Next stop: The Andalucian City of Seville is noted for its Cathedral and the bitter rind of its oranges that seem to grow wild on miniature trees everywhere you turn. After parking our car, we went out in search of dinner, only to find ourselves in the main square with the massive Gothic Cathedral of Seville staring us in the face. Superbly illuminated, the cathedral glowed with a wondrous light. The plaza that holds the third largest Cathedral in the world, built in 1410, still attracted stragglers out for an evening meal. A trio of musicians, formally clad in black tie and tails, played softly stirring classical music that transformed the whole place into a magical setting.

But Llew was hungry and did not wish to lose time that could be spent eating a good meal. We chose La Cueva, a restaurant in the former Jewish quarter called the Barrio Santa Cruz. Like all Spanish spaces that are frozen in time, Santa Cruz is a complicated network of narrow cobbled streets and alleys full of souvenir shops, restaurants and tapas bars. Le Cueva Restaurant was located on Calle Rodrigo Caro in a very pretty patio and was decorated in typical Spanish colonial style with ceramic pots and plates hanging on the walls, the heads of bulls stuffed and mounted on walls, festive costumes of the renowned matadors framed as wall art. There were wooden chairs painted quaintly with faiance designs and patterns, checkered tablecloths, antique Spanish religious statuary, and lovely ceramic plates and pitchers to hold our food. One could also choose to sit outside in a charming orange grove that was softly lit by wrought-iron lanterns. We decided to eat an assorted platter of Spanish sausages as our first course (13 euros). These arrived promptly—Serrano ham, cured in the cold mountain air (serre) is a national staple, a variety of smoked sausages, liverwurst and Spain’s famous manchego, a sheep’s milk cheese produced on the flat plains of Castille La Mancha, hence its name. Llew chose a Caldera or Lamb Stew while I went for the Frito Mixto, a plate of assorted fried fish, lightly dipped in batter and fried to a crisp (12 euros each). It reminded me very much of the fried fish my mother serves back home in India. A pitcher of icy cold sangria with bits of apple and oranges floating in it (8 euros) made a very interesting drink with which to enjoy our meal. A noisy group of middle-aged French tourists at an accompanying table brought much life and vitality to the atmosphere while we savored our Spanish repast. Then, replete, we picked out way through the hushed quietness of the streets to get to our Bed and Breakfast called Naranjo on Calle San Roque. Llew was afraid that there would be no one to let us in at that late hour of night (it was past 10 pm), but the reception area was buzzing with activity and we settled down comfortably for the night.

Naranjo provided a good Continental breakfast which allowed us to fill up before beginning our exploration of the city. Walking through the area called El Arenal, we passed right by the impressive Plaza de Toros de la Maestranza (left), Seville’s 18^th century bull-ring, one of Spain’s oldest, with its Baroque white and ochre façade and the staring black eyes of a bull painted at the entrance. Because bull-fighting season doesn’t open until June, the arena was open only for guided tours but we chose to pass on and head for the Cathedral instead. Just before we turned off a narrow street to find the Cathedral, we spied the Moorish Torre del Oro or Golden Tower built in the 13^th century to protect the port of Seville. The Cathedral, when we did get to it, after a slow stroll, looked completely different from the way it had done the previous night. Gone was the magic and the atmosphere of religious sanctity. Tourists milled around, going about the serious business of covering all the items on their agenda. We bought a few souvenirs and believing that we had to wait until 11 am. when the Cathedral would open to visitors, we attempted to kill time by browsing through the shops. It was at that point that we discovered some people entering the cathedral through the side doors and after inquiring of one of the guards, we were told that we were free to enter.

Upon arriving inside Seville Cathedral (below left), we found ourselves awash in the solemn tones of Gregorian chants and to our enormous delight, we saw that a High mass was being said at that very moment in Latin by the highest prelates of the Seville church community. How marvelous it was to listen to the organ and to the choir as they sang the Latin mass, to hear the main celebrant bless us frequently by uttering Dominusco Bisco. Only a smattering of people were actually hearing mass, but we joined in and received Communion, just thrilled to be in the presence of so much sanctity.

The mass was said at the main altar or the Capilla Mayor that was stunning to say the very least, the Retablo Mayor or altar decoration featuring over 1000 heavily gilded figures from the Christian pantheon. Santa Maria de la Sede, the Cathedral’s patron saint was carved into the main niche in the altar holding the Christ Child in her arms. The fragrance of incense floated about the stupendously large Cathedral and rose up to the fan vaulted ceiling with its intricate stone carvings. Behind us, a group of younger priests attended to other rituals in the choir hall. Monumental iron grilles separated the congregation from the altar where the con-celebrated mass was being offered. We felt truly blessed by the unexpected pleasure of getting to hear such an unusual mass and were informed later that the High Gregorian Latin mass is said every single day at 10 am in the Cathedral—which is why it is closed to tourists with their distracting cameras at that time.

On our right, we could see the handsome memorial to Christopher Columbus whose disputed remains are said to be contained in a casket hauled up by four pall-bearers representing the four houses of Castille, Leon, Navarre and Aragon. The elaboration of this monument, notwithstanding, there exists the common belief that Columbus’ true remains are in the Dominican Republic while the casket in the Seville Cathedral contains the remains of his son Hernando. The cathedral is also home to a large number of religious paintings by Spanish Masters such as Goya and Zurbaran.

            As the morning wore on, more and more tourists congregated in this square, some venturing to climb the several hundred steps into the bell-tower or Giralda (pronounced Hiralda–left) which was first built as the minaret of a mosque in 1198. As the Cathedral was constructed on the same site, the minaret was transformed gradually over the centuries to become ultimately the Cathedral’s Christian bell-tower with a large weather-vane (in Spanish Giraldillo) giving the tower its name. Since we had a busy day ahead of us, we chose not to climb the tower, but we did stroll close by to the Reales Alcazares or Royal Residence, a lavish palace that has served Spain’s monarchy for centuries.

            Very similar in conception and form to the Al-Hambra Palace, the Reales Alcazares  (right) was the result of an order given by Pedro I in 1364 to start the construction of a royal residence within the palaces that had been built by the city’s Almohad (Muslim) rulers. Local artisans responded enthusiastically and within two years, they arrived from Granada and Toledo to create a nest of patios, rooms and gardens in mujedar design. The similarity in the delicacy of the stucco and plaster work with the Al-Hambra Palace is notable immediately as is the abundant use of ceramic tile.

It was from this Seville residence that Isabel dispatched her navigators to explore the New World, for it was in the Casa de la Contratacion (left) that they received their orders. Accordingly the room is decorated with seafaring motifs. As in other Moorish architectural gems, gardens play a dominant role in the layout. The central feature of each patio is a fountain from which tumbling water creates an aural as well as a visual sensation. The majesty of these dwellings can have a very seductive hold upon the visitor and it difficult to tear oneself away from the uniqueness of the design. But we decided to leave and explore the city of Seville somewhat more thoroughly.

On a beautifully stimulating day in spring, we made out way back to the banks of the Guadalquivir river (left), armed with chocolate Popsicles made by Magnum called Double Chocolate. In all of these cities, the weather was so completely hospitable to us that most times we wore only a very light jacket. As we enjoyed the colorful vista of Sevilla’s apartment buildings whose pastel exteriors gave them a very pleasing appearance, we realized how much we had lucked out with the weather for it hadn’t rained once since we had first begun our travels. We enjoyed Seville as much as we had Madrid. Spain’s major cities are superbly laid out and very sensitive of the needs of tourists and visitors. So it was with much delight that we anticipated our arrival, later that afternoon, in the ancient Moorish city of Cordoba.

Bon Voyage!

(The Albaicin seen from the Al-Hambra Palace)

At some time or the other, everyone has heard Jerry Vale’s lyrics to a song he wrote entitled Granada:

Granada, I’m falling under your spell
And if you could speak, what a fascinating tale you would tell
A vantage, the world has long forgotten,
A vantage that weaves a silent magic in Granada, today……

I had personally heard them as a child growing up in Bombay where the song was popular at singing contests. Never did I dream that one day I would walk through the streets of this historic town, picking at stones to hear stories of an age when the world still remembered the splendor that was Granada. Though most tourists come to Granada to see the world-renowned Al-Hambra Palace, this ancient city has much more to offer. First occupied by the Moors who arrived in Spain from the shores of Northern Africa in the 8^th century, Granada reached its fullest glory under the rule of the Muslim Nasrids from 1238 to 1492 who set out to build an awesome monument to their greatness.

Our exploration of Granada began in the main square of the Puerta Nueva where we lunched on doner kebabs wrapped in a pita—a meal that gave us our first understanding of the extent of Muslim impact in this part of Spain. The minaret-like spire of the Iglesia Santa Ana (left), a 16th century church, looked down upon the square as we decided not to waste any time in drinking in the scene spread out before us.We used the Eyewitness Travel Guide one more time to take a walking tour of the Albaicin (pronounced Al-bye-seen), the ancient Moorish district which hugs the sides of the hills opposite the Al-Hambra to create a labyrinth of cobbled streets lined by high-walled, white-washed houses with red-tiled roofs and patio-ed gardens within. Thank heavens for sturdy walking shoes which eliminated the risk of twisting an ankle on those challenging cobbles. Walking alongside the banks of the River Darro on Carrera Del Darro, we paused to take pictures of the picturesque red brick bridges and the old homes that seemed to tumble down to the river’s edge. Once inside the maze that comprises the Albaicin, one had better remain glued to a map and one’s wits—you could easily get lost and never find your way out. The eerie silence that accompanied this stroll was also rather unusual, for tucked as far away from civilization as it is, the Albaicin’s spirit is uninterrupted by blaring horns, traffic noises or street vendors.

A chance encounter with fellow-tourist Julian from Germany led us on the route back to the Mirador San Nicolas, a church square dominated by the Church of St. Nicolas, where weary strollers had congregated to take a break from their uphill climb through those stunningly evocative alleyways. The Al-Hambra lay spread out before us on the opposite bank of the Darro river, its high walls, square towers, and fairy-tale windows looming dauntingly on the mountainside. This mirador (or view point) provided stunning views of the Andalucian countryside as it lay bathed in the warming sun. Street entertainers provided interesting diversion at every turn.

Before long, we were on our way again, passing by Plaza Largo with its busy farmer’s market, noting the street signs at the corner of each tiny intersection in ceramic tile and blue calligraphy recalling the Moorish occupation of this city so many centuries ago. Every mosque in the picturesque district was converted long years ago into a church but the distinctive mujedar (Muslim) architecture as exemplified by the minaret-shaped spires, was ample evidence of the glory of the Nasrids. Then it was time for us to take the bus back up to the Al-Hambra to begin our exploration of one of the world’s most splendid monuments. We purchased audio guides for 3 Euros each and made our hurried way to the main archway of the Nasrid’s Palace for our 3.30 pm entrance into it as specified on the ticket we had purchased online before our departure for Spain (10 Euros).

The Al-Hambra was built gradually under the glorious reigns of Nasrid caliphs Ismail I, Yusuf I and Muhammed V whose love of beauty, symmetry, architectural design and embellishment were easily evident at every turn. The buildings create poetry of grace, style and imagination as seen in the uniform arches, the magical domes, the spacious patios, the slim pillars. There is beauty at every turn—in the wealth of ceramic tile used as a kind of wainscoting on every wall, laid out in complicated geometrical designs that the Spanish call azulejos (below left).

Though the materials used to build the Al-Hambra are far from gorgeous—just timber, stucco, ceramic, plaster and occasionally marble—the manner in which the decoration was visualized and implemented is nothing short of magnificent. In many ways, this style of Islamic architecture is similar to what one sees of Moghul greatness on the Indian sub-continent. For instance, the channels of water that run through the rooms, the lattice work on the windows (in timbered frames as opposed to marble ‘jallis’ in India and Pakistan), the natural air cooling devices that were built into these palaces, and the incorporation of gardens that were symbols of Paradise to these Muslim kings, are universal in most Islamic construction. But the Al-Hambra had certain other elements of interior design and decoration that I have never seen anywhere else. The appearance of what is called “macarabe” design was breathtaking.

It consists of stucco work that hangs down like stalactites from ceilings and arches (left) and in domes to form an intricate honeycomb pattern that is simply mind boggling. I took scores of pictures to try and capture this artistry. All over the walls, scripture from the Koran was sculpted in abundance. Geometric forms, flowers and fruits, especially the motif of the pomegranate (Granada in Arabic means “Land of the Pomegranate”) appeared in varied guises through cupolas and arches, in towering minarets and in pillars. Everywhere the sensuousness of the Islamic aesthetic overwhelmed the eye. The Patio de los Leones (The Patio of the Lions) was distinctive for the central marble fountain encircled by carved lions (below).

Paintings on leather panels hugged the walls of the rooms, many being refurbished for preservation. The use of reflecting pools added more excitement to the design as was the frequent presence of water. For Islam, a religion that originated in the deserts of Saudi Arabia, Paradise is always associated with the abundant availability of water—hence the fountains, gardens, etc. that are the epitome of Moorish landscape design.

As we left the main buildings of the Al-Hambra (already very tired indeed) to saunter at will through the leafy arbors and canopied avenues of the Generalife (pronounced Henera-lee-fay), the private estate gardens of the Nasrid rulers, I could not help but feel a pang for the passing away of so grand an epoch. The facile surrender of his kingdom by Boabdil, last of the Nasrid rulers, to the fanatic Catholic monarchs Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabel of Castille in 1492 not only put paid to Muslim presence and power in Andalucia but led to the systematic destruction of so many of the Moors’ most highly prized monuments. Fortunately, better sense prevailed in regards to the Al-Hambra, for instead of destroying this splendid place, the Catholic rulers decided to make it their own base, adding a chapel in order to consecrate the space as holy ground. Indeed, the Al-Hambra Palace is soaked in history. It was here that Ferdinand and Isabel received a young Genoan named Cristobal Colon who sold them the idea of reaching the Indies by sailing westwards. Thus, it was here that the idea of a Spanish Empire was conceived.

A walk down a footpath that connects the Al-Hambra to its surrounding gardens leads one to the Generalife, that are some of the best-known gardens in the world. Though we were too early in season to enjoy the magnificence of its flowers and the soft scents of jasmine that perfume the night air in the spring and summer, we still had enough of an opportunity to appreciate the genius that created these arcades and bowers for the sensual enjoyment of nature. Though the word ‘Generalife’ has many meanings, the most commonly accepted is said to derive from the Arabic Yannat al Arif or the “Garden of Lofty Paradise”.

Begun in the 13^th century, they have been continually modified over the centuries. An army of gardeners and landscape artists work on the space even today to keep it in the glorious array of its ancient roots. One meanders peacefully and sensitively through the flower-beds and rectangular pools, pausing frequently to appreciate the blend of architectural and natural elements in these special environs. There is a profusion of roses, myrtle, rosemary, jasmine, lavender and camellia plantings everywhere and, no doubt, every passing season brings its own natural contribution. The Patio de la Acequia is the most beloved of the various patios in the garden for the graceful jets of spouting water that flow into a reflecting pool make gentle arches around visitors as they pause in the scented air. As you climb the marble steps along the Escalera del Aqua, you are surrounded by dwarf bay trees that lend a soft herbal perfume to the space as the flowing of water lilts quietly around. I plucked a bay leaf to stick in my scrapbook, a tiny souvenir from the annals of history and time that seemed to stand still as my fingers caressed the cool marble landings.

Though very pleasing to the senses, touring these environs is wildly exhausting, and we were forced to stop for a rest before exploring the Alcazabar or the Castle Keep through which the townspeople of Granada found access to their rulers. Here was where the artisans and local merchants made their homes and carried out their trade. Here are the barracks of the army and the public baths of the soldiers. Here is a stairway that leads up to the roofline from which once can gaze upon the natural ice-encrusted towering peaks of the Sierra Nevadas that cast a frowning glance upon the man-made heights of the Al-Hambra’s steeples. Here is where the royal pendant flew on that fateful day in 1492 when determined to seize power back from the Moors and stop Muslim expansion in Spain, Ferdinand and Isabel made Boabdil give up his rights to rule in exchange for the promise that his Muslim people would be allowed to practice their faith without hindrance—a pact that was rapidly broken. Here is where he cast a last poignantly sorrowful glance upon the power that once was his—a thought that brought the tears flowing from his eyes and caused his mother to comment icily, “You are crying like a child for a kingdom that you could not defend like a man”.

Before we left, we peaked into the Palace of Charles V, an ambitious Renaissance square-shaped building (to symbolize earthly power and stability) with a completely round, spherical interior design (to symbolize the greatness of the heavens and the powers of the cosmos). Never completed, this building today houses Spanish-Islamic archives and art objects, the most famous of which is the Al-Hambra Vase.

I cannot even begin to express how fortunate I felt to be walking through these pathways and patios, through these arcades and arbors. For years I have read about the beauty and significance of the Al-Hambra Palace in Granada never believing that I would, one day, have the privilege of touring these unreal spaces in person. It was unfathomable to me that such marvels were produced so many centuries ago and that it was not just aesthetic pleasure that was sought here but intellectual pursuit as well for the gardens and the domes are often laid out in accordance with the principles of Pythagoras’ Theorem. Learning and intellectual endeavors were never very far away from the Islamic mindset in the medieval ages and the enduring importance of such cities as Cordoba and Granada attest to the extent to which human determination can produce splendor while attempting to assuage one’s God.

Leaving the fairytale magic and enchantment of Granada behind us, we set out in search of our lodgings for the night—Villa Ithaca Bed and Breakfast located in the tiny village of Padul that is run by a British couple, Jeremy and Sophie Colwell with the assistance of Jeremy’s parents Dudley and Ann. When we did find it at nightfall, tired and hungry after our day’s sojourn, they suggested we find sustenance at a nearby restaurant, Valle del Punta. A short walk took us to this charming establishment in which a gigantic fireplace warmed the very casual seating. We opted for Spanish tapas—Serrano ham and olives in brine as a first course then ordered Shrimp sauted in olive oil, garlic and parsley and served with crusty bread. Washed down by Spanish beer, it made a lovely end to our very enlightening day and it was with great fatigue that we flopped into our beds for the night.

Jeremy served us a humongous breakfast, the next morning, in a dining room that overlooked the patchwork fields of the Andalucian countryside. Over the first fresh melon of the season, fruit and nut studded muesli, scrambled eggs on toast, hot buttered croissants, freshly squeezed orange juice and freshly ground coffee, we talked about our plans for the day with another English couple, Mike and Susan, who were also resident at our B&B. Then, it was time to leave but not before Ann gave me a tour of her lovely gardens and discussed with me her plans to develop the B&B into a far more upscale space for long-term lodgers. Bidding goodbye to our very friendly hosts, we drove off to discover the enticements of the ritzy Costa del Sol.

To follow us on the next leg of our journey in Spain, please click on Costa del Sol.

Bueno Viajes!

  Of all the little towns on this coastal stretch, Marbella is the glossiest as a result of the Marbella Club Hotel that was set up in the 1950s by Alfonso von Hohenloer that attracted the rich and the famous. I was determined to take in a piece of the action in this Cannes of the South of Spain and we made our way to the water since all Marbella’s beaches are still free to the public. The pebbly beach at Playa de Venus  (above) allowed us to dip our toes into the aquamarine Mediterranean where the waters were still icy. While sunbathers caught their share of rays on the clean stretches of sand, but for one brave little girl, there was no one else in the water. The streets were elegant and clean, full of real estate offices offering snazzy accommodation. Since it was a Sunday, most of them were closed, so that an air of relaxed quietness hung about the town. Swim season was not quite upon the resort, but I could just imagine how many hordes would descend upon these beaches in June, July and August. We were happy to sneak a peek into this little celebrity town before we motored west along the coast heading towards the weird anomaly that is the U.K. held territory of Gibraltar. Long before we arrived anywhere close to the town, the monolithic Rock of Gibraltar, seemingly rising out of the ocean, was clearly visible to us along the highway as were, across the waters of the Straits, the misty blueness of the peaks of the Rif Mountains on the northern coast of Africa.

Bon Voyage!

In the Bari Gottic or Gothic Quarter outside the Cathedral

Cloud cover over the UK (so what else is new, right?) made my window seat redundant but within an hour and 40 minutes, we touched down in Barcelona. Couldn’t enjoy the landing as it was too dark. Immigration clearance took another ten minutes (was the officer really leering at me, or was that my imagination?) and then I was outside the airport into the balmy night and looking confusedly for the aeroport bus to take me to the city.
At this point, I latched on to two English girls who had been to Barcelona before and knew the ropes. They directed me to the bus stop where they were heading themselves and presto, within five minutes, a bus materialized (the fare to be paid to the driver on the bus was 4. 05 euros–thank goodness I had some change with me) and we were off. Through the well-lit roads we sped, many of them reminding me of Madrid, and arrived at Plaza de la Catalunya (Catalonian Square) from where Las Ramblas, the main artery originated. A five minute walk through the crowded street (yes, it was buzzing even at 10 pm) took me to the Youth Hostel where I checked in to find myself placed in an 8-bedded mixed dorm with a bunch of youngsters from Switzerland, Germany and Brazil. They gave me a very hearty welcome indeed and though I was tired, out of politeness, I did spend some time socializing with them while munching on my baguette dinner.

At 10. 30 pm, I was in my bunk, only to be awoken frequently during the night by my young suite mates for whom Friday night can only mean one thing–Party Time!

First impressions of Barcelona? It doesn’t have it’s Fun City reputation for nothing!

Rambling through Las Ramblas and the Bari Gottic

The youngsters sharing my dorm went clubbing and didn’t return till day break. They were sound asleep when I awoke at 9 am, used the Ladies Only bathroom at the far end of my corridor and went down to breakfast in the hotel dining room. This was Carboholics Paradise with cornflakes and muffins and toast and coffee presiding.

Reading up on the plane as to how to spend my three days in Barcelona, I was advised by the gurus at Lonely Planet to start with the Bari Gottic (that’s the Gothic Bario or Quarter). Knowing that the best way to get a feel of a place is on foot, I fuelled up on those carbs, tied the shoe laces on my walking shoes firmly and was off for the day. And I honestly did not stop walking until night fell!
Las Ramblas was already frenetic with activity when I got there at 9. 45 am. I crossed it and entered the Call (or former Jewish Quarter) and was confronted with a tangle of confusing streets, some so narrow that only two people would walk through them abreast. But what character is preserved in this maze! I got a crick that stayed in my neck for the next four days as my head was titled at an angle to allow me to take in the overhanging balconies (very similar to those in Naples, Italy) as I walked gingerly along cobbled streets–the last thing I wanted was a twisted ankle! One old plaza opened out into the other and soon I was taking in the sights of the Plaza de la Jaume, one of the oldest parts of the city that traces its origin to the Roman occupation of Spain. My camera worked overtime as I tried to capture it all.

Lonely Planet’s Walk through Ramblas and Bari Gottic takes the stroller through plazas and medieval cloisters of Romanesque and Gothic churches, through crusted Roman walls and tombs, through churches with enormous Rose windows and geese-filled courtyards, through ancient monuments, hoary with history. I even saw a wedding take place at the charming 12th century church of St. Anne and am sure to be in some of those wedding pictures–I’m sure the bride is going to wonder at the Indian tourist gawking at her off-white mantilla!

I spent a long while in the Gothic Cathedral with its many chapels, its superbly carved wooden choir stalls and pulpit, the crypt with the sarcophagus of St. Eulalia and the Monstrance of Barcelona, not to mention the quiet chapel of Santa Lucia.

Out on the main Plaza Nova, there was scribbles on a building which turned out to be Picasso drawings on the walls of the College of Architecture. That’s what’s so wonderful about these Spanish cities–you see the work of the Modern Masters embedded on the walls and on the streets (Gaudi tiles–I mean tiles by Antoni Gaudi–decorate the Passeig de Garcia and there is a Miro mosaic that you can walk all over on Las Ramblas!)

Leaving the Cathedral environs behind me, I stopped in a tiny old taverna for chocolate and churros (the Spanish snack I remembered so well from my visit with Llew to Madrid a few years ago). The chocolate is so thick, your churros (fried dough sticks) can stand upright in it. Yuumm! I didn’t worry about the calories because I knew I was burning them up faster that I could digest those churros! Then, I was heading for the waterfront, where I saw another sculpture (Roy Lichtenstein’s odd piece entitled Barcelona’s Head). I found myself a bench and since my feet were fairly killing me by this time, I stretched put and closed my eyes (ah, how heavenly that felt!) and contemplated the canopy of trees above me.

Then, I set out for the Llotja (or medieval Stock Exchange building) whose front contains an Art School that both Picasso and Miro attended as teenagers. In a while, I was at the most famous church in the city–the Church of our Lady of the Sea–another Gothic wonder (though I preferred the Cathedral for atmosphere and art works). After a swift visit (there was another wedding scheduled there), I headed off for the Carrera de Montecada, a narrow medieval Bond Street of sorts which once boasted the most fashionable designer stores in the country. Today, its string of old palaus (mansions) have been converted into museums and when I discovered that almost all of them open their doors for free on the first Sunday of each month, I resolved to return the next morning to get to the Museu Picasso first.

However, I did also pass by the Museu de l’Historia de Catalunya and was I glad I popped in there! For this place was free on the first Saturday of each month, so if I could find the motivation and the energy to explore it, I could get in right then and there. And who could pass up such a good offer, right? So there I was, nine metres underground (a lift got me down there) doing a walk through Barsino, which was the Roman name for the city. Recent archaeological excavations have unearthed a city lying intact underground and I felt as if I was back again in Pompeii exploring the bakery and the wine cellars and the homes and palaces of the rich and well-constructed city as it thrived under the Romans!

My exploration done, I emerged on the Plaza del Rei (which I finally managed to find after almost a whole day’s search) and made my way back to La Ramblas and then the sea front where the tall column with Christopher Columbus allegedly pointing to his beloved Genoa, graces the landscape. Antique and junk jewelery stalls kept me browsing for a while before I decided that if I didn’t get back to my hostel room soon, I would quite pass out with fatigue!

Back in my room, my suite mates were partying (I don’t believe they had stopped since the previous evening!) and offered me a Spanish beer (Estrella, which was cold and very good) and as I ate my sandwich dinner and socialized with them, I wound down and got ready for bed.

Dazzled by Picasso and Gaudi
 Early on Sunday morning, while the rest of the Youth Hostel residents were sleeping off their weekend carousing, I walked quickly along the Bari Gottic and arrived at the Museu Picasso only to be stunned at the endless line that had formed before the museum even opened its doors. With at least 500 folks on line, I decided to explore the Museu Barbier-Mueller D’Art Pre-Colombi which translates from the Catalonian into the Barbier-Mueller Museum of Pre-Colombian Art. This collection is also located in a beautiful old palau (mansion) on the Carrer de Montecada, right opposite the Museu Picasso, but so gigantic is the reputation of Pablo that no one seemed interested in inspecting the treasure concealed inside–and frankly I did not expect anything too impressive either.

How mistaken I was! One room in particular so seized my imagination that I was glad I gave Picasso a miss until the queues thinned out. The manuscript room was filled with photocopies of the correspondence that ensued between Columbus and the monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain who had sponsored his voyages of discovery. Columbus writes in his own hand about the things he encounters in the Caribbean Islands and his disappointment at not finding any gold. The diary jottings of a number of his crew were also on display and I was transported to 1492 as I scrutinized those priceless documents. Seeing these words in black and white (or sepia and white, to be more precise) somehow made history come alive for me and gave it a soul.

Then, I was out on the street ready to join the line for the Picasso Museum. To my astonishment, I entered in less than ten minutes and though the place was filled, it was still possible to enjoy the contents of the many rooms at leisure and study every single one of the exhibits. I found the museum totally fascinating though most visitors are rather disappointed to find that his best-known works are not on display–they happen to be in Paris, of course, at the Musee Picasso (where I had seen them 22 years ago and been profoundly moved).

This time round, I was moved again, but for altogether another reason. This collection showcases Picasso’s earliest work, most of which was done when he was still barely out of his teens and while he lived and studied Art in Barcelona’s Llotja Art School. It allowed the viewer to see exactly how he progressed from an imitative artist to one who blazed new trails and changed the direction of 20th century Art completely. His earliest self-portraits show an uncanny resemblance to his last photographs taken just before his death. His portraits of his father and his mother are touchingly realistic–such a far cry from the iconoclast into which he evolved. The canvases he submitted to Art competitions while he was still in art school are extraordinarily realistic and show no signs at all of the abstract artist he would become. I found all of this extraordinarily moving. There were a few canvases from his Blue Period and his Rose Period and then the tempo quickened as we moved into his Cubist phase with his take on the work of the Old Masters such as Manet’s Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe and, of course, the famous series he did on Velasquez’s Las Meninas. This superb collection is an opportunity for any lover of Modern Art to understand Picasso’s complex journey and to marvel as its exhaustive invention.

It took me an hour and a half to see it all and then I was on the street enjoying the warmth of the Iberian sunshine pouring down upon me as I decided to spend an hour in the Parc de la Citadella, a green lung of the city that contains some interesting early landscape designs by Gaudi, primarily in the huge Cascade or Waterfall that he created which contains, among other things, statuary, spouting jets of water and terraced basins. The park also is also the location of the Catalonian Parliament but since tours were stopped for the day, I had to content myself with a look-see around the exterior. It reminded me a bit of the Parc de Bieno Retiro in Madrid which included topiary and a lake in which boating was a pleasant weekend past-time. Indeed, the park was empty of tourists and it was great to see the ‘locals’ taking the air, strolling along with their toddlers and to watch the elderly enjoy a sit-down on the many benches.

Then, began my long walk towards Barcelona’s piece de resistance, La Sagrada Familia (the Church of the Holy Family). This iconic image of the city is now familiar to most people but to see it in person is truly a staggering experience. A conception of Gaudi’s imagination, work on this Gothic cathedral began over a hundred years ago but came to a standstill during the Communist era of the Spanish Civil War. When construction was resumed, Gaudi make it his personal ambition to get it finished but, as luck would have it, he was mowed down by a tram right in front of the church. Undaunted by his demise, the engineers and architects continued with his vision and the church is described today as a “work-in-progress”. Most of the exterior has been completed but the inside is still basically a shell with completion expected only in 2030.

Encrusted with sculpture depicting the Nativity on the back facade and the Passion on the front, Gaudi took his inspiration from nature, his constant companion as a child. This was brought home to me through the small exhibit in the crypt of the church and for that reason alone, I was so glad I splurged on the 10 euros that it cost to enter it. I understood completely the rationale of this genius after seeing that exhibit and perceiving the link between the various images from nature (wheat stalks, lavender, sunflowers, pine cones, etc.) on the artistic and architectural motifs to be found on his buildings and their interiors. Everything that had seemed weird suddenly made complete sense to me and I felt as if I had a revelation, an epiphany of sorts.

I took so many pictures but cameras cannot quite capture the intensity of his vision or the creative zeal that has allowed it to be implemented. The giant columns inside the church, for instance, are multi-limbed trees whose branches form a canopy above–Gaudi’s take on Gothic fan-vaulting. The choir stalls at the back of the church are so wide and expansive that, when complete, will hold 1,500 singers. I encircled the building several times both inside and out because suddenly I could not get enough of this revolutionary architect and since I was exhausted by this point, I took the Metro back to Las Ramblas, very proud of the fact that I found my way despite needing to make two changes on two different lines and without speaking or reading a word of Spanish!

Though the evening was still young, I was much too pooped to possibly consider covering any more ground that day. I returned gratefully to the hostel and plopped into my bed where I stayed for the rest of the evening!

Blown Away by the Modernistas

Though I did not intend to, it turned out that I saved the best for last. Indeed, on my last day in Barcelona, I decided to take another self-guided walking tour (as outlined in Lonely Planet) of the area called L’Eixample. This region, consisting of about 12 street blocks in the heart of the city, showcases the work of the Modernist architects that flourished in Barcelona in the last quarter of the 19th century and the first quarter of the 20th. Apart from the gigantic figure of Antoni Gaudi, they include Domeneck i Montaner and Josef Puig i Cadafalch. The best place at which to start such an exploration of this burst of architectural creativity is the lovely Parc Guell and when I found out over breakfast that one of my Youth Hostel fellow-residents, a German woman named Gisella, decided to visit it too, we made plans to travel there together.

Taking the Number 24 bus from the Plaza de la Catalunya (fare was 1. 30 euros one way), we drove through the wide boulevards of this fascinating city and arrived, about 20 minutes later, at one of the many entrances to the Park. We were glad we had opted for the bus because the journey was long and involved a steep climb up a mountain which afforded lovely views of the city sleeping quietly in the autumnal sunshine.

Our exploration into Parc Guell took us first to the Museu Gaudi, a pink confection of a house in which the artist had once lived. Now converted into a musuem, visitors are free to wander inside for 5 euros, but Gisella and I decided to pass as we had a great deal to cover that day. Instead we walked towards the wide open ceramic tile encrusted terraces, Gaudi’s handiwork, which offered views towards the park’s main entrance where the famous iconic figure of the ceramic lizard is to be found. Of course, we took pictures by the spouting fountain and the sunflower tiled terrace and the towering columns punctuated with the octopus-like tentacles of the ceiling decoration. With each vignette that presented itself, I understood more about Gaudi’s creative passion. Walking around the terraced tiers of the garden, I had the chance to appreciate Gaudi’s work as a landscape architect and I understood again the organic nature of his creations.

Then, Gisella and I were in the bus, making our way towards the center of town to begin our walking tour of the work of the Modernists or Modernistas as they are known in Spain. One after the other, we paused to admire the buildings created with the principles of Art Nouveau in mind–the curlicues, the fussy flourishes, the total femininity of the aesthetic vision. We saw La Prendrera, the famous apartment building designed by Gaudi on Passeig de Garcia. Just a few steps away was Casa Batllo which my guide book suggested we tour if there was just one building we could afford to see. And so Gisella and I purchased a ticket (16. 50 Euros each), which seemed like a princely sum until we entered the space and were swept off our feet.

Casa Batllo is a private mansion for which Gaudi received a commission from the Batllos. He conceived the entire building as deriving from the Sea and chose blue as the dominate color on his rather subdued palate. Inside, motifs from the sea–shells, conches, sea horses, whales, star fish, etc. envelope the space so fully and so ingeniously that words can do it no justice at all. As you wander from one space to the next, you don’t quite know what to take in–so detailed are the touches, so imaginative is the execution. In his signature material–ceramic tile, carved and polished wood, blown glass–Gaudi had created a home that is not just one-of-a-kind but state-of-the-art as well for its time.

The aesthetic features are so perfectly balanced by the scientific and engineering rationale that prompted them that what you see is a perfect marriage of the Arts and the Sciences in that one space. What’s more, every single little feature from the brass door handles to the crystal chandeliers, from the wrought-iron window boxes to the cutest little elevator you ever did see, are entirely conceived and fashioned by his stupendous imagination. This home is certainly one of the most splendid things I have ever seen in my entire life and I emerged out of the place totally overwhelmed.

By this time, I had lost Gisella. Using the audio guides that came with our entry ticket, we had viewed the building at our own pace and, in the process, had drifted apart. Deciding to complete the walking tour on my own, I pressed bravely onwards taking in the Casa Amatler, the Fondacion Antoni Tapie, the Casa Lleo Morera, the Casa Pia Batllo–all of which define the work of the Modernists. Some of the building facades carried elaborate carvings, others had astounding wrought-iron scrollwork, yet others had fancy balconies…every single one of these features falls under the umbrella of Modernism, but I guess the tour reached it zenith at the Palau de la Musica Catalana, designed by Montaner for the performances of Catalonian Music.

This building is striking in the extreme for the facade that sports the busts of famous composers such as Verdi and Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner, ceramic pillars that hold up the structure, ceramic tiles that freely decorate the floors and the ceilings and a wealth of stained glass windows. I decided to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria inside–a wonderful selection of Spanish tapas presented itself and in choosing to nibble on serrano ham and fish paste with shrimp, I found myself a tasty little lunch, before I picked up the pace once again and arrived at the Mercat de la Boqueria, a famous street market right of Las Ramblas. There, I bought myself neat packages of serrano ham and manchego cheese and with a baguette was able to fashion some truly delicious sandwiches for my dinner later that day

And then, when the sun was close to setting, I realized that I had been in Barcelona for three whole days and had not yet visited its beaches! As you can tell, beach combing is rather a low priority for me, but since I could not possibly leave without setting eyes on the Mediterranean, off I went on another long ramble in the direction of the beach. Within a half hour, I was at the waterfront, enjoying the promenade on a particularly pleasant evening as I watched families have a fun time together. In the far distance, the land mass curved around towards the French fishing port of Marseilles and on the other side, the sea stretched towards the Costa Brava. Ahead of me, the brilliant azure-blue of the Mediterranean made a spectacular backdrop and I was so glad I did find the motivation and the energy to see the sea!

On my rambles back, I took a different route past the ancient Roman quarter once again and, quite by chance, came upon a leather shop from which I bought my one big purchase of the trip–a Spanish leather backpack.

Barcelona was everything I had expected it to me and more, but by the end of three days, I was ready to back my backpack and move on and, the next day, I left the hostel early to catch a bus to the airport for my return to London.

Bon Voyage!

Viva Espana!