Barcelona, Spain - Day 14

Monday, September 19th

          After the included breakfast at the Caldonian Hotel. We took a taxi with Bill and Miriam to Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria,  more often referred to simply as La Boqueria. This huge open air market has been a favorite both with tourists and with city residents.

           Although there must surely have been open air markets as early as 15 B.C. in the town that was to grow into Spain's second largest city with a population of more than 5 million, the present Boqueria was not completed in its present location just off La Rambla until 1853.

           In just the small section we were able to explore we were impressed by the variety of foods artistically arrayed in colorful geometric patterns.

           Leaving the market, we rambled down La Rambla, one of Barcelona's most charming features. A broad avenue, shaded by overspreading plane trees, is given over primarily to pedestrian use. Narrow automobile traffic lanes run down each side of the wide central section where vendors' booths sell an incredible range of goods. 

 

     News stands, pet supplies and pets, bird vendors, fresh vegetables, books, clothing, shoes, candy, displays of tourist trinkets compete for attention with buskers playing music and performance artists attired in amazing outfits holding as still as statues, waiting for the clink of a coin in their collection to animate them.

 

         We took a side street off La Rambla toward the Barri Gòtic, the oldest part of the city where many of the buildings date from medieval times, and some as far back as the Roman settlement of Barcelona.

 

          Eventually we found a bus stop on the Red Line, and climbed to the upper deck for a ride to La Sagrada Familia, a Roman Catholic church designed by Antoni Gaudí, and perhaps the most famous Barcelona landmark. 

          The architectural works of Gaudí are known for their modernistic flowing lines, unusual themes taken from his view of nature, the use of broken tile facings and mosaics, and catenary arches - the curve assumed by a hanging rope. When flipped over, the catenary arch distributes any load placed on it evenly over the entire span.

          Gaudí was not widely admired or accepted in his time. One of his now appreciated designs, Casa Milà, was disparagingly referred to as "La Padrera"...the rock quarry!

          When Gaudí took over the design of La Sagrada Familia in 1883 at the age of 31, he included Gothic, curvilinear, and Modernism forms with impressive structural columns and catenary arches, including a rich variety of Christian symbols. A hundred and twenty eight years later the construction still continues. It is projected to be completed by 2028, 145 years after it was started.

 

     Back on the Red Line we continued our loop, getting off at the waterside stop of Maremagnum. We found a lovely restaurant overlooking the boats, and enjoyed a delicious seafood paella dinner while we watched the sun set behind the hills across the harbor.

 

     After our last dinner in Spain we headed back to the hotel. Passing the statue of Columbus, it seemed that he was pointing the way for tomorrow's flight.

Carcassonne to Barcelona - Day 13

Sunday, September 18th

      Today actually started today about 3:30 a.m. with the passing of a rumbling street sweeper strobing its red lights across the ceiling and loud wake-me-up beep-beep-beeping as it backed up to swish another swath past the room if the first pass hadn't done the job of interrupting sleep.

      That was close-followed by a mirthful late-night group calling back and forth to each other as the wove their way down the alley outside the window. The inebriated serenade was succeeded by at least two different garbage trucks, insuring that all the trash was emptied from the dumpster containers by shaking them vigorously.

      Soon after that the clattering growl of small European motorcycles preceded the alarm clock, which was set for 6:20. We shrugged into our clothes and hauled our suitcases down the stairs, through the alley, and into the lobby of the hotel, where we found some members of our group already waiting.

      Two taxis arrived at 6:50 to load luggage and passengers for the trip through the cobbled streets of old Carcassonne before they were closed to vehicular traffic for the day. It was only about a 15 minute ride to Le Gare Carcassonne, where we had a 45 minute wait for the first leg of today's train trip from Carcassnonne to Narbonne. The route took us smoothly and silently toward the Spanish border along the shoreline of southwestern France, often with water on both sides of us. We were entertained by the sight of windsurfers and kiteboarders taking advantage of the protected bays and strong winds.

      The second leg of the ride was on the TGV ( in French: Train a Grande Vitesse, which simply means "high-speed train"), and the scenery close to the windows was a green blur as the countryside rushed by. The precisely laid jointless track made the ride so smooth that except for the view out the windows it would have felt like we were barely moving.

      The last hour and forty-five minute segment from Figueras to Barcelona was also a high speed train, reaching speeds up to 140 km/hour, but the track was not nearly as smooth. The cars bumped, lurched, and swayed as we hurtled along, but classical music and Pavarotti singing opera through the speakers soothed the ride.

       It was a short ride in heavy traffic from the train station to the Caldonian Hotel on Gran via de les Cortes Catalanes in downtown Barcelona. The taxi driver, who in some earlier incarnation must have been a Le Mans participant, wove in and out between slower vehicles with great finesse, His side view mirrors often only inches from those he was passing on one side and those on the parked cars at the edge of the street. Since I had not observed any dings, scratches, or dents in the taxi while getting in, I only grunted and screamed internally, but was immeasurably relieved when we reached our destination unscathed.

      After a short rest we met Bill and Miriam in the lobby, and the four of us took another taxi to the Plaça de Catalunya, one of Barcelona's large squares. 

     There we caught the double-decker Red Line hop-on-hop-off tourist bus, one of three tourist bus lines that drive loops through the city.

Each passenger is offered a set of ear-bud headphones, and every seat has a place to jack in. You can listen to a narrative about each landmark in your choice of Catalan, Spanish, French, English, Italian, Russian, German, Japanese, Portuguese, or Chinese!

      For an hour and a half we rode through the city, passing the famous pedestrian street La Rambla, 

along the waterfront and the huge Maremagnum shopping center built out over the water, 

marveling at the number of really large sailing and motor yachts at the harbor marinas, out past the different venues for the 1992 Summer Olympics, and up Montjuïc where the neo-baroque Palau Nacional (National Palace) houses the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya. 

Its collection includes Roman, Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque art as well as 19th and 20th century works of art.

      It was well after dark by the time we got back, and the four of us had a satisfactory dinner at a tapas bar near the hotel before calling it a day.

Thursday, Day Three

Thursday, September 8

      It's dark, and Jane is up and moving about, making too much noise for the middle of the night. I think it's 1:00 am. It IS 1:00 am in Virginia, but it's 7:00 in the morning here in France, and it's dark because the curtains are keeping out the bright sunshine. I stumble out of bed and into some clean clothes, and we head down to the hotel lobby for a continental breakfast of Croissants, cafe au lait, fresh kiwi fruit, orange juice. Price is 7 euros, almost $10.

      At 8:30 we meet Robert and several others. We'll all ride together today on a trip to Bilbao, Spain.

      This time we stay on track for awhile. We pause from time to time to take toll road tickets or to insert them in toll booth slots and feed Euros into the slot that raises the gate to let us proceed. Since the formation of the European Union, there is no indication of any demarcation between France and Spain, no official border-crossing, no checking of passports, nothing. I'm not sure when we actually left France and entered Spain, but I do notice that all of a sudden all of the signs are in Spanish. Displayed with the Spanish language signs are additional rows of letters that are obviously yet another language, but I don't recognize it at all. It wasn't until later in the day that I learned that more than 600,000 people in north-western Spain and south-western France speak Euskara (yoush-KAR-ah), an ancient, isolated language that is believed to have been spoken in this region since long before the Roman invasions that started in 58 B.C. It doesn't seem to be related to any other known language in the world.

      As we approach the coast of the Bay of Biscay and the town of Orio, we exit to try to find restroom facilities. A narrow road winds first along a grassy ridge where we see several groups of hikers with backpacks, and a number of cyclists challenging the steep slopes.

      The road dips down between old two story houses. The smooth pavement disappears, replaced by cobblestones, and the street into the oldest part of this old fishing village becomes every steeper and narrower until poor Robert is forced to slow to a crawl, inching between walls that threaten to scrape the car on both sides. Everyone holds their breath as he inches around a very tight corner, hoping we don't get to a point where we can go no farther. It's certainly impossible at this point to back up!

      The steep slope lessens a bit and the street widens a bit as we approach the flat bottom of the valley next to the River Oria and enter the newer part of town. We move along a shop-lined street that appears to be only a few hundred year old, then come to several blocks of new apartment buildings. Robert pulls off on a blind side street, and several people scurry off toward the town center a block away to try to find restroom facilities. They later report that the owner of a small shop, not open, has allowed them access to the single toilet in his establishment.

      Taking a short walk while the others are away, I find an extended area close to the river where there are numerous small farming plots. I don't know if they are community plots or individually owned. I watch an old lady plucking fruit from the low lying branches of a fig tree near the dirt path. 

     Turning back toward the car, walking along a side street, I found a poster advertising the upcoming rowing races. Each boat appears to have 15 or 20 men manning the oars. I am amazed at the similarity of these Basque long boats in the picture to the fautasi longboats that are raced on the bay at Pago Pago, Samoa.

      In our attempt to get back on the highway to Bilbao we missed a turn somewhere, and spend perhaps 30 minutes wandering small, wooded, winding roads that lead us in a loop back into the lower part of Orio before we finally are able to proceed toward our destination.

      Robert has no clear idea of the exact location of the ultra-modern Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, so we get an extended rambling tour of various parts of this city of more than 350,000. Eventually though, we begin to spot signs to the museum, and find space in an underground lot to park the car about a half mile from the museum.

      The strange, random metallic curves of the Frank Gehry designed building on the banks of the Nervion River catch the late morning sun and also cast dramatic shadows to create a really fascinating piece of architecture. I had convinced myself ahead of time that I would dislike it, but was surprised that it was so intriguing.

     The members of the group wandered off in different directions, promising to meet back at the entrance to the parking garage no later than 4 pm. Jane and I strolled along the riverside and past the museum to view it from different sides, and settled to eat a light lunch of baguettes with thin-sliced ham and pieces of a delicious cheese at an outdoor cafe before heading into the Guggenheim.

      There were vast exhibit rooms with large abstract pieces of art and paintings that Sydney and Francis Lewis would have loved for their peculiarity. 

     I found that the building itself was the only really interesting piece of art, but that alone was worth the trip to Bilbao!