Barcelona and I didn’t start our relationship off on a high note. Within an hour of arriving, one of her esteemed residents stole my then-boyfriend/now-husband’s backpack. I got it back only minutes later, but still. . . not a great first impression, dear Barcelona.

The next day, I met my then-boyfriend/now-husband’s family for the first time. His mother was sick enough that a doctor was summoned to her room. I don’t recall the cause. Was it her? Was it Barcelona? Who knows. . .

But, like so many new relationships, Barcelona did give me one reason to come back. In our short time together, she showed me Gaudi’s as-yet-unfinished masterpiece: the Sagrada Familia. I can’t say her emblematic city icon made up for thieves and illnesses, but it came close. Close enough to merit a second date.

But not until eight years later.

This time, my now-husband and I arrived without luggage for anyone to steal. We were on a day trip. And we had a mission. Michael was in search of speakers and one of Barcelona’s hopefully-more-esteemed residents had some for sale. As it turned out, the match wasn’t meant to be. But we made the best of it by taking the time to roam her streets where we happened upon her Palau de la Música. We decided to go in for a tour and, once again, Barcelona dazzled me with a building. And convinced me to meet her a third time.

I wasn’t convinced enough, though, to make a special trip. But when circumstances presented themselves – in this case a visit by my sister Jessica to Barcelona – I agreed.

After a smooth flight, she chose not to make my entry easy, confounding me with her train and metro system. At which point I wondered if it was time to say, “It’s not me, it’s you,” and move on.

But then I arrived at my lodging and was, once again, temporarily blinded to all her other faults. I stepped in from the heat of an August day, took off my shoes, and was instantly soothed by the cool tile floors. High ceilings, shabby furniture so old as to now be chic, even a writing desk! And floor to ceiling windows in both my bedroom and living room opening out onto a shaded terrace. It was an oasis.

And then she wooed me once again. She’s a smart one, this Barcelona. She recalled that which gave me the best impression of her the first time and suggested we meet there again.

And so, after a lovely breakfast on my terrace, I went back to the Sagrada Familia.

Like everyone, she, too, has changed a bit in nine years. She now has delicate doors to her soul open for all to see. And what doors they are! A wall of greenery in bronze that gave me pause. I studied them, slowed down to really take them in. And only by doing so, saw even more. Hidden amongst the leaves, bees gathered pollen, butterflies paused for a moment on pink and yellow flowers, baby birds opened their mouths to be fed.

“This is all new!” I exclaimed.

“Not really,” she said. “I added them just after your first visit. If you had come back sooner. . . ”

As dozens walked right past the doors, I stood there entranced, combing the greenery for more surprises. “Stunning,” I whispered.

“He did a great job,” she told me. I later learned who’d done the work: Japanese sculptor Etsuro Sotoo. The Sagrada Familia had slowly worked her way into his heart back in 1978 and he never left.

“He clearly knows you,” I said.

“He understand the look I’m going for,” she told me.

I was left to enjoy to my hearts content and enter when I was ready. And when I did, I realized that for all of her changes, her essence was still there. The kaleidoscope of color overwhelmed me. Tears flooded my eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.