The last Sunday of June was also our last Sunday in Barcelona, before we moved out of our apartment and headed to Costa Brava to enjoy the sun and the beach before heading back to the states. We walked through our neighborhood to catch the metro downtown, where local vendors had set up stands to sell olives and dried fruit. Once downtown we walked with the crowds on a patch on La Rambla, watched groups of people dancing Sardanyas in front of the cathedral in Plaça Nova, and made our way over to the Picasso museum to investigate his many versions of Las Meninas. We finally went into the cathedral, after walking past it many many times, and took in the herds of people walking through the narrow streets that surround it, the vendors selling selfie sticks and devices to put in your |
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2 weeks ago we went to Tibadabo, a mountain top near Barcelona that sports walking trails, an amusement park, and an amazing cathedral, el Tiempo Expiatorio del Sagrado Corazón. We took a tram and then a funicular to get to the top of the mountain. The views of the city from the base of the funicular are great, from the amusement park even more impressive, and from the top of the tower in the Cathedral, spectacular. Barcelona does not lack great vistas. Check out the slide show above!
“This is my favorite thing we’ve done so far, Mama,” my 6-year old whispers to me. He wraps his arm around mine and leans his head against me as he stares, wide-eyed, at the sprays of water that shoot into the sky, changing shape and color as the lights aglow below them switch from red to yellow, blue to green, deep purple to teal. My 8-year old sits on the stair below me, leaning back against my torso, his arms resting on my legs. My arms encircle him and I can feel his heart beating under my hand. It’s not pounding, exactly, but it’s steady beat comes faster than normal, accelerated by his excitement of the viewing. “Look at how tall that one is!” he exclaims. “I like the yellow color the best. How long does this last? Can we stay until the end?” I explain that we cannot, that it is already past his bedtime and that the lighted fountain will continue for 2 hrs, looping through patterns we have already seen. The amazement and enjoyment we feel now would fade if we stayed for too long; our heartbeats would return to normal speed, our gaze would stray away from the water fireworks, and what seems magical now would become ordinary. Sometimes you need to leave something while it is still extraordinary, in order to ensure that it will stay that way. “Why don’t you take a picture of it?” they ask, observing the array of miniature fountains we can see on the screens of cameras being held up throughout the crowd. I tell them my photo wouldn’t be as pretty as what I can see with my eyes, so I just concentrate on seeing it now and try to commit it to memory. I realize as I speak that I am setting an intention for myself as much as I am answering their question. And that what I am attempting to commit to memory is not only the beauty of the fountain, but of this moment in time, my children at this exact age, their bodies warm against mine, their voices in my ears, all of us content and enthralled by something as simple as light and water. As we walk away from the fountain towards the subway station, we look back often, watching the fountain get smaller as we get farther away. Once it is hidden from view our minds return to more basic sensations, and we become aware of our tired bodies, our aching muscles, our full bladders. The magic has disappeared and the journey home seems long. But the next morning we find that our metal cameras have worked after all, and we relive the glory of the fountain. “One time is shot soooo high in the sky, did you see that Isaac?” the 6-year old asks his brother, who replies that he did, and remembers the view he had of it, and where he was standing. “We should go back there on our last night here,” he offers. “It was so worth it, even though on the way home my muscles were shaking and my bones were creaking they were working so hard just to keep me standing up!” This lesson is another file that has been added to his mental rolodex: most worthwhile experiences require sacrifices. It is one I still have to remind myself of when I am in the middle of the sacrifice part. And one that I am sure we will learn well this year, as we struggle through the uncomfortable and the unfamiliar to gain access to a whole album’s worth of treasured metal pictures. Click Font Magica to learn more about it.
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AuthorMother, wife, previous and current Spain-dweller, excited to back here again. Archives
July 2015
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