Buzzed on Spain, Part 7

Churches, Christian and Otherwise

December 30

It’s Sunday afternoon and I came back to the hotel for a rest, if not a siesta. I still have a bottle of Rioja that Joanna and I bought in Valencia in case there was no place open on Christmas Day. But I’ve told you how great that holiday turned out.

After I packed up at the bar in the Atocha station, there was a train ride for almost three hours to Barcelona. The train was packed because people were traveling for New Year’s Eve. The guy next to me offered me a section of his newspaper, when I told him that I was OK, he asked where I was from. Montclair, New Jersey.

His father had a company called Solthermatic, or something like that, which had a factory years ago in Trenton, New Jersey.

I was born in Trenton, a long time ago.

They ask you not to talk too much in your seats in the coaches, out of consideration for other passengers. So the passenger in 1C, next to me, spent much of the time on his phone in the vestibule.

The track runs through pleasant country. More vines and orchards, hills, towns, villages. I saw a man with a stick and a dog with a flock of sheep. He even had a cloth cap on. I’ve never seen that outside the movies before. 

I am so lucky. Everywhere I turn, there is something cool to see. And what’s more, I have the ability to go and see it. I say thank-you prayers about that from time to time.

The train reached Barcelona a little after three. I took a cab to the hotel and checked in. Then I sent yesterday’s e-mail.

I tried to find a place to get my suit cleaned and some underwear washed, but nothing, not even the hotel laundry, seems to be open. There are some places a few miles away, but I can be more resourceful than to put myself out that far.

I wound up doing some hot-water rinsing in the sink and hanging stuff up to dry. The jacket is still serviceable, although a bit rumpled. I have another suit. I’m good to go.

Speaking of the sink. You pass it coming in from the hall. It’s right next to the door of the room. This is the first time I’ve had a hotel room that you enter through the bathroom.

I went out into the city shortly after five, when it was getting dark. I headed for the Old City, called the Barri Gòtic, the Gothic Barrio.

It’s got the old port, where the statue of Columbus points the way out, and lots of old churches, including Basilica Mare de Déu de la Mercé. I think it’s Catalan and translates literally into English as Mother of God of Favor or maybe Mercy.

In the church the representations of the Virgin Mary were all called Mare de Déu. There was a replica of the black Madonna of Monserrat in the church. You know I dropped a euro to light a candle with her.

Another highlight of the Barri Gòtic is La Cervetica, a brewhouse that sells its own ales and lots of craft beers from all over, including the States. I had two house brews: Tarraco I.P.A., which is darker and smokier than most India pales that I have had, and Fort Amber Ale, sharp and bitter, and at 5.3 percent reasonably “fort.” I had those with a couple of slabs of sardine and slices of black pudding. 

Back at the hotel, I ordered one more beer for the night. Una cerveza, por favor. The barkeep brought two. I wanted one. He told me my Spanish is no good.

He started to put one glass under the bar. No, that’s all right. Está bien. I’ll take them both. One I drank at the bar and the other in the room.

This morning I visited Sagrada Familia, the famous church designed by Antoni Gaudí. He died decades ago, and the church is still under construction. You can see some of its spires and the building cranes from this hotel, through a window near the elevators. 

After reading about it and seeing a few photos, I expected to find one of the ugliest buildings ever, but no, it is so far over the top that it is heroic. If you’re ever in Barcelona and don’t have time to get over to Our Lady of Favor, go see Sagrada Familia.

The photo of the day is a detail of the church, the nativity, which is over the principal doors of the eastward facing facade. I like the donkey head peeking around Mary.

It may be the most famous church in Spain. Certainly it’s up there with the top attractions. It was hard to photograph because the streets around it were so full of people. 

 At first, I wasn’t sure there were any services scheduled in the church. I finally found a schedule. There was a mass in Catalan scheduled for 11:30, and for a brief instant I expected to go listen to it.

Then I saw the line stretching around the block. Judging from the crowd, there was no way that was going to be possible. 

From there I made a meandering bee line toward the Gothic cathedral in Barri Gòtic.

On the way, I passed a strange-looking building and didn't guess at first what it was.

I stopped for a beer, because you shouldn’t go to church without one. Actually, it was to rest my feet and to look at the tourist map without standing in the street.

The cathedral, or seu, of Barcelona is an imposing structure, as all cathedrals are. I don’t know who is on the spire. The figure looks like a bishop, not like Jesus.

The square in front of the cathedral was full of life, not only tourists, but also others come for the street market, and to hear the musicians.

The Chapel of St. Lucy, hard by, is “a place of prayer,” the sign says. And so I knelt and said one of those thank-you prayers for all the luck in my life. To have known so many wonderful people. To love them and be loved back. To be able to spend the New Year, if I choose, buzzed in Spain.

I lit a dozen candles for everybody.

This made me tear up, so I got the hell out.

I may be cathedraled out for a while. I didn’t go into the Gothic cathedral, just took some shots of the square and some old Roman walls nearby. 

There was a cool sign outside that showed a guy in a baseball cap and shorts and a woman in a short skirt next to a STOP sign. Long pants, no hat, and skirt to the knees were a go.

But after all those churches, I decided to give the Old Time Religion some corresponding attention. I found the Carrer de Paradis with the help of a bartender and one of his customers. It snakes up from one corner of the city hall to the back of the cathedral. I was almost there hours earlier but of course had no idea.

I wanted to find it because that’s the where remains of the Temple of Augustus are. Yeah, I know that Augustus is only a few years older than Jesus and he probably was never a god until after Jesus was born, but hey, his religion is a whole lot older.

Some other folks walked in ahead of me, and when they left I started to shoot video. It was one of those incredibly fortuitous moments, like the video of the flower market in Amsterdam. I started the camera and bells began to ring. Maybe the Augustus arranged it from Pagan heaven in the Elysian Fields. 

And just as the bells stopped, so did the camera. Memory card full. I’ve been shooting so much video that I filled an entire 4 gigabyte card in little more than a week.

I dashed out, and that’s when I discovered how close to the cathedral the temple is. I wanted to get to the hotel for one of my backup cards and back to the temple while the light held. Dumb and wasteful plan, sure, but it was the first solution that came to mind. Across the square, past the guy making giant bubbles with a wand and the guy doing great violin karaoke to Bach, was a souvenir store that had a sign reading “Kodak.” 

I don’t know about Kodak, but they had memory cards, and I bought an exact duplicate of the one that was full in my camera. Problem solved. I walked back to the temple and finished shooting. 

Given all the good luck I enjoy, I decided to give my feet a rest and risk the Metro. I had to ask the guard outside a museum near City Hall for directions, and once he pointed the way it was easy to find. 

Then it was four stops to the neighborhood of the hotel, and less than five minutes to get my bearings above ground. I figured I’d walk around in circles till I found Carrer de Pere IV (I don’t have clue how to say that), which would take me in the right direction. 

Even then, luck stayed with me, because I didn't have to circle far. The street lay hidden beyond the corner of a building about 30 degrees around.

So here I am. It’s about 7 p.m. local time. The Rioja bottle is lighter than it was when I started. Restaurants and bars are going to start opening downtown. I'll be stepping out soon to try a few of them.

Everything is fine. I’m one lucky son of a bitch.

Harry

Dec. 30

My own take on Sagrada Familia is that it was probably the number one destination for people dropping acid in the 1960s. The line. "MacArthur Park is melting in the dark" could have been inspired by the original Gaudi facade. Easily the weirdest building I have ever seen. And one of the greatest cities. 

Alan


Dec. 30

What are you doing for the big night? I was in Southern Spain for New Year's 2007/2008—Jerez de la Frontera, to be exact.

I was wandering all over the city, and nothing was open! Bars, restaurants, etc., all closed. I managed to find a mediocre Chinese place for dinner, and continued to wander the streets. Tons of fireworks and firecrackers, but not much of anything else. Until I came upon a big celebration in the central town square. Everyone was there! They were selling cava, there was amplified music and a big projection of a clock ticking off until the new year. I noticed everyone had a bag of grapes. I later learned that this is the tradition in Southern Spain; you eat twelve grapes as the clock strikes 12. I bought myself a bottle of cava and got tanked. Crazy night.

Larry

P.S. A little more wine knowledge tutoring. You mentioned in a previous e-mail you drank a wine from Castilla y Leon and you noticed how it had less body and "stuffing" than the Riojas you were enjoying so much. You postulated that the weather was probably warmer in Rioja, making for riper, more intense wines. Well Riojas are generally much better than wines from Castilla y Leon, but it's not because of the weather. Indeed, Castilla y Leon is one of the hottest growing areas for wine in Spain

—lots of flat land and high yields. 

Rioja is cooler with more hills (and even mountains, if I'm not mistaken). Yields are kept lower, and the struggle of the vines in harsher conditions—cool nights, rockier soils, etc.—make for more interesting, more complete wines. 

Even if the grapes can actually get riper in Castilla y Leon, they don't have the complexity and other characteristics you'll find in Riojas. It's why Rioja is one of the premium wine producing areas in Spain, not far from the Basque country in Northwest to north central Spain. 

Dec. 31

Be well and enjoy, Sensei.

A lot of the restaurants here are offering expensive prix fixe dinners for New Year's Eve. I'll ask about where the big gatherings are. I really enjoyed the one we stumbled into last year by the moat.

It's great to be back in a place where the flowers bloom this time of year.

Thanks for the info on wine. Cava for the New Year sounds just about perfect.

Grasshopper