April 2, Hello Gaudi!

Our intended tour today was to visit Park Güell and Sagrada Familia.  I threw in an unintended trip to the hospital this evening, just to round the day off. 

After a hearty breakfast we are getting very accustomed to a guide and limovan picking us up every day for a new adventure.  We are also accustomed to grey days and rain.  This morning we met Delores who was going to show us two Gaudi architectural highlights of Barcelona.  The first is Parc Güell.  

Looking up at a walkway which is under a road 

Barcelona experienced rapid urban expansion as industrial revolution blossomed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  Eusebi Güell, a Catalan industrialist and art patron, sought to commission a new park-like community, targeting wealthy families seeking less congestion than in the city.  Güell commissioned the design of the park to the renowned architect, Antoni Gaudí.  In today's terms, Güell would be called a developer with a "built it and they will come" attitude.  

Supporta for a raised road

"Mushroom sculptures with seating"

Walkway underneath a road

The park was designed and divided into sixty lots.  Gaudi completed some of the infrastructure, including elevated roads, walkways, gatehouses, and a "hypostyle" market structure with a rooftop plaza. 

Hypostyle market space underneath a plaza

Ceiling of the market space

Detail of tile work

One of the gatehouses

Other than the gatehouses, only two homes were built, neither by Gaudi.  One of these was a model home.  When it became clear no one was going to buy it, Güell convinced Gaudi to buy it.  Gaudi lived there and used it as a work space until his death in 1926 (he was hit by a tram).  The park was a failure as a development, but the design and structures are now an integral part of a beautiful botanical eden.  About 9 million people visit the park every year, so forgive me if there are strangers in my photos!

Next up, the Sagrada Familia.  Wikipedia leads with the fact that it is the largest unfinished Catholic church in the world.  I think a better lead would be "Wow!! A huge cathedral riveling medieval ones and soon to be finished (soon, as in cathedral-years, kind of like dog-years but in reverse)!  Seriously, hopes are it will be finished next year, the centennial anniversary of Gaudi's death.  When complete, the Jesus Christ spire will make this the tallest cathedral in the world.

Sagrada Familia

"Pardon our dust", as our building signs would read, and with all the cranes, workers, and scaffolding in view, they just might make that goal of next year.  Mary told us when she was here 30 years ago, there were some walls, but no roof.  And not a lot of tourists, either.

View of the design workroom where all features of the church are modeled 

Construction of the Cathedral began in 1882.  It was designed as a much more a traditional, neo-gothic structure by Francisco Villar.  Ho-hum.  He had a disagreement with those promoting the project and resigned a year later.  Gaudi was recommended and took charge and radically changed the design.  The church was only about a quarter finished when Gaudi died. The Spanish Civil war interrupted construction and caused loss of some plans, but enough references and designs were left in Gaudi's workshop for work to start up again in 1950.

Parabolic shapes at elevation

Subtle colors, natural light from all directions

Gaudi's primary theme is light.  The architecture and engineering have the weight of the church carried through parabolic arches and columns, allowing the walls and parts of the ceiling to be fenestrated.  Huge stained glass windows change the mood of the church from cool blue greens in the mornmg to warm orange and red in the afternoon.  

A few of the windows (image is underexposed to show the true colors of the glass)

With sore necks from prolonged upward gazing, Dolores ushered us outside into, wait for it,.. pouring rain. Time to unfurl the umbrellas once more.  I thought by now my little travel umbrella would be toast, but I believe it has earned a ride back home to Alaska and not into a hotel trash bin.

The wonderful limovan takes us back to Hotel Mimosa, we refresh ourselves, then head to lunch at Boca Grande, a well rated restaurant a block away.  It is 2:00pm, after all, time for food. 

The main streets may be bustling with heavy traffic and pedestrians, but the occasional small, block dividing narrow streets offer a quiet alternative.  This is where we enjoy a wonderful lunch.  No stand-up tables or elbowing for tapas, instead we have white linen and multiple wine glasses.  This is one of the best meals I've had on the whole trip.  Too bad it gave me food poisoning.   

Spaghetti with fresh bivalves and shrimp 

Fully sated and done with walking and crowds for the day, we all nestled in our rooms to work on blogs or read or nap.  A short while into my nap I began feeling not so well.  Mark was snoozing comfortably so I just availed myself of the facilities (a very nice ensuite I might add) as quietly as I could.  Regrettably forfeiting my lovely lunch, I decided it best if I just continued my nap on the bathroom floor.  It was so nice and cool.  That's the last thing I remember until I was sitting in a hospital waiting room hours later.  Here's a plausible explanation.  Something I ate, probably one of those beautiful mollusks, disagreed with me causing nausea, etc., and in this circumstance, amnesia.  I got sick, I lost the ability to put short term memory into long term, and then I eventually got better.  At the hospital, I was given a transfusion for dehydration, a CT scan (clean), and four perscriptons.  I also got a memorable ride back to the hotel.  I remember nothing in between the cool, comfortable floor and the waiting room.  Weird.

Me, feeling better (and a bit hungry!)

When you are my age, occurrences like this can be scary, but in this situation, I wasn't the one scared.  My sympathy, concern, and love is for Mark and my friends who had to witness the event and take care of me, not knowing what the outcome would be, and doing so in a foreign country.  

My new punch line is, "as I recall...".  Being a curious sort, I have a minor regret that none of my photographer buddies thought to video my apparently incessant questioning "Where am I?" and "Are we supposed to be here?".  Molly will understand this curiosity of mine.  And Mary says I should also regret not appreciating the cute doctor who tended to me in the hotel and who sent me to hospital.  He was the same one who tended to Peter earlier. 

I slept well. All is good.

C

Lunch

Hospital

April 1, On to Barcelona!

Just as the weather gets nice, we leave.  San Sebastian was a delightful place to stay and we really lucked out with our hotel rooms for view and comfort.  Now, let's get to Barcelona!  We start with...

yep, a sleek black limovan.  But first, a tribute to a most common means of transportation...

Motorcycles are everywhere.  Unusual compared to the US, they are pretty quiet and most people seem to be using them just to get from A to B, and not showing off.

Vueling was the airline chosen to get us to Barcelona.  We didn't know until afterwards they have a terrible reputation for being late.  Our flight was posted as delayed by more than an hour as we got into the airport.  We hung out for a while before security because our gate hadn't been announced and there were some amenities in the area (food, toilets, chairs).  Eventually Mark and I went through screening, scouting for Mary and Peter and promising an update with what was on the other side.  Claiming four available seats and seeing the universal icon for restrooms, I "WhatsAppe'd" the others to come on through.  Unfortunately, P&M did not cotton on to the spread of our luggage being a seat holding tactic for them and they wandered off, sitting somewhere else.  An older man with a continuous cough seated behind them made them relocate once again.  Meanwhile, I'm thinking they've been held up at security.  I was getting worried.  When I went through security, my purse had to be inspected, not for the two phones, a Kindle, two cameras, and a teeny-tiny little knife blade I carry (Victorinix Swisscard, check it out), but for a cheap little step-counter.  They let me keep it.

I finally found our cohorts, explained our battle to keep two seats open for them, and then got chastised by Mary for not noticing the bathroom was unisex.  The stall doors all bore a gent or a skirted stick figure (how many women where skirts these days?), but apparently there is a urinals section everyone passes by and guys keep leaving the door to it open.  Oh the ick-factor, oh the trauma!  It may be days before I'm back in her good graces.

Our plane rolled up right outside the window much earlier than expected.  Also, the departure time got updated to be 45 minutes earlier than the prevous delayed time.  I guess air traffic control at EAS (San Sebastian airport) also relies on looking out a window.  An Iberian Air flight to Madrid had started boarding at the gate next to ours.  I mean right next to it.  Two doors couldn't be any closer and all those posts with the retractable bands weren't helping.  Then there was an announcement for our flight to board.  Having sprung for priority seats (first few rows, no extra legroom, but the middle seat kept empty), we entered the frey and "desculpe"-nudged our way to what we hoped was the head of the line for the Barcelona flight.  I might add, there were no other passengers in the holding area, just these two flights.  And no jetways -- the doors open, people sprint out onto the tarmac, and head for a staircase dove.  

It was a smooth, food-less flight, only an hour long.  Soon the Mediterranean was in sight and it promised to be as warm and sunny as it was in San Sebastian.

The Mediterranean again

Landing at the furthest most possible gate, we learned just how big the Barcelona (BCN) airport is.  Big.  And a lovely pale, sea-green glass walled structure.  An hour later, no, just kidding.., twenty minutes later we make it past customs (nobody there) to the arrivals greeting area.  Uh-oh, lots of sign-holding drivers, but none with Mary's name.  Just as Mary is about to speed dial Pablo (the trip planner and prime contact), Mark finds our guy who knew the flight was delayed, but not un-delayed.  Whew!  We have people again!

The motorcycle version of a delivery van

Even a higher density of motorcycles are in Barcelona, and quite a diversity.  The above two are delivery cycles.  

We are dropped off H10 Hotel Mimosa and immediately want a nap.  Not sure why, but there is something so tiring about air travel.  I think it has to do with always having to continuously be 'on alert' before and after being on the plane.  Of course on the plane there can be all sorts of other stress, mostly in the form of people.  We try to buy our way into reducing it whenever we can, but confinement is never fun.  Movies help.  Happy movies.

We had a tapas and walking tour planned for tonight but Peter had a foot injury from climbing up the hill yesterday in San Sebastian, so he opted out.  Mary stayed back to help him.  A trip to the hospital was necessary, but all turned out ok.  See Mary's blog for explanation (and much better photos).  Being the good friends that we are, we left them in their time of medical distress and went of a nice, chatty tour with Katia, a twenty-something who took us through the truly old part of Barcelona. 

Entrance to the Gothic Quarter

We learned the basics of the age if the city, the historic cycles, and a bit of key landmarks.  Along the way, we passed some roadworks.  Katia pointed out the Roman ruins discovered under the street opened up for repairs.  Construction gets stalled when you discover Roman ruins and no one knows when/if this street will be passible again.

All they wanted to do was fix a pipe

We ended at the harbor, about to have our last tapas until Mark pointed out we hadn't had a dessert yet.  Katia surreptitiously made a phone call or three.  She asked us what we planned on doing after.  We thought she meant "after" like in tomorrow.  Being twenty-something, she meant "after" our tour with her was done.  She had earlier indicated a few bars and 'happening' places we might enjoy.  We just looked at her and said "sleep."  

We had wandered around quite a while prior to getting to the harbor and as we sat down to our last but one tapas, I checked Google Maps to see how far from the hotel pillows we were.

Over 3 kilometers.  46 minutes walking.  Yes, definitely pillow time.  But we rallied on, having some battered and fried sardines, cod on a crepe, and a potato thing.  We lobbied for dessert to be on the way back.  Another discreet phone call.  Luckily it was just a block away.  Mark found a new liquor, ratafia.  It's a sweet, herby concoction many Spaniards make at home.  Hmm, there might be some experimenting when we get back to Anchorage.  

By the time we were done, I was so tired I totally forgot she told us how good the underground metro is.  We could have ridden from where we were to one block our hotel door.  But noooo, we speed-walked all the way back.  I think she was impressed with us because she said most of her clients say she walks too fast.  

Oh, just so you don't think we're total rotten friends, we had learned that Peter was OK, he did not have a broken foot, and they were still talking to us. 

Toodles.

March 31, Free Day

Free to do whatever we want, the first item on the agenda is to sleep in that hour we lost yesterday.  Breakfast is served until 11:30am, so no worry about missing a meal.  The weather continues to be glorious so we opt to tour on foot parts of San Sebastian not yet seen.  Our rooms face directly onto the Beach of La Concha, but the entrance to the hotel itself is oddly at the back, on a mostly shuttered little square.  It was nice enough this morning to gather in the shade before setting off.

Lasala Hotel

Like every town and city we've been to, it's all about walking.  I once commented to a guide about how much olive oil is consumed and how few overweight Spaniards there are.  She said simply "it's because we walk everywhere all the time". And by our witness, that is true.  Two factors promote this: streets in older communities are narrow with limited or no parking, and all visiting and socializing seems to be done outside one's home.  And unless you live on the ground floor (mostly reserved for commerce), there are lots of stairs to climb, all contributing to more fit people.

Cubic six foot square stones as breakwater

We ambled out from our hotel, around the point to the north, past the Atlantic, back into the shelter of the mouth of the Urumea River and across a bridge to the end of Zurriola beach. This beach is exposed directly to the ocean, we see a little bit of surfer action.  

Across the Urumea river

Zurriola beach

Beach cleaning device

We are stopped from continuing beyound the beach to what looked to be a very nice hike at one time, but now is covered by a landslide.  Oh well.  I spent a few minutes gazlng at a large object d'art, concluding it is an homage to airplane stair cases in airports without jetways.  Upon reading the nearby plaque, I learn it's named "The Dove".  OK.  I see it now.

The four mile walk makes up for a little bit of missing so much hiking on the first part of our rainy time in Andalusia, but lox and cream cheese every morning for breakfast keep the scales tipped toward appreciation of stretch pants.  

Mary and Peter veer off to explore the newer, upscale shopping side of San Sebastian, while Mark and I chose to explore the Basilica of Santa Maria. I never tire of visiting a church.  Whether standing in a humble chapel or a grand cathedral, I like to think the connecting thread between everyone in time who also stood where I am, is not religion per se, but hope.  It is also a challenge to capture in a photograph the feeling of being in some of these grand spaces. 

Suitably impressed with the nave of Santa Maria, we continued to a very small but impressive gallery of art ranging from medieval through to quite contemporary pieces.  Serious art aside, I found the best visual entertainment up flights of stairs in another small gallery.  The walls were lined with late 20th photographs of casual scenes around San Sebastian, but the real draw was a complex diorama of a Neapolitan nativity scene.  Why it's here and not in Naples, I don't know, but there are over 200 18th century figures, each about five inches high, and celebrating in a village format.  And all rather anachronistically leading up to a hill with the Virgin Mary, baby Jesus and their full entourage.  The detail and activities of the figures are fascinating. 

Meeting back up at the hotel, Mark and Peter hiked up the hill to the statue of the Sacred Heart to see the view.  I went to the laundromat (for probably the last time).  We rounded out the day with a rare G&T on the rooftops terrace.  Plunge pool available but no one brave enough to sink into unhealed water.  Expect it's much better in August.

'Til later...

C