A towering statue of Christopher Columbus welcomed us into Barcelona’s harbor yesterday. It saluted my first attempt at a self-guided tour, launched from a cruise ship. I simplified the trial by booking our designated shuttle from the port.

With the streets of the Gothic Quarter lying quiescent on a soft Sunday morning, I directed my steps first to the cathedral. Dwarfed by Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia (a modernist constructionist I had opted not to squeeze in, owing to the distance from city center and my lack of enthusiasm for modernism), the church nonetheless staggered me.

Sated in my soul with the intricacy of detail and elevation of form, I provided for physical hungers next. At a tapas restaurant, I feasted on the fruits of the sea:

The Museu Nacional D’Art de Catalunya unexpectedly stole the show on this visit. Armed with a generously discounted student ticket, I toured a series of gorgeous galleries, thoughtfully arranged with a light editorial hand, and dozens of the most evocative portraits I have ever encountered.

The 3pm closing time granted me two solid hours before the “all aboard” call. I ensconced myself on the museum steps and sketched an elegant rooftop below in the late afternoon light. The museum is situated at the northernmost edge of Montjuïc Park, a gloriously green interlude in city life.

I would have gladly idled for several more hours in Barcelona’s urban Eden, but contented myself with skimming the perimeter en route to the shuttle.