The meal was simple yet perfect: roasted vegetables, cured meats, and hearty bread, each dish paired with a local wine. As I sat there, surrounded by Priorat’s beauty, something shifted. The grief was still there, but so was gratitude—for the life Brian and I shared and for the chance to honor him in this way.
This was more than a wine tour; it was a journey of healing. Priorat reminded me that life, like wine, is shaped by both joy and hardship. It’s a place where tradition and resilience come together, every bottle telling a story of perseverance. For me, it also became a place of remembrance—a way to feel close to Brian and celebrate what he loved.
If you’re ever in Barcelona, I can’t recommend enough the Priorat wine tours from the private travel agent I booked with. Whether you’re a wine enthusiast or just looking for something unforgettable, this experience blends history, culture, and natural beauty. It’s a chance to explore one of Spain’s most unique regions and create lasting memories.
For me, that day in Priorat wasn’t just a tour. It was a tribute to Brian and a reminder that love and loss are intertwined—like the vines that twist through the rocky soil. It’s a day I’ll carry with me always, etched in my heart like the terraces carved into the hills.