Barcelona Day 7

Arose early to grab breakfast before running off two blocks to meet our Monserrat guide. Excited, as this was to be one of the major highlights of the trip. Found our way to the narrow street meeting point, identifiable by the number people milling about. Met our guide, Arturo, who appeared to be in his 30s but was actually in his 40s. He arrived late because he openly admitted that he had been partying after a fütball game the night before and was a little hung-over from the wine. The group was divided between those of us who would be hiking down the mountain and those who would be going with Arturo’s partner, Roger, who would be taking them horseback riding.

We boarded a very comfortable bus (masks, of course) and took a pleasant 45-minute ride through Barcelona on a multi-lane highway that took us to Monserrat. Our driver was aggressive and despite the 80K speed limit, kept us between 95-100Kph. Did I mention that buses here are run on natural gas or hybrids (natural gas and diesel). Quiet and far less smelly. The scenery along the way was lovely but the rise of Monserrat (means Serrated Mountain) dominated the horizon. Its jagged outline reminded us of the rugged beaches we’d seen in the Azores. Nine winding kilometers up, up, up - amazing panoramas every inch of the way.

The Monserrat monastery was not actually at the top of the mountain but was well up the peak. The driver parked our bus well below the monastery. We debarked and began a brief tour of the basilica dedicated to the Black Madonna. We were told this referred to the Virgin Mary who watched over the dark skinned workers or the lower classes. The Monastery begun as a place of prayer for a holy order, remains so but has also become a major musical academy. As inaccessible as this compound is, it was destroyed twice, once during the Napoleonic Wars after which it was rebuilt and then destroyed again during the Spanish Civil War … only to be rebuilt again! At present it contains 60 monks, most of whom are elderly. Only ten actually reside there. Arturo said that it won’t be long before there will no longer be any monks, as people in general are becoming less and less religious.

We were told we would not be riding the “zipper.” The “zipper” refers to the train that traveled through the mountain (its tracks did indeed look like a huge zipper). Instead, we would be taking a funicular up the mountain. Up – always up. (to those unfamiliar – a funicular is like a inclined elevator. Pittsburgh has one) Piling into the funicular cars, cheek to jowl, we rode a fair distance up, unloaded, and took in the thoroughly awesome views of Catalan/Spain below. Although threatened with rain, the sky was now clear so we could see all the way to the French Pyrenees. Once everyone had taken their share of picture memories we began hiking back down to the Monastery. The wide path we took was largely rutted concrete, which begs the question how in the hell AND who in the hell managed to bring all that concrete all the way up this incredibly steep mountain???

The vigorous trip down took about an hour. We pitied the undaunted few who chose to walk up. Afterward we were given 45 minutes to grab a bite to eat and shop for souvenirs. Jen bought a sandwich. I had a beer and a package of thinly sliced delicious Iberian ham. Browsed a bit and bought some trinkets, then passed by a dozen stalls on our way back to the bus. Here locals (locals?) passed out samples and sold a variety of cheese, honey, and bread. We fell in love with a sharp-tasting Manchego. We bought a half wheel. An incredible experience all the way round.

Next adventure – laundry.

The ride back was uneventful. We both took naps. Made our way again to the hotel where we located a lavenderia three blocks away, loaded up dirty laundry, and struck out to clean our clothes, trundling them along in the smaller of our wheeled suitcases, we made quite a racket. All sidewalks in Spain seem to be decorative cement tiles, we clackety-clacked the whole way. Found the place easily enough and with the help of the very friendly, elderly Spanish owners, placed our load in a washer and settled into chairs at an outdoor table a few doors down where we ordered coffees and rolls while we waited. Washing and drying a fair-sized load cost 12 Euros. Waiting for the drying, coffee eventually led to vino blanco. The white wine we were served was a delicious Monserrat Grenache – bottled in the very region from which we had just come. Serendipity.

Once I finish this writing session we are off to find a nearby Tapas restaurant to sate our growing hunger and perhaps … a tad more wine. Dear readers, from the description of our alcohol content you may get the wrong idea. We do not at all enjoy beer, wine or hard liquor. It is medicine. Purely medicinal.

So, we sauntered down the street seeking our moveable feast. We visited one outdoor Tapas Bar after another. In each we chose one to two tapas, tomato bread and one glass of wine, blanco o tinto as the mood moved us. I won’t go into details other than to say our delicious encounters involved: olives, artichokes, crispy ham, beef medallions and Russian salad. Glorious! Made more so by the traveling accordionist that stuck up her music beside our final table. The bill at each table was always an afterthought. Ended with a visit to a Häagen Dazs store. Another day in Catalan paradise.

Buenas noches.

I am posting a selection of the thousands of pictures we took on Facebook. Look me up there and see what we saw!