Barcelona

Saturday. September 15. 

The train to Barcelona left at 10:30 a.m. There was still some time to walk around  Madrid. I still craved a Starbuck’s in the morning, and there was one near the Opera House. After another great buffet breakfast I headed towards Ópera Plaza.    

White tents were being set up for a farmer’s market. Local homeless were rising from their night spots and gathering near a statue in the center of the plaza. It looked like they were planning their strategy for the day. 

At the Puerta De Atocha train station I saw the Russian couple who sat near me at the restaurant last night. What are the odds of that? She was badgering him as he carted the luggage into the station.   

I was early again. The train had not been assigned to a gate. There was a large cafeteria area with a glass counter and many seats. It was designed for commuters. There was a soda fountain with the familiar bright red Coca-Cola logo. I saw the soda jerk pumping syrup to make a Coke. Like we used to get at Woolworth’s. I usually avoid soft drinks but I couldn’t resist this.   

It was early in the morning for a Coke, but I ordered one. Maybe it was just the syrup, but it tasted like the first real Coke I’d had in years. Pastries and other unknown Spanish treats were displayed behind glass. It was easy to pick out a great ham and cheese tortilla. There’s nothing like a fresh Coke!   

 

People started to quickly gather their things. I knew this meant that a gate had been chosen for a train. Was it my train to Barcelona? People started heading for the gates. I didn’t think it was my train, but it was about time to move anyway. I moved along with the herd. 

The ride to Barcelona would take two hours and forty five minutes. I’d get to Barcelona at 1:15 p.m.  

I settled into a window seat and was looking forward to the sights. The woman in front of me pulled the screen down. It’s supposed to be transparent, but I couldn’t see through it. There were plenty of empty seats. I really did want to check out the landscape. 

The passing scenery was another flashback to the Central Valley in California. We’re away from the highway and it looks more desolate here. The scenery looks more rugged and a bit more spectacular than the ride to Madrid. There were large mesas and mountains in the distance. As we got out of the city it reminded me more of America’s Southwest. It was a clear, sunny day and I could see far off into the distance. We were off the beaten track so there were no ads, gas stations or other detritus of life on the road. It looked uninhabited. 

The speed of the train and the distance to the destination was constantly displayed on small screens. We started at 67 kilometers per hour. 41 mph. Then 158 kmph. We got up to 250 km per hour or 155 mph. The highest speed I saw was 294 km per hour. 182 mph! 

The train stations all had wild names. It was another geography lesson. We entered the Zaragoza Delicias station. I’m at the train station in Zaragoza! It will be more than an exotic name to me now. There are more signs of life. Billboards. Gas stations. I arrive at the Barcelona Sants train station and cab it to the hotel. 

The taxi drops me at the corner of the Placa Sant Jaume. Wooden traffic horses prevented any traffic from continuing on the street that my hotel is on, the  Carrer Ferran. The driver points across the plaza to my hotel, the Hotel Rialto. “This is as far as I can go.”    

On the far side of the plaza there are about fifty small pup tents set up on the stone streets. Some people are standing around the tents. It’s a demonstration for Catalonian independence. There are banners hanging from City Hall, the Casa de la Ciutat. Across the plaza is the Palau de la Generalitat de Catalunya. It is the seat of the Catalan government.

This area was part of the Roman city here. Barcino. The plaza has always been the political center of Barcelona. The demonstrators look relaxed. It looked like some kind of urban camping party.  

The Polizia don’t look as happy. They are insistent that no vehicles enter the plaza area. The Polizia don’t look armed. More of them are gathered in front of City Hall.  They carefully watched the demonstrating campers. There’s definitely some tension in the air. I roll my Rick Steves bag between the encampment and the vigilant police.     

There are larger tents with tables set up. It reminded me of a street fair. It eemed like a family reunion. People greeted each other and there was hugging and singing of Catalonian folk tunes. Their singing was emotional and inspiring. The demonstrators looked peaceful. For now.  

I was staying at the Rialto Hotel in the Gothic Quarter. My travel agent, Leatta Perdue at Travel Central had been very clear during the run through. Leave the bags at the hotel and go on the next tour. Check in to the hotel later. It was great advice!  

I had to find another dread departure point. It was near Catalonia Square. This is the Union Square of Barcelona. Even in my first hours in Barcelona I should be able to find that. I got my bearings.  

The route to Catalonia Square took me past the Cathedral. People from a wedding were streaming out and taking pictures. The Cathedral was closed to the public. Limousines waited. How much does it cost to get married in the Cathedral?

I took my first walk on the storied Ramblas. A living statue sat in front of a chess board. He was dressed as a rook. His skin was colored gray. He was motionless. Two young women walked up and took a closer look. This guy was good. Was it a statue, or was it human? It was hard to tell. He quickly shifted his eyes. One of the young women was so startled that she shrieked. It was amazing how still and statue like he was. Just the shift in his eyes was enough to startle the young woman. It was kind of creepy. 

I noticed some of the directional signs were vandalized. Not all profit from the tourist bubble.

Catalonia Square is easy to find, but then what? I’m looking for the Julia Travel office. I ask a grizzed news vendor. He’s a bit grouchy. They must be sick of giving directions, but he does point the way across the street. I see the Julia Travel sign.

I’ve got a little time, and I know there will be the usual delays before a tour, so I grab a seat in the Square. It reminds me of Union Square, but it is much bigger. It really does look like the center of the city. The square is ringed by department stores, boutiques, the usual shopping stuff. It’s infested with pigeons. People not only feed the pigeons, but they let them land and perch all over them! They pose covered in pigeons. Gross!   

The Julia Travel office was down a set of stairs. It looked like it used to be a subway stop. There was a counter with three people behind it. About twenty people were milling around. A middle aged American went up to the counter. The young woman behind the counter snapped, “You have to get in line!” The guy shrugged. “OK. Where is the line?” She picked a guy behind him to start her line. No pushy American was going to be going first in her line.  

A few of us figured out we were on the same tour. One of us had been told to wait “over there.” We all had our vouchers. There’s safety in numbers. 

Jordi is our tour guide. He’s tall and grew up in Barcelona. We will “discover Picasso’s Barcelona by following in his footsteps.” Jordi asks the obligatory “Where are you from question.” “California! There is a California in Spain! Picasso grew up there before moving to Barcelona.”  

Jordi said that it was a Picasso tour, but we would also be getting an introduction to Barcelona. This sounded great to me. Tours are a great way to get started in a new city. 

The Gothic Quarter is the oldest part of the city. We stop on a corner before entering the Placa Nova. The Gateway of the Roman fort is on the other side of the plaza. It’s made of tall stone blocks. The spires of the Cathedral loom over nearby buildings. 

  

Barcelona has more modern architecture than my other stops in Spain. Jordi points out a modern building on the corner. He hates it. It’s the Collegi d’Arquitectes de Catalunya, the College of Architects Building. It’s a gray stone and glass building. Jordi admits he favors more traditional, historic architecture. 

This is the building where many decisions about the architecture of Barcelona are made. This drives Jordi crazy. It does have a frieze done by Picasso. Picasso presents symbols of Catalan traditions in the frieze. There are horses and sailing ships. If not for the friezes I think Jordi would have skipped the College of Architects Building.   

We’re near Placa Nova. We’ve just missed September 11. It’s a big Catalonian holiday. There was a book festival going on. The active plaza still has tents and booths set up that are offering many volumes of Catalonian literature. They were in Spanish, but I did some casual browsing. Most of the volumes are very left wing, Socialist stuff. Franz Fanon. Karl Marx. Calls to revolution. Barcelona has a tradition of being a haven for free thinkers and anarchists.     

Two young guys were busking in the middle of the plaza. One played electric keyboard and the other played guitar. The song sounded familiar. It was the Bowie song, Space Odyssey! It just seemed perfect. I took a little video. “Ground control to Major Tom...”  

We stop in a large courtyard. Sant Felip Neri’s Square. To our left is Sant Felipe Neri church. We can still see bomb damage from the Civil War. “It was over eighty years ago.” Barcelona had been a haven for the Republicans battling Franco. The church is stone, but the scars are still there. There are burn marks and small chips of stone are torn out of the wall. “First Mussolini, then Hitler bombed. It was never repaired.”  

Another pair of buskers were playing. A big stand up bass and guitar. They were playing the Dylan song: “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.” It’s another song that goes way back for me. The old stone buildings in the courtyard added to the acoustics. I was getting an early Seventies soundtrack on the tour today.

Jordi has the group stop on a very narrow street. It would be called an alley in America. We’re in front of the cafe Quatre Cats. This is where Picasso hung at before he became a success. Quatre Cats had been closed for years, but it reopened in 1989. I wondered if Quatre Cats looked anything like it did when Picasso hung out there. 

We pass the art school Picasso attended. He thought spending time doing anything else but painting was a waste of time. Even an advanced art school was a distraction for him. 

Three thin medieval streets converge on a small corner. One of them is the Carrer Avinyo. The classic corner looks like it hasn’t changed in a long time. “This is where the prostitutes hung out.” Picasso was “inspired by a brothel here.” He painted them for his first masterpiece: Las Señoritas de Aviñón. Les Demoiselles d’Avignon. The controversial painting confirmed Picasso as a leader of avant garde art. Some call it the first Primitive Art or the first Cubist painting.   

We walk down the “big” street. Passeig de Colom. It’s a wide boulevard with a lot of traffic. Jordi points up the Carrer de la Plata no. 4. “This is where Picasso’s first studio was.”  

Jordi gathers us together at the corner of Passeig de Colom and Via Latina. “I hate this street.” I figured out what he meant, but a woman in the group may have thought he was kidding. She says the street looks OK to her. In fact, she likes it.

 We can see the Columbus Monument across a turnaround.

  Jordi explains his animosity. Many historic sites were demolished to build this street. Ancient buildings and churches were destroyed to make way for this modern road. Was the “progress” worth it?  

Jordi stops us at the entrance to a plaza. He points to one address and then takes eight steps. They are big steps, but there are only eight of them. He’s covered the entire length of the street. The Calle Anis Adeto is the shortest street in Barcelona.

We pass the first Picasso family home in Barcelona, the Porxos d’En Xifre. The family moved there after Picasso’s sister died. Barcelona was a haven for Picasso. 

We come to the  Liotja de Mar / Stock Exchange Building. Jordi points out Picasso’s last studio on the Barri de la Ribera.

Our last stop will be in the Museo Picasso. It’s in a converted mansion. I later overheard people say they had a hard time getting into the Picasso Museum. Some said they gave up. We waltzed past the line with our precious “Skip the line” ticket! 

Picasso was an outspoken Republican. He was in relative safety in Paris, but Jordi explains that Franco would not have stood for an art museum to be named after Picasso. The museum was named after Picasso’s assistant and secretary, James Sabartes. It sounded like some dangerous trickery.

The museum is very well planned and laid out. The first rooms show his earliest works and his art is presented in chronological order. We can see how his art changed over the years.   

My legs were really getting tired at the end of the Picasso Museum. I went to the hotel for a reset. 

Before I left on Europe 2018 I learned that Joe Ragen and his wife Cookie would be in Barcelona on the same weekend I would be there. John Stuber figured this one out. We go back to the opening of the PSE Options floor in 1976. We planned on having dinner. I almost screwed this one up. I had thought they wouldn’t get to Barcelona until the next day. Joe Ragen had called and left a couple of messages while I slept at the hotel.  

I had been travelling for a couple of weeks. Maybe it was catching up with me. I also thought the 510 area code was something work related and blew it off. Then I realized. It’s Saturday. Why would they be calling me on a Saturday? I called the number back. 

Our hotels were within blocks of each other. This was great for me. I was tired of being lost. Joe wanted to go to an Irish bar. “Oh no! Not that!” Was I ready for another pub after Dublin? I was joking of course. We go to Dunne’s and catch up on our travels. We go to a restaurant recommended by Rick Steves. Sagrada. There was a bar area serving tapas, but we want the whole sit down experience, especially the sit down part. The woman at the front desk has a hard time understanding us. Yes, that’s right. We want to get a table and spend more money. We don’t want to just stand around and have tapas. We want a table.

  It is crowded, but we don’t mind waiting. We got glasses of wine and I ordered a plate of tapas while we waited. I couldn’t resist more anchovies. This may have caused a little more confusion.

It was great to see and compare travel notes with people I know. Our waiter had a sense of humor and there was some humor and international teasing. I had a great oxtail dish. Thanks again to Joe Ragen for graciously picking up the tab!

Large puppet heads danced down the street. They looked a bit surreal. I got a short look at them, but they quickly marched down the street.  Am I hallucinating?      

It was the latest I’d been out on the trip. After midnight. I was on the street my hotel was on, and there were still other people on the street. A young guy walked alongside me. He was well dressed in a white suit, but I think he was a gypsy.  

“My friend!” He tried to put his arm around me. I backed away. I knew he wasn’t going to be my friend. “Where are you from?” “Chicago,” I snarled, hoping this would discourage him. “Oh I know a polizei there! His name is Tony Rizzo!” I said, “Good night.” 

“Oh, Good night! Good night!!” He taunted me. There were a couple of guys walking along with us. He got next to me and made his move. Somehow he got his hand in my front pocket! 

I blocked his hand from my wallet and pushed him away. Then he was gone! It was like he disappeared. I kept checking my pockets. Wallet, cell phone, keys.  Everything was still there. I almost couldn’t believe it. This guy was really slick. I knew I had dodged a bullet. It was unsettling, to say the least. I wore the dorky “safety wallet” belt thing for the duration of the trip. Certainly one of the more unpleasant experiences I’ve had traveling, but he didn’t get me.  

Sunday 9/16: 

I start out early. My plan is to check out the Cathedral de Santa Maria. The empty medieval streets seem a bit more ominous after last night’s brush with gypsies. It’s early and there’s not that many people around. I’m certainly a little paranoid after last night’s incident. What could happen on Sunday morning? I check out the George Orwell Plaza. There’s a closed nightclub across the small square.  

I know I’m close to the Cathedral, but I’m having trouble finding it. I’m on a smaller “side” street. The street is empty. There is no one on the street. A sleazy looking guy is hanging on the corner. I think I would have noticed him, even before the close call last night. The radar is on. I’m walking in circles looking for the Cathedral. I see the guy again. Was it just a coincidence? Then I notice there’s another guy. I see him again after about a block. It probably wouldn’t be hard to figure out that I don’t know where I’m going. I’m really keeping an eye out now.    

I see the first guy again. After he passes me he whistles loudly. I really don’t like that whistle. I see the stone bridge that goes over the street. The El Pont del Bisbe. The Bishop’s Bridge. I know the Cathedral is very close to this. I finally see the entrance. Sanctuary! Was it my imagination? Maybe it was, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

There are Sunday services going on, so there are no visitors in the Cathedral. The cloister garden area is open. It’s early, but people wander in and out of the Cathedral’s garden area. Large swans waddle around the garden. The tower of the Cathedral looms over palm trees in the courtyard. This area is an attraction by itself, but I still want to see Cathedral.

The stone bridge is a great landmark for me. I start to figure out the layout. I pass under The Bishop’s Bridge again. It looks old, but was built in 1928. A tour guide is pointing out the skull figure under the bridge to a small group. Joan Rubio was the architect. He added the skull figure when his plan to remake the Gothic Quarter was rejected. A dagger goes through the skull. Local lore says that if the dagger is removed the buildings of Barcelona will collapse!     

I’m close enough to go to the hotel and do a reset. There is another big tour later today. The Sagrada Familia. The tour has an odd starting time: 4 p.m. I’ll be spending a  late Sunday afternoon in one of the largest and most unique churches in the world. 

I have some time to wander Barcelona first. When I leave the hotel the concierge warns me. Much of this part of Barcelona will be shut down for a  demonstration. Cars will not be allowed back in for some time.

When I go by Placa de San Jaume the Catalonian demonstrators in the encampment are out of their pup tents and getting ready to march. Some are wearing the red and yellow Catalonian flag as a cape.

People greet each other and give each other big hugs. People were obviously reconnecting. This often led to small groups breaking into spirited singing. They’d clap their hands and jump up and down.

It’s not a total party atmosphere. There is the business of the demonstration. They seem more serious today. There is more intensity.  

 

A large group march up the street my hotel is on. Carrer Ferran. Another group is gathering on the street on the other side of the plaza. The singing is more emotional, intense and inspiring. So, I went down to the demonstration... 

After careful study of the hotel map I took off. The main street, Via Latina, was closed for the demonstration. I saw a Metro station and went downstairs. I don’t think I could have deciphered the map if it was in English. I thought finding a Sagrada stop on the map would be easy, but where do I get the train? What platform does it use? I decided it wasn’t a good day to explore the Barcelona Metra system.  

I walked farther down Via Latina. It’s a wide downtown boulevard. A guy was sweeping in front of a restaurant. I asked him, “Which way to Sagrada?” “I’m from Australia, mate! I just got here last week!” We both laughed. I knew it would be too far to walk and got in a cab. We passed through a more modern functional part of Barcelona. It was farther than I expected.     

The departure point was another Julia Travel office. When I got out of the cab I caught a glimpse of the towering church through the trees. It looked unreal. Surreal. It’s bright colors made it look like something out of a fairy tale. It certainly wasn’t the usual dark Catholic Cathedral. The Sagrada Familia is the Disneyland of the Catholic world.  

A park took up the whole city block across from the Sagrada. There was still time to kill, so I would have a “real” lunch. 

I had seen sushi places in several cities in Spain, so I took a chance on “Bon Sushi.” but ordered the Paella Marisco. It was good, but kind of dry. It was topped by large prawns in the shell.  

The park across the street from Sagrada was a nice place to wait for the tour. It was laid out like a garden. It was a hot day. One of the hottest on the trip. 

Time for ice cream. I got in line in front of a mobile concession stand. A woman cut right in front of the line. She ordered in Spanish. The guy inside didn’t help much. Guess it’s OK to be rude to tourists. It was like we were invisible. Some Spanish have an air of arrogance about them.  

I found a park bench. Joe Ragen and Cookie walked by! I knew they would be taking a tour of the Sagrada, but it still seemed unlikely that I would run into them again. What were the odds? I went back to the nearby Julia Travel office to meet the tour. At least I had an address to go to. 

The Julia Travel Office really was an office. There were about a dozen of us on the tour. Aleix would be our guide. We walked by the park again. There was a wait to go inside, but the exterior was covered with figures of the life of Christ. Aleix pointed out the craftsmanship. They did look unique.

It was hard to describe how immense Sagrada is. There were huge cranes along its side. It’s still under construction!

It is organized. We waited in a fenced off area where groups met. We had an assigned time to enter. Everything was planned and orderly. Above us on the side of the Cathedral were sculpted reliefs showing the life of Jesus. This alone would have been a great religious tourist attraction.

I’m not a big fan of modern churches. I prefer my religion deep, dark and mysterious. Modern churces just look too... modern. Sagrada is not only unlike any church I’ve ever been in, it’s unlike any place I’ve ever been. Maybe it’s impossible to describe any UNESCO site.

The interior is huge. “The vaults reach seventy meters.” Well over two hundred feet. It’s light and airy. I can’t pretend to understand the geometric genius of Gaudí. Nothing looks square or straight. Even the huge stone pillars in the nave seem to curve. They seem to be alive. I later learned Gaudi wanted the pillars to remind us of trees. 

The late summer sunlight streamed in. The reflected colors coming through the windows constantly change during the day. The angles of the sunlight coming through the windows was planned by Gaudí. The light coming into the church is always different. The reflections of late afternoon are preferred. Sunset is called The Golden Hour. 

Building began in 1882. Sagrada is “a minor basilica.” There was already the Cathedral in Barcelona. 

Sagrada has a controversial history. Sometimes it was looked on as mad folly. During the Spanish Civil War “Catalonian anarchists” destroyed plans and models. It took years to resume building. 

A high speed train tunnel was built nearby and there were fears that it would “destabilize” Sagrada. It’s hard to realize this place is still being built. Even with the huge cranes along the sides. Some have suggested “halting construction.”

I walked around after the tour. This place has a life of its own.  

I wandered back to the hotel. It was still light out. I had come to the huge stone bricks of the Roman walls again. How high was it? This is what I came here to see anyway. Ancient stuff.  

Right across from the walls is the patio of the Irish bar me and Ragen went into. Dunne’s. I get a Guinness and sat down with a view of the wall. Why not? I’d done some touring today. It was time to slow down a bit. 

I walked up Ferran. The hotel is 42 Ferran. I found out I wasn’t saying it right. It’s “fe-RAN” not “FE-ran.” Now I knew why people looked so puzzled when I asked for directions.

On the same block as the hotel was a small church. St. Jaume. I couldn’t help popping in. It had once been a synagogue. There was a ring of side chapels around the sides of the church. Each one had a statue of a saint.

When in doubt, hit the Ramblas. It’s one of the ultimate tourist promenades. There are plenty of warnings: This is pickpocket heaven. It’s Sunday evening, but the street is jammed. It amazes me how many people are out and about. 

There are a lot of chains. There’s the omnipresent Burger King. Dunkin’ Donuts is popular, but here it’s called Coffee Donuts. Barcelona has more of a modern edge than the other cities I’ve been to in Spain. There are still signs of the city’s history, especially in the Gothic Quarter.    

I see the Opera House and walk up for a closer look. The security guards at the Teatre del Liceo give me a wary eye. They must be used to, “I just want to take a look.” People are gathering for an opera.

The nearby Opera de Cafe looks like it’s catered to the opera crowd for generations. it’s full of red and black Victorian era furnishings. I have a glass of the famous Sangria. Well dressed people are meeting before the opera.

There was a tapas place right next to the hotel. The tapas displayed looked great. I went there two nights in a row! 

Monday. September 17. 

Last day in Barcelona. I’m scheduled for a day trip to Montserrat. I didn’t really know what to expect. I had to get to the departure point by 8:30 a.m. Not obscenely early, but I didn’t take any chances. “Meet near the Gaudí building.” That sounded vague, but I had no trouble spotting the “Gaudi house” on the “Passeig de Gracia.” It is one of his most popular works.

The Travelbound tour contact met me and three others and directed us to a van. I luck out and get the front seat. I’m solo, so I get the front seat. There’s a wait for a couple of young women who are running late. They run up and are apologetic. “We missed the bus!” Whatever. The tour will go until 2 p.m. Five and a half hours. 

Our tour guide and driver was Oriel. He’s a young local student. Later I asked him how many times he goes out to Montserrat. He does the tour at least three times a week! 

We see some of the “real” Barcelona on the ride out. There’s heavy traffic getting out of the city. We pass by the football stadium. It’s the home of Barcelona’s team. The star is Lionel Messi. There seems to be a photo of him in almost every store in Barcelona. Some stores had a life size cardboard figure of him. There will be a match shortly after I leave.  

We ride up into the mountains. It’s about a forty five minute drive. 50 kilometers.   

During the drive I mentioned the demonstrations I had seen in Barcelona. I asked Oriel if most people in Barcelona want independence from Spain. He paused and seemed careful with his answer. He says yes, most want independence. Local officials had held an “illegal referendum” last year. Some of those officials were jailed. Others fled. This explains the banners I had seen on City Hall. The government has told the Catalonians that soon it will make a decision about whether, “They can leave or not.” It sounds like a snow job or at least a stall tactic. 

I dropped the subject, but had to wonder. Would Catalonian independence be worth another civil war? How far would Catalonians go? The memories of the last Civil War are still relatively fresh in Spain’s long history.

The van kept climbing up into the foothills of the Pyrenees. The view and scenery reminded me of California’s Sierra Nevada mountains, especially the area around Yosemite. It was dry, like California. There were few trees. “There aren’t many trees in Spain.”      

We get off the bus at a modern tourist center. There is a train station and a “funicular.” The large lift will take about fifty people at a time up to the top. It will spare us quite a climb. The climb to the top was the final challenge for pilgrims.

There is a train that comes out here from Barcelona. It must be a great day trip.  

During the short wait I overhear a young woman. Four days of rain had been predicted, but it’s clear and sunny. My weather luck holds.     

There is a small museum at the top with exhibits on the history and geography of the area. The Massif of Montserrat is a “spectacular multi-peaked rocky range packed of unique needle-shape formations.” A large fossil is in a glass case. It looks out of place here. It’s a manatee! The Selenid was found on one of the peaks. It was an unlikely place to find a fossil of a sea dweller. The heights of Montserrat had once been underwater. The peaks had once been the seabed!  

Oriel fills us in on some of Montserrat’s history: It is an important trade route. There has been a place of worship here since ancient, pagan times. The Romans named Montserrat. “Serrated mountain.”  The Romans had a Temple of Venus. The Iberians worshipped a deity here. 

There is a legend that the huge gorge was created at the moment of Christ’s Crucifixion. It’s geologically improbable, but the legend persists. It makes for a great story.  

The area is mountainous enough that there are still parts of it that is unexplored. Montserrat has a large network of caves and grottoes. The isolation in the area made it the perfect refuge for hermits. Spain has a tradition of eremeticism. The tradition goes back to at least the sixth century.  

It was the thing for some nobles and and very successful Spanish to do. They left the world behind and came to Montserrat to become hermits. With no business or politcal distractions they could pray for forgiveness for their sins. The isolation and mountain views encouraged mystical reflection. Every hemit had a grotto. 

The monastery was founded in the 10th century. There are 150 monks today. 

Montserrat has some almost bizarre Catholic history. When the invading Moors approached Montserrat, a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary was hidden in a remote mountain cave. It was believed the statue was created by St. Luke the Evangelist. It’s hard to believe, but the site of the cave was forgotten. 

  If the statue was so sacred how could they have lost track of what cave they put it in? When I was on the hike I could see why. There is a lot of rugged territory up there. The location was kept so secret they forgot where they had put it!  

In 880 A.D. shepherd children saw a strange light descending to a point in the mountains. Fireballs came out of a cave. They told their parents. The adults didn’t believe them at first, but they did go out and saw the vision happen again the next Sunday. The strange light appeared five times. They contacted Church authorities and went in search of where the light had landed in the mountains. They found a grotto, the Santa Cueva. It held the lost statue. The Black Virgin. La Morenata. The patron saint of Catalonia.    

The Archbishop was overjoyed and planned to move the statue to the closest town, Manresa. When they tried to move the statue it became heavier and heavier. When it reached the site of the present day Basilica it could not be moved. It was taken as a sign that the Virgin did not want to leave Montserrat. It stayed in the Basilica and Montserrat became a very popular pilgrimage destination.

It was believed that the statue had turned black because of years of candle soot and ash, but the statue is made from a poplar wood that is black. 

St. Ignatius of Loyola came to Montserrat shorty after being wounded and converted. He prayed before La Morena for guidance and left his sword.

 

Montserrat was place of tragedy. It was a strategic location and became a target for Napoleon’s army. There is a story that a young man went out and played a drum. The echoes were loud enough to convince French invaders that there was a large army headed their way. Eventually they saw throught the trick and took Montserrat. They looted and pillaged the basilica. Many treasures were lost.

Even the natural spendor of Montserrat is a little weird. Oriel told us that some believe that the needles and monoliths of rock and stone act as antennaes. They also emit “geobiological magnetism.” Water stored in underground caverns produce ionization that adds to the weirdness and can open “doors to other dimensions.” There’s a lot going on here. People get lost out here. Or are they abducted by aliens?      

Montserrat was the site of fierce fighting during the Spanish Civil War. It was the “only road to Barcelona.” The Basilica was damaged. by Franco’s Nationalist forces.  

The Republicans held Montserrat first, and it changed hands many times. There was vicious guerilla warfare.   

In 1345 the people of Montserrat and Manresa reported seeing stars dancing above the peaks of Montserrat. Oriel tells us that UFO enthusiasts gather every month to watch for mysterious “strange lights” that have appeared in the sky. It’s that kind of place. Oriel  seems a bit dismissive. Is he testing us? We laugh, but I say that, “I want to believe.”

There have been mysterious disappearances. People have been lost while visiting Montserrat. Are they “abductions” or have people just got lost while hiking the rought terrain?   

 

After visiting the museum we will take a “soft” hike. The trail winds around the tops of the mountain, but the incline is not very steep. The trail is mostly flat.  

There is a short delay while we wait for Anya. She is one of the tardy tourists from this morning. She doesn’t show up and Oriel figures she can catch up with us on the trail. Her friend thinks she may have already left. “She’s probably looking for us.”  

We took a hike with incredible views. We’re above the tree line. Most of the flora are bushes. Oriel points out that the bushes have spines on the bottom half, but not on the top. Animals can’t reach the upper parts so there is no need for protective spines on the top half. Every advantage has to be used up here. Oriel says that maybe evolution will catch up someday, and there will be rabbits with necks like a giraffe. 

Oriel says that it looks sparse up here, but there is a wide variety of plants, especially herbs. On our way down we will pass through oaks and other trees. Technically it’s a Mediterranean fauna, but it is unique. 

  

Few animals survive up here. There are rodents. Goats were introduced. 

I keep seeing small, very thin lizards. Are they skinks?  

Oriel points out some of the landmark figures in the rocks. “The United States has Mt. Rushmore... We have the Ape. The Mummy and the Little Mummy.” 

  Oriel rattles off the height of the peaks as he points to them. St. Salvador. 1,152 meters. Mt. San Jerome. 1,236 m. 4,288 ft It’s the high point of Montserrat. 

We stop for a break outside a small chapel. It’s kind of odd. We’re at a high elevation. It must have taken great effort to build even a small chapel up here. St. Michael’s Chapel is known for its weird acoustics. 

The Nazis searched Montserrat for the Holy Grail. Himmler visited Franco in 1940 and he made a trip to Montserrat. They were convinced that the Montserrat area was the home of Parsifal. The castle was known as Montsalvat in Wagner’s operas.  

This made two Holy Grail stories on  this trip. There was a legend that the Grail was on the Hill of Tara near Dublin.  

We’re on the way down now and Oriel points out a White Poplar tree. “It’s a sign of water.” Sure enough there’s a reservoir nearby.  

Montserrat was hit by a wildfire in 1956 and there was another one in the early Eighties. Water had to be helicoptered in from Barcelona! We can see goats on a nearby hillside. They’re usually seen after rain. Oriel points out a spot on another hillside. It’s a gathering point in case of fire. It’s hoped the open space can keep people safe until they’re evacuated by helicopter. 

There are statues along this section of the trail. St. Francis of Assissi. Pablo Casals: “He played at John F. Kennedy’s inaguration!”  We can see the famous cross on the other side of a chasm. 

We make it back to the Abbot Oliba Square. This is the area with the Basilica and Museo. “You’re luck you weren’t here yesterday.” Sunday had been a very crowded day up here. There had been a big foot race up to Abbot Oliba Square. Family and friends wait near the Basilica for the racers to finish. “It was a mob scene.”

Vendors are setting up for a farmer’s market. “They have it every day.” The soil produces oddly colored fruits and vegetables. Some are unique to the area.

Anya is still missing. Her friend will try to find her outside of the Basilica. She seemed nice, but I’m more interested in getting a look at the Basilica and going to the nearby art museum. There’s not much we can do if she was abducted by space aliens.   

People are gathering to hear the choir. They perform daily. It’s getting a little crowded, but there are still seats in the pews. I take a seat and enjoy the Basilica. What kind of herculean effort did it take to build a basilica up here? 

At the back of the Basilica there is a line. There is a two hour wait to see the Black Virgin. The people in line look determined and devout.

Outside the Basilica there is a star on the ground. This is the spot where the statue of the Virgin stopped and became too heavy to move. It’s a religious photo opportunity. People take turns standing near it while they get their picture taken.  

We have a choice here. We can stay and hear the world famous boy’s choir or we have free time. Joe Ragen had given me a great tip in Barcelona. He said the Museo Montserrat was a must. It’s mentioned online, but most tourists get so wrapped up in seeing the Basilica and the natural highlights that they don’t have time for the museum. They miss it. Only a fraction of visitors to Montserrat go into the art museum. Most will check out the performance by the choir.   

The Museo Montserrat is home to over a thousand works of art that were donated to the Benedictine monks. A small percentage of them are displayed. I stroll in assuming admission was part of the deal. A security guard informs me that I need a ticket. 

The museum was renovated in 1982. You enter and go down a set of stairs. Most of it is below street level.  

Most of the works were collected by a monk: Father Beneventura Ubach started collecting in 1906. Caravaggio. El Greco. He got a great collection from the “Biblical Middle East.” 

There are many portraits of the Virgin Mary. The Nigra Sum. 

A room is protected by a curtain. A sign says “Vacarisses.” It’s a room displaying icons. Is the curtain meant to shield the icons from sunlight and dust, or is it there to keep people out? It adds to the mystique. A young woman was inside with a child. “You can come in here.” She tells me. “Thanks.” It’s the Phos Hilaron, the “joyous light.” The room also has the “treasure of Montserrat.” 

The museum has works from the 19th and 20th Century including a large canvas by Salvador Dali.

There’s a short wait at the cafe for the bus to meet us. I see a gypsy moth hovering over some flowers!

It was another amazing day on this trip. It’s like a dream to look back.  

We’re dropped off at the departure point which isn’t too far from the Ramblas. I take a leisurely stroll back to the hotel down the Passeig de Gracia. I find an Antiques Mall! I can’t resist this. It’s a modern building and it looks like it could be an American shopping mall, but the window displays have older looking Spanish antiques. Dolls. Vinyl with old record players. Paintings. A hodge podge of small items.  

There are at least twenty shops in the mall. Some were empty, but most of them were open. Shops specialized in furnishings, coins and prints.

“Dreta de l’Eixample.” “Bulevard dels Antiquaris.”

I found the Ramblas and headed back to the hotel for a well deserved reset. 

Back on the Ramblas. People were looking up at an apartment’s balcony. An attractive, buxom blonde was waving and blowing kisses to people on the street below. It’s Marilyn Monroe! 

There was some resemblance. She did have the mannerisms and smile down. A small crowd was gathering. She swirled and went into the apartment. Her skirt swirled up behind her, like the scene from The Seven Year Itch that drove Joe DiMaggio nuts. 

I went by the Cathedral and it was finally open! It might have been my last chance. There is a small charge. The choir area in the back is very impressive. I notice the Black Madonna retablo more now after my visit to Montserrat. There is a sculpture of a saint with a sword through his head. Below is the crypt of St. Eulalia.   

The outside gardens are tagged: “Sant Pere Santa Caterina i la...” It’s the same cloister that I saw earlier with the swans and palm trees. I still take some time to walk through it. 

Last night in Barcelona. Have to hit the Ramblas. I go into a church on the Ramblas. The Betlem Church. It’s modern, but there are some hard core Catholic images. The poor souls in purgatory reach their hands up for mercy. The Virgin and Child hover overhead. I exit and turn back on the Ramblas.   

A large building is open for an exhibit. It’s the Palau de la Virreina. La Rambla, 99. A sign on its facade says “Photographic Institute” “Ciutat Vella.” There are large fantastical figures in the front of the building. They’re fanciful, mythological figures. One is a dragon with a bouquet in its mouth. In the back are the large puppet figures I had seen parading on Carrer Ferran Carrer on Saturday night! The puppets are almost ten feet tall. So I had not been hallucinating!

I’ll hang out in the Plaza Rial on my last night in Barcelona. I order a sangria and the waiter asks, “White or red?” I didn’t even know there was white sangria. I have a table in the first row on the plaza. Five young Black guys walk up and start stretching. They look like NFL players. They start jumping around and do an aerobic dance routine.  They’re acrobats. Their routine is very good, but I leave after one. Waiter, “Just one?” “I’m flying tomorrow.”

There was a bookstore across the street from my hotel. The Libreria Sant Jordi. In the window were many volumes on history, especially World War II and the Spanish Civll War. It was tempting to go in, but I would just browse in the window. It was easy to translate some of the titles.  

A shabby looking homeless guy walked up and looked in the window. The owner spotted him from inside. He came over and put a closed sign up and then he locked the door. I don’t think it was really closing time. He had recognized the homeless guy and he didn’t want to deal with him. 

I went to the same tapas joint next to the hotel! Maybe I should have tried somewhere different, but there was such a variety in this place and I knew it was great. 

Barcelona is a fantastic city. It has long been a haven for free thinkers, artists and intellectuals, like San Francisco had once been. I hope the political problems are solved but I doubt it.

I had a 3:30 a.m. wakeup call for the ride to the airport. Can’t sleep anyway and I was up at 2:30. It’s just too early. It’s still dark out. Why did the streets seem so ominous that early in the morning. It was probably too early for criminals! 

I ask the concierge to order me a cab. There’s a middle aged couple in the lobby. “Are you going to the airport?” We realize we could have doubled up. The concierge won’t cancel my cab order. He says, “It can’t be done.” We could have been sharper. Maybe it’s just as well. 

The taxi shows up and we take a winding ride through the predawn streets of Barcelona. It’s my last look at the Gothic Quarter. Maybe it was the old buildings. They made everything seem very Noir. Maybe the early hour has made me a little paranoid. We passed the Barcelona Hilton where I had stayed the night of the Dublin to Granada flight fiasco. That seemed like a long time ago. We went through the industrial part of town. Tiny lights shined along the modern highway.   

I would fly from Barcelona to Rome for a connecting flight to Santorini on Vueling airlines. I was early. Maybe too early. The flight hadn’t been assigned a gate yet. 

Barcelona airport has been recently renovated. It looks very modern. Steel and glass. One thing about being so early, it sure cut down the line to check in. There were about twenty five people moving through stanchions to about ten airline clerks.  

I got in the queue. There wasn’t that many people in line. It was still early. 

A young Spanish guy behind me started waving to people in front of me to move up in the line. There was empty space ahead of them and they weren’t moving fast enough. 

Maybe he’s late for a flight, but if he is, he’s probably going to miss that flight anyway. I even considered just letting him go in front of me. No. Screw that. That’s probably what he wants. 

When we got closer to the counters he got even more frantic. He put his hand on my elbow to make sure I didn’t miss the next available clerk.

I was tempted to blast this guy, or at least rattle him, but we were in the airport. I have to play the game. If I lose my temper I’ll probably be an example of “air rage.” Just keep a low profile. There’s enough stress. Maybe a snide remark would have worked, but it was still before five o’clock in the morning. I just wasn’t feeling very snappy. The clerk I get seems new. He’s nervous enough that I notice it.   

 

Right after passing through security there is a huge shopping mall with boutique stores. Most of the boutiques sold perfume. It must be a big seller.  

I realized I didn’t have a printed boarding pass. Did the clerk at check in just blow it? Will I have to go back to the check in area to straighten it out? I gamble and go to the gate. There was still forty five minutes before boarding. I lurked near the empty check in desk. 

People starting lining up. Most passengers carried their luggage. I had allowed myself the luxury of checking my luggage. The Rick Steves bag was convenient, but I did like walking through the airport without dragging it along. Two young female Vueling attendants arrived. They had to set up their equipment before checking people in. I watched them like a hawk. How big of a deal would this be? I went up to their desk. One of the attendants immediately said, “Oh, we’ll get you a boarding pass!” I’m relieved that they’re not sending me somewhere else. 

I land in Rome for the connector flight to Santorini. It’s still hard to believe I’m traveling to these places. What will Santorini be like? Well, I can say I was back in Rome, even if it was just at the airport. I had tossed a coin in the Trevi Fountain on the 2016 tour.  

I wasn’t sure where the gate was. There were TV monitors, but I couldn’t find my flight to Santorini on the screen. People were hustling and running to flights.   

A woman with a vest on was wandering the busy corridor. She was some kind of “Ambassador.” She brought me to an Info desk. The woman here seems a bit contemptuous of both of us. How could I not know where I was going? How could the Ambassador distract her from doing her nails?! I forgot this was the big city! I felt a little bit like a rube.

Then she was total efficency. She very quickly pulled up the flight info on her computer and got rid of me quickly. It was on to Santorini!