That Rush

IT HAS BEEN TEN YEARS SINCE SELF-CONFESSED "SPEEDAHOLIC" Carl Honoré published his best-selling book In Praise of Slow, which advocates the slow philosophy and follows the various slow movements that made their way into global mainstream. Today, we not only entertain, but also adopt the concept of "slow" into our lives, if not at least desire to avoid the ills of a life without it. From the proliferation of slow food, to the popularization of slow fashion, to the constant promotion of mindfulness via articles shared and liked on Facebook, more and more of us exhibit a discontent with high-speed living, seeking ways of decelerating life to a more sensible, sustainable pace.

But there are specific scenarios where speed is celebrated, with no compromise for pacing or moderation. One such scenario is racing, which, since ancient Greek times, has prized the competitor who moves the fastest and finishes first. Be it running, cycling, skiing, sledding, driving, skating or even eating, racing is primarily and ultimately a competition of speed.

I had a chance to see the races at Catalunya's Montmeló circuit, where Lewis Hamilton won his fourth race in a row for the season. As a first-time spectator to Formula One racing, I was pleasantly surprised to find the event much more wholesome than I erroneously envisioned. Where I expected to find scantily-clad grid girls dotting an inebriated male crowd, I found attendees both male and female, young and old, casually-attired and elegantly-garbed, joined by evident fanatics and newbies alike. Days one and two were fairly quiet, save of course for the roaring of the engines, while race day filled up not only the seats at the circuit but also the trains from Barcelona and back.

The race start was exciting. Pit stops were fascinating. First impressions aside, I was most absorbed by the essence given to time in such a controlled context, where finishing first relies on mere seconds. Fortunately, the same need not be the case for everyday living. Gandhi did say that there is more to life than increasing its speed. Just another reminder for dealing with bucket lists and bouts of life envy.

Unless you're on a racetrack, it's not in fact a competition.

Formula One Gran Premio de España Pirelli 2014, Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya. Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.

That Heart of Glass

LATTICED SHADOWS SOFTENED AND SHARPENED as the light dimmed and shone from outside. The ground glowed white like a pool of ice, punctuated by tall, slim columns dwarfing aimless visitors walking about. The Buen Retiro Park's Palacio de Cristal was empty on the day I visited; a shell of glass and iron built for the purpose of showcasing its contents, but its splendor nonetheless proves it a showcase in itself.

Erected in 1887 for exhibiting flora from the Philippine islands, the Palacio de Cristal del Retiro was the first non-industrial building in Spain to make use of iron and glass. Designed by architect Ricardo Velázquez Bosco, who took inspiration from London's Crystal Palace, the cupola-crowned metal structure is covered entirely in glass panels, save for a portico overlooking an artificial lake. Its floor plan takes the shape of a three-armed Greek cross, while its cross-section resembles that of a basilica's, with a tall, thin central body flanked by two lower, lateral naves. On the outside, mallards and griffins populate ceramic-tiled spandrels and bases, while cast-iron lion and angel heads spout rainwater away from the building.

Though originally built as a greenhouse, the structure was turned over to the Ministry of Culture after the 1887 exhibit. Co-run by the Museo Reina Sofía, the Parque del Buen Retiro's beautiful heart of glass has since been dedicated to housing temporary exhibits including Kimsooja's spectacularly prismic To Breathe - A Mirror Woman and Pierre Huyghe's La saison de fêtes, whose installation of plant species touches on the venue's original purpose.

Between exhibits, the bare structure houses a whir of footsteps, murmurs and dust particles floating in the light. There's plenty of space for those random, reflective thoughts, contained no less within fabulously reflective surfaces.

Palacio de Cristal del Retiro, Madrid. Photos by Lady San Pedro and a random tourist who took my photo.

Those Meriendas de Montserrat

IN THE SPRING OF LAST YEAR, we hosted three lovely girls from Madrid, who were visiting Barcelona to see the architecture. Angélica and Mónica were flatmates and Architecture students. Giulia, who also took up Architecture, wasn't a flatmate but was nonetheless indispensable to the sisterhood.

From Madrid, the girls came bearing rosquillos, home-baked and hand-carried across the peninsula. It turns out that the three are avid cooks and bakers, preparing treats for tea and dinner parties they would hold back in their flat. Number 16, Calle Montserrat provided the setting for such get-togethers; a tradition begun by Mónica, who was not only the first to live there, but also lived there the longest.

Four years saw the tradition grow in attendance, as well as grow beloved by the girls and their guests. But as student life came to an end, so did its traditions. With Giulia having graduated, Angélica on Erasmus and Mónica now finishing her studies, the girls no longer occupy the unit at Montserrat, each finding themselves in a new flat, new city or country. Before parting and departing however, they made sure to keep the memory of Montserrat alive with a tribute video depicting one last merienda there.

The Spanish equivalent of an afternoon snack, a merienda is typically had late in the day, in between the country's infamously long, late lunches, and even later dinners. Las meriendas de Montserrat documents a charming slice of student life, of lovely characters making delightful use of scarce free time, and of meriendas prepared and shared in good company.

Sweet. Sublime.

Las meriendas de Montserrat by Andrea Dorantes Otero, Fran Avilés and Mónica García Koewandhono, vimeo.com

That Snowy Start

I MAY HAVE GLID SOMEWHAT SMOOTHLY through the decade that makes up my twenties, but I spent the last of its holiday seasons staggering and stumbling through the snow. A trip up to La Molina on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees provided not only my first experience in the snow, but also my first exploit on skis, which proved a tiring, tiresome feat for this tropic-born non-athlete.

In Rodgers and Hammerstein's The King and I, Anna introduces the children of Siam to the concept of snow: "It is not only hard, but very slippery too. When people walk on it, they fall down, and slide….. Not only do the lakes and rivers freeze, but the raindrops, as they fall, are changed into small white spots that look like lace!"

The children respond with assertive skepticism but I can personally vouch for the part where you "fall down and slide."

With the first week of the year spent sore, aching and unenthused, I find myself with a snow-imposed resolution of getting fitter and stronger, should I intend to ski again. At some point in this lifetime, I ought to try enjoying at least one sport.

Does après-ski count?

La Molina ski resort, Alp, Cerdanya. Photos by Lady San Pedro.

That Saturday Sauló

SAULÓ IS AN ACIDIC, SANDY SOIL low in organic matter and limestone content. You might call it a "perfectly poor" soil for its inability to retain water, which in turn improves the quality of the wines it rears. Sauló is distinctive of vineyards in the Alella region, such as those of Alta Alella, chosen as 2013's Best Catalonian Cellar by the Catalan Sommeliers Association.

On Sauló-covered earth did we spend a Saturday morning, touring the estate that is both home and family project to enologist Josep Pujol-Busquets. Founded in 1991, Alta Alella has expanded from 6 to over 50 hectares of land, dedicated to the practice of organic farming and the purveyance of enotourism. The vineyard is certified to be herbicide, pesticide and insecticide-free, and in its will for transparency, opens its gates to guests for a variety of informative and leisurely visits.

Our particular enotour began on the vineyard's highest point, called "the amphitheater" for its crescent shape. From there can be viewed the whole of Alta Alella's estate, set against the Mediterranean Sea on one side, and the Barcelona skyline on the other. Our guide then took us through the winery's production process and the different areas in which they take place, sharing the vineyard's history and vocation, as well as the vineyard's wines, sampled over an epicurean picnic.

Of the cavas, I enjoyed Privat Nu best. And while the sticky-sweet Dolç Mataró is the winery's star product, I much preferred the milder Syrah Dolç. Alta Alella wines belong to the DO Alella and DO Cava appellations, and range in variety from local Xarel·lo, Macabeu and Parellada, to French-hailing Chardonnay, Syrah, Pinot Noir, Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc. The vineyard also dedicates one hectare to experimental varieties.

Eight glasses later, I fear giving my non-enophile self away by ending up on the ground. It fortunately didn't happen. But perhaps it would have only been natural, to end back on the soil from whence it all began.

Alta Alella Privat, Cami Baix de de Tiana s/n 08328 Alella www.altaalella.cat Photos by Lady San Pedro.

That Sunday Slow Rock

THOUGH VISITORS TO MONTSERRAT are generally encouraged to look beyond the scenery, it seems almost impossible not to derive aesthetic pleasure from the site. Four thousand feet above the valley floor, Santa Maria de Montserrat perches atop pink conglomerate rock, distinctive by a sawtoothed or "serrated" appearance that lends the mountain its name. Montserrat houses the highest point in the Catalan lowlands from which, on a clear day, you can see forever; earth, cloud and sky, supposedly all of Spain, including Mallorca.

I visited Montserrat, at last, with the boyfriend, one pre-autumn Sunday afternoon. From Barcelona, the journey takes less than two hours by train, with a ticket inclusive of a connecting 15-minute rack-railway ride up the mountain, or a 5-minute ascent via cable car. We took the latter which, on that pleasant day, proved scenic.

Up at the monastery are two main blocks housing the basilica, the cloister, plazas, patios, the Museum of Montserrat, the Abat Cisneros hotel and the Publicacions de l'Abadia de Montserrat, one of the world's oldest publishing houses still in operation. Outside of the complex are various trails for trekking, as well as a scattering of chapels, former hermitages nestled amidst the mountain crags.

The highlight of most every trip up Montserrat is a visit paid to La Moreneta, the dark-skinned patroness of Catalunya. Enshrined in the basilica, the wooden Romanesque sculpture dates back to the 12th century, with origins shrouded in various legends. I caught a mere micro-glimpse of her, a blur of dark wood, glass and gold, before shuffling along to give way to the rest of a crawling queue. Time may not be a luxury when seeing the dusky lady, but elsewhere in the abbey are many areas for restful and reflective meandering.

However impressive the architecture and the vistas, the nearly thousand-year-old monastery offers more than meets the eye. Having endured and flourished through the centuries, Montserrat is an important symbol for Catalunya's religious, cultural and ecological values, prized and preserved by its people.

Nonetheless, I hardly think it a crime to revel in the monastery's aesthetic aspects. After all, beauty exists in nature, in culture and in symbols of the divine. Can one help feeling inspired?

Santa Maria de Montserrat, Catalunya. www.montserratvisita.com Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.