Plaça del Canòdrom

Close your eyes and you can almost hear the ghost of a mechanical rabbit whirring around the bend. This is the Plaça del Canòdrom, and back in 1962, this was where the working class of Barcelona came to lose their shirts on greyhounds. It was a place of smoke, desperation, and the kind of high-speed grace that only a dog bred for the kill can provide. Today, the dogs are still here, but they’re mostly overweight Labradors and scruffy mutts chasing tennis balls in one of the city’s most expansive 'correcans' (dog parks). The transition from a site of animal exploitation and gambling to a center for 'Digital and Democratic Innovation' is the kind of plot twist only a city like Barcelona could pull off.

Architecturally, this place is a middle finger to the ornate, melting-candle aesthetics of Gaudí that clog up the city center. Designed by Antoni de Moragas and Francesc Rius, the Canòdrom Meridiana is a masterpiece of Spanish Rationalism. Look up at that roof—a thin, elegant slab of concrete that seems to defy gravity, sheltering the stands where thousands once screamed for their bets to come in. It won the FAD Prize in 1963, and for good reason. It’s lean, functional, and beautiful in a way that doesn't need to beg for your attention. It’s the architectural equivalent of a perfectly tailored, slightly frayed suit.

When the track finally shuttered in 2006—the last greyhound track in Spain to do so—the neighborhood of Sant Andreu didn't want another luxury hotel or a sterile shopping mall. They wanted their space back. The result is a square that feels lived-in and fiercely local. You won't find many selfie sticks here. Instead, you’ll find the rhythmic thud of basketballs on the courts, the shrieks of kids on the playground, and the low-stakes drama of retirees arguing on benches. It’s a sun-baked expanse that captures the grit and honesty of a barrio that refuses to be gentrified into oblivion.

The old betting stands now house the 'Canòdrom - Ateneu d'Innovació Digital i Democràtica.' It’s a mouthful, sure, but it’s essentially a clubhouse for the future. Inside those glass walls, people are hacking away at open-source software and debating how to make the internet less of a dumpster fire. There’s something poetic about using a former gambling den to bet on the collective intelligence of the neighborhood. It’s a reminder that cities are living organisms, constantly shedding their old skins to grow something new.

Is it 'pretty'? Not in the postcard sense. The concrete is weathered, the shadows are long, and the surrounding apartment blocks are utilitarian at best. But it’s real. If you’re tired of the 'Disney-fied' version of Barcelona, take the L5 metro out to Congrés and walk a few blocks. Stand under that cantilevered roof, watch the dogs run, and feel the weight of the history. It’s a place where the past isn't erased; it’s just been given a better job to do. It’s a slice of the real Sant Andreu, served without garnish, and it’s all the better for it.