A day in the light of Gaudi

“My client is not in a hurry.  God is patient.”

Last full day in Barcelona and in Spain.  We decided to fill it with Gaudi visits starting in the morning with Casa Batllo then a tour at Sagrada Familia and the evening at the Casa Mila La Pedrera apartments.

The Sagrada is unlike any of the giant churches that I have been in because it has no soul at this point of it’s life  A huge noisy construction site that you don’t need a rosary or hard hat to visit.  There are signs asking for silence so you can pray?  Eventually, there will be twelve towers one for each of the Apostles, at this point a few of them are still construction cranes.  The guide told us that the church is used only 12 times a year (noise) and tourist’s euros are the only source of construction funding. They are on a tight schedule with construction expected to be done in 2026, one hundred years after Gaudi’s death.  When criticized for the length of time it was taking to finish Gaudi responded  “My client is not in a hurry.  God is patient.”

About the light… the outside is like a giant sand castle with all of the religious superstars of the Bible carved into the stone facades.  When you walk in you are washed by the light of the building’s carefully placed stained glass windows.  As the position of the sun changes so do the color patterns inside.  The effect is like being inside one of those kaleidoscopes of our past, the light washes over, around, and though you especially as the sun goes down. The effect is brilliant.  Some say art is about managing light and Gaudi was definitely an artist and architect.

When visiting these cavernous churches I question their whole concept.  They are a great window on the past but stained by the fact they are more about tourists than congregants.  The funds that have gone into building and maintaining these stone relics seem better spent on the people that they are meant to serve.  Is it really about God?  Or the power and politics of the people who built, managed, and paraded them?  Spain is asking themselves a similar question.  With thousands of cultural sites do you commit to keeping them all in good repair?  or let a few hundred of them tumble? This is is just my humble opinion as an American without much exposure to even my own cultural heritage.  And I am one who appreciates cultural sites before they become ruins.

Finishing our day with a nighttime light show on the Casa Mila rooftop was a bit anti-climatic after The Sagrada.  Projectors paint the towers and chimneys of the building with images from nature and history.  I’m not sure if Gods architect would have signed off on this one but I expect it helps support the upkeep of the building.   A little Cava at the end of the show was a nice touch.

The beauty of spending the day with Gaudi is that you begin to see traces of his influence everywhere.  The font on some of the building signs, the gothic modernist Art Deco feel of the older parts of the city. The undulating ceilings of the recently completed airport.  Barcelona was lucky to have Gaudi the architect as a resident. And we were lucky to be touched by its light.

Barcelona Spain November 11th, 2015

 

Barcelona past and present

November 9, 2015

Barcelona Past, and present…

Have you ever read a book and wanted to visit the place as a result of the book?

I never had until I read “The Angels Game” by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. The book may be what some would refer to as a Gothic novel set in the 1800s. The main character is Daniel, a tormented writer who sells his soul to the devil and pays the consequences throughout his life. It’s also about Barcelona of the past when the Philippine tobacco factory where we are staying in was producing Toscanis. It’s renovated into an urban-hip hotel now, and the tobacco smell a distant memory.

Imagine …. A time when the people that you met on the streets were international explorers and entrepreneurs that sailed the far-reaching Spanish Empire of South America, the Far East, and Cuba in search of love, profits, and stories. The fog-shrouded harbor buried in Barcelona’s seedy industrial quarter was damp and daunting, the ships smelling of grease and rusting steel, grimy with salt spray.

Walking the streets of La Rambla the first misty morning, I felt like I had been here before. There was a comfortable feeling, like, finally I’m back (after 100 years?). Vicki says “give you a harbor or ocean and you’re happy”.

Fast forward to the Barcelona of today, The harbor is still here, modern docking facilities welcome the ships which are swabbed shiny clean, and painted white. Their sailors are wearing sensible shoes and looking for a good English breakfast.

Small business is thriving with multiple layers of distribution and business plans. At the lowest rung, the owner is nomadic, carrying his goods in large bags and able to relocate at a moment’s notice or when the police are nearby. The next layer are the sanctioned vendors in tent-like structures, who may or may not pay taxes and are not targeted by the policia.

Wanna buy a purse?

Then, of course, you have the old brick and mortar shops carved out of nooks and crannies throughout the city.

It’s so much easier and cheaper to get a good purse today. “You must be kidding these are vinyl? They look so real” said Vicki.

Back to the provenance of the “The Angels
Game” I was in the library attached to the
apartment where we were staying outside of
Lucca, Italy. The space was dusty with history and filled with well-played chess pieces. Books that were 100s of years old on the shelves behind ancient poured glass doors. There was one paperback book in English with my name in the front cover.Destiny or coincidence? Travel encourages you to ask but seldom answers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Granada on three canyas a day

Granda and to some degree other cities in Spain have a tradition of offering for free, a small, usually delicioso plate of food (tapas) whenever you buy a beer or other drink. Maybe even water, but I haven’t been drinking much of that. A typical day starts with a wonderfully strong coffee, a small breakfast, and a long walk.

Granada is confusing with all the small non-grid streets, but easy to navigate
after just a few wrong turns. The financial district and designer stores are a
short walk from the ancient squares and the tiny streets where only the
bravest drivers with the bumper cars go. You walk from Spanish Tapas to Middle Eastern Hookahs in less than 20 minutes.

By 1 pm the coffee buzz is wearing off and it’s time for the locals and tourists to take a break. The cafes are full with a party atmosphere, where there are hundreds or thousands eating and drinking for next to nothing. A canya is typically 8oz. of CruzCampo lager. I overheard some Brits saying the food & drink would be three times as much in their country.

 

Calle Grande via Colon

Near many of the restaurants, guitar playing and other performers perform for the crowd. I have been contributing about .5 Euro when the minstrel comes around with the hat after having made a mistake the first time and refusing to pay.

I was severely cursed with references to Christ and body parts in the blessing and since referred to this as the beggars curse. All the street performers in the past days have fared much better: my wish is to avoid too many curses while visiting. By 4:00 p the shops and restaurants are shuttered and it’s time to head back to the hotel for a siesta or just quiet writing time. Around 6 pm the church bells remind the city that it’s time to reawaken. The bells are joined by the sound of the metal shop doors opening, espresso machines, and minstrels going back to work. Dinner hour for the tourists is eight, and by nine the locals fill the empty chairs and there is standing-room only in the more popular spots.

The country encourages you to live by their longtime traditions and once you understand it a little,

?Porque no?

Not just another rainy Ronda Monday

Rhonda Vista

Arrived at Hotel la Fuente de la Higuera after a damp low clouded
drive through mountainous terrain interrupted by 100-mile views. The rain may fall mainly on the plain, but I can assure you some of it reaches the mountains.

We were greeted by Gina, an effervescent young lady with more energy than outlet. The daughter of the hotel owner showed us pictures of herself as a child sitting on a table amongst the rubble, a crumbling building in the background. Her parents, a Dutch sailor and German hippy, bought the ruins 18 years ago and rebuilt it from the ground up in a less than a year. Pom, Gina’s dad, is a Bon homie with the swagger of a Keith Richards like character complete with longish Scandinavian hair and an apple green scarf. He has the ability to connect with his house guests in at least five languages with stories of travel, renovation, and plans for a mid-life single-handed sailing dream.

I suspect that Gina’s mother is the reason for the fast track project schedule. “Not Manana” is the credo of the house. The family has also completed The Lodge, a family gathering/ wedding appropriate property, nearby. Their current project is an upscale residence in Malaga, designed for their best clientele. High energy seems to be a family gene.

One difference between a nice place to stay and an experience that you wish to return to is not thread count sheets or the artisanal soaps in the bathroom. It’s not the food that is served (although meals here were delicious). You can always eat somewhere else. I believe it is how the innkeeper makes you feel during your stay.

 From the time we walked through the front gate the family has made us and the other guests feel like they are happy that we are here. It is a “welcome to our home” attitude, a way in which we would treat a house guest or family member in our own home. This is hard to accomplish day after day, guest after guest, especially when some of the guests can be less than enchanting, even on a good day.

The property has 10 rooms with sitting areas, and most have outside terraces. At night we left the Danish patio doors open to balance the radiator heat with the cool rainy Spanish night. The rooms opened onto a light-filled tower room where a wood burning stove was generating heat from the olive fall. The alarm of fresh baked croissant aroma awakened us promptly at 7:00 am. I walked up the muddy hill behind the property to try and capture the romance of the site, but because a picture only tells a thousand words, I guess we will just have to come back.

 

One of Ronda’s three bridges

 

“Ronda is the place where to go if you are planning to travel to Spain for a honeymoon or for being with a girlfriend. The whole city and its surroundings are a romantic set.… Nice promenades, good wine, excellent food, nothing to do

Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961)