Part three of a three-part series

Whenever you get a chance to slow down on your travels, take it. Take the time to get the panoramic view — not just the point and click.

Too often, on that first trip to a foreign city, tourists get the standard see-and-flee guided tour of a city. You know, the one that covers all the major highlights — usually just enough time to snap a few photos — without really getting the cultural context of time-honored landmarks or being able to connect the dots between them. (I guess the same could be said for introductory classes on world literature or world history — too much to cover, not enough time to appreciate complexities, nuances, details.)

When it came time to see Barcelona for a week, my wife Nicole and I made a concerted effort to stroll through parks, linger in gardens and admire the scenic views we had crossed an ocean to see. Two of the best places to lose yourself for a day when you’re in Barcelona are Montjuic, a hilltop overlooking the city from the south, and Montserrat, a mountain monastery setting a few hours north of the city.

Montjuic

Barcelona, you may recall, served as host of the 1992 Summer Olympics. To make the city a more appealing site for worldly spectators, Barcelona’s finest set up state-of-the-art sports facilities and lovely gardens on Montjuic. Though the Olympics may have come and gone, Montjuic has become a kind of Central Park, with tree-lined avenues and lush gardens, a favorite place for visitors and local residents to escape the bustle of city life.

Early records claim that Jewish settlers are buried there — thus the name, “Montjuic,” or “Jewish Mountain.” Romans later used it as a strategic base. In the late 1930s, political prisoners were tortured there. Today, it’s home to some of Barcelona’s finest museums including the Fundació Joan Miró and the National Museum of Catalonian Art.

You can get there by bus or cable car (funicular). We took the cable car from the beach (for 9 euros apiece round-trip) and got a fabulous view of the city. Though it was humid and hazy, the beach bloomed with the bright colors of beachgoers, sailboats, windsurfers and several cruise ships.

Atop Montjuic, under the breezy shade of sycamores, we made our way to the museum where 20th century artist Joan Miró donated many of his most famous paintings, sculptures, weavings and drawings. Though I’m not a huge fan of modernism, postmodernism or most of the -isms of 20th century art (call me a boring realist, but I like my art to look like something I can recognize), I discovered a whole new world in that museum.

Miró’s early work reflected the styles of his time, but after Spain’s Civil War, he broke from all such art movements and developed a whole new vocabulary, a whole new use of simple, playful forms. Perhaps most memorable among his famous works are the “Constellations,” a series of paintings with asterisk stars, childlike stick figures posed in abstract geometric forms and simple colors with a background that makes space and time irrelevant. On first glance, you might call it “abstract doodling,” but Miró very purposefully found a way to create his own universe by distilling objects down to their fundamental shapes and forms. He went on to explore sculpture, weaving, lithography, ceramics and other art forms while collaborating with many artists.

Dazed and inspired by three floors of artwork, we walked through the gardens around Montjuic with a new set of eyes. Each tree, each flower, each buzzing insect became a piece of art, illuminated by a bright sun, made timeless by the moments we stopped to observe their beauty.

We ate lunch at a park bench and walked up and down the walkways of Montjuic. Rather than tour through several more of the museums on Montjuic and run the risk of getting “museumed out,” we took our time with meandering walks through different levels of gardens. Huge palm trees with exploding fronds. White and pink and red oleander. Orange daylillies. The flash of a green lizard. Rhododendron. There are days made for lazy gazing, and this was one of them.

Montserrat

We awoke Sunday morning for our first venture outside the city. Several hours and several train stations later, we were among the thousands of pilgrims who came to one of the greatest Catholic shrines in the world, a 9th century monastery nestled on the mountainside known as Montserrat. In addition to the spectacular views that rival the Grand Canyon, Montserrat is home to La Moreneta, the statue of the Black Virgin. This life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and Child is blackened because of all the candles lit in her honor. According to legend, the statue, supposedly carved by Saint Luke, was found in a cave on Montserrat after a star appeared to shepherds and showed them the way. Since then, millions have come to touch La Moreneta, which is said to result in miracles.

While Montserrat has enjoyed huge fame as a popular name for churches, Catalan girls, and an island in the Caribbean, it was also loathed by enemies such as Napoleon, who had his troops attack and burn the monastery in 1811. Rebuilt and ornately decorated with all the glory of a Vatican cathedral, the monastery stood as a symbol of Catalan pride during General Franco’s oppressive rule.

On the day we visited, Montserrat was especially busy because of a particularly large ONCE tour group. ONCE, the Spanish organization for people with disabilities, runs the nation’s lottery. Needless to say, a hefty chunk of money continues to flow into the monastery, which celebrates mass each day and has the oldest boys’ choir in Europe.

Rather than waiting in a long line to see La Moreneta at midday, we took the funiculars for hikes above and below the monastery. The mountains, which formed from volcanoes some 10 million years old, have eroded and smoothed into long strips of rock that resemble clumps of clay.

It’s not hard to believe pagans worshiped among these rocks before the Christians came. The rocky formations lend their own interpretations of faces and animals as clouds often do. You can almost hear the mountains faintly whispering, “Higher, higher, just a bit further, keep following the path to a higher view.” These ancient stones, pillars of silent grace, carved by the wind, have stood through storms, wars, conquests, and generations who still believe in miracles.

Along the Camino de la Santa Cova, we retraced the path to the cave where La Moreneta was found. Along the path are alcoves with statues devoted to the sections of the rosary highlighting the main events of Jesus Christ’s life. By the end of the day, we made our way to La Moreneta and lit a prayer candle outside. We stood there among the thousands of flickering flames representing the hopes and wishes of people from all over the world. I can only imagine what these prayers were for — a cure, a comfort, a dream, healthy children, a decent job, peace on earth. I prayed for a long, happy marriage.

Back in Barceloneta, just a half hour before Nicole and I were set to leave the city we learned to call home, I took one last walk down to the beach to see the Mediterranean. The beach bars were just getting set up. A handful of sunbathers were laying out. The sea was calm.

I wanted to take a piece of Barcelona with me. The photographs and postcards and books didn’t seem enough. I knelt down to gather stones at the shore. I wanted to find a special Barcelona stone, but all I could find were anonymous rocks that looked like they could be from anywhere.

Perhaps then, I was beginning to understand. In these stones, in this city, in this experience, I could place whatever memory I wanted, as every moment of life teaches us — from the sand we’re given, we make our own sand castles before they return to the sea.

As our plane rose over the geometric angles of the city, above La Sagrada Familia, La Rambla, and Montjuic, I imagined a collage of all the best of what I had seen and closed my eyes, drifting away in a sea of clouds.

Michael Beadle can be reached at mbeadle@haywood.k12.nc.us.