First, however, I had Cultural Friday. This week, we discussed the Bologna Bombings in the 1980s, and their effects on the city. A suitcase was left in the second-class waiting room in Bologna Centrale, the train station in the center of the city, and exploded at 10:25, taking out the second and first class waiting rooms, the bar next door, and the postal offices above. It also destroyed the first platform, and blew debris outward, killing two taxi drivers and causing the area to cave in on itself. 85 people died, and 200 were wounded. The people of Bologna rallied to help, using taxis, buses, and other private vehicles to carry the wounded and dead to the hospital. The most famous of these buses is Bus 37, now a symbol of the events, along with the clock at the station, which was stopped when the explosion went off at 10:25. The case has never been solved, and, although suspicion lies on the right-wing parties and on the government (since Bologna is a traditionally left-wing city), no one has concrete evidence to suggest either party is guilty.
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| The clock at Bologna Centrale |
We visited the train station, looking at the memorial and viewing the names of those who had died. However, when we visited, we were told that the visiting professor had to speak quietly because we were discussing a terrorist attack and it was a high alert day. We went through the discussion as quickly as possible, and then the class left the station to meet an eyewitness while I met my roommate to go to the airport for our flight to Barcelona.
We flew out to Barcelona with no issues - nothing was happening, except for student protests in Rome and Naples. When we arrived in Barcelona, we were both surprised by how modern the airport was, in comparison to others in Europe (especially Bologna's). After waiting for almost an hour for the train, we managed to make it into the city center, using the metro to get into Barcelona proper. A five minute walk from Las Ramblas led us to our hotel, Hostal El-Jardi. It sits above Hemingway's favorite bar in the area, Bar del Pi (which I didn't know when we booked it, but made me very excited).
After a quick rest to recuperate from the plane and train, we wandered around the area near our hotel, popping into shops and buying gifts for friends and family. Around 8:30, we walked to our restaurant for the evening, which served traditional Catalan food and had been recommended by our concierge. Thanks to the card from the front desk, we were given free cava, a local sparkling wine, to go with our meal. After consulting with our waiter (who was from Sicily, and quite excited to talk about Italy with people), we chose an appetizer of grilled vegetables and goat cheese, and separate entrees.
I kid you not when I say that we both agreed it was the best meal of the entire trip.
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| Grilled vegetables, goat cheese, Catalan bread, and water |
I have never once in my life tasted eggplant that has been grilled like that - so soft that it melts in your mouth. And the goat cheese was excellent. It was served with grilled onions, potatoes, and red peppers, and pieces of Catalan bread rubbed with garlic and tomato - perfect for putting everything together into one bite. Then came our entrees - and, let me tell you, I have never eaten such delicious sausage and white beans before in my life. I don't know how they did it, but I would happily eat that meal for the rest of my life.
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| The most delicious sausage and white beans ever created (sorry, Dad) |
We finished up with a Catalan pudding, and paid our bill (incredibly low, for the quality of food). We walked to the Starbucks we had seen on the way there, buying some coffee, and went back to our room.
It was there that we found out about Paris.
We had classmates in Paris - in fact, the first thing we heard about what was happening was a classmate asking on our GroupMe if we had heard from them. Once we had talked to them, my roommate rolled over and went to sleep. But I stayed up for another hour, fielding worried texts from my mother and messages from friends back home, checking to make sure I wasn't in Paris, too.
I finally got to sleep that night, wondering if I would be able to sleep soundly at all.
Apparently, I did, because when my alarm went off early the next morning, I groaned and rolled over. My roommate and I grabbed a quick breakfast at our hotel, and then took the metro to visit the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia. Begun by Antoni Gaudi in 1882, the church was still incomplete at the time of his death in 1926. Today, the church is still being worked on; according to videos on the basilica's website, they hope to have it completed by 2026, the 100th anniversary of Gaudi's death.
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| Sagrada Familia, Nativity Facade |
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| Sagrada Familia from the plaza across the street |
The church overwhelms the tiny plaza that it sits on - completely dwarfs it, in fact. My roommate and I walked all the way around both the plaza and the church, taking it all in, and still could not grasp how large it is. Walking inside, it's even more awe-inspiring. Gaudi took many of his inspirations from nature, and so the columns look like trees in a forest; the spiral stairs, like nautilus shells; and the roof is decorated with fruit. Everything is built on a grandiose scale, and yet still feels very intimate.
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| Passion Facade, Sagrada Familia |
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| Columns of the church |
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| Interior panorama, Sagrada Familia |
At the back of the church is a door with the Our Father in Catalan. Behind it is the same prayer, but in the languages of Europe, Africa, the Bible, and America. And this reminded me that, while the church might be dedicated to the Holy Family, it is also a church of unity - something that seemed even more important in the face of the attacks in Paris the day before. My roommate and I took a moment to pray among the stained glass and the high ceilings. And I don't know what my roommate was praying for, but I was asking for my friends to get home safely, and for Paris to unite together, and for everyone to be able to forgive what had happened, and for us to be able to come back to Bologna with no incident.
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| The stained glass window |
And I didn't ask for any sign that my prayer was heard, but as we were leaving, the stained glass window next to the door with the Passion on it lit up in a glorious display of light. And I couldn't not take that was a way of God telling me that he had heard my prayers.
The front facade - the one that we had entered through - is decorated with the Nativity story. The one that we exited through is called the Passion facade, because the doors are covered in the story of the Passion, and the statues show the Passion and death of Christ.
After we took a last look at the church, we grabbed a quick coffee, figured out where our next stop was, and checked in with our friends in Paris. Then we got back on the metro, and went back a few stops, traveling towards La Pedreda - what we in English (and Spanish) call Casa Mila.
Unfortunately, we managed to come up on the wrong part of the street, and so we had to stop into a book shop and ask for directions. It turned out that, while we had stopped at the right metro, we had walked the wrong way after getting off. We speed walked to the building, down the Passseig de Gracia, and made it to La Pedrera panting. The guides laughed at us, and motioned us to the right entrance, where we were given free audioguides and sent on our merry way.
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| Casa Mila, also known as La Pedrera |
The tour starts on the roof, where Gaudi used his architectural prowess to design the most beautiful chimneys, forming twisting sculptures out of clay and mosaics. Two actually form frames around churches in the distance: a church in the mountains, and Gaudi's own Sagrada Familia. From there, we descended into the attic, where we got to see the skeletal nature of Gaudi's design to keep the building warm in the winter. We also visited some of the apartments, where families lived in rooms lit naturally by the sun, no matter where in the building they were. The building, we were informed, is still used, and men and women live in it today.
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| One of the chimneys |
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| Roof panorama, Casa Mila |
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| One of the "frames," with Sagrada Familia in the distance |
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| The ceiling structure that makes the roof possible |
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| A reconstructed bedroom in Casa Mila's apartments |
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| The view up from the courtyard where original residents would drive their cars in |
From La Pedrera, we walked to lunch (where we had paella - something I can finally check off the bucket list), and then wandered down Passeig de Gracia for the afternoon, popping in and out of shops and drinking coffee. We walked back to the bookshop that we had visited earlier, and, in the midst of searching for a copy of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises (what better book to buy in Spain than Hemingway's ode to Spain?), I saw a copy of A Place of Greater Safety sitting on the shelf in front of me. I tried to walk past it (in fact, I walked all around the English language section trying to pretend it wasn't there), but the image of the tricolore on its cover kept coming back to haunt me. Eventually, I caved and bought it. Sometimes, there are feelings that are just too significant to ignore - and seeing a tricolore on this day was one of them.
We took the metro back to our hotel, where we did some more shopping and then stopped for dinner at a tapas bar recommended by our hotel. Again, we had free cava; this time, we followed the tasting menu recommended. The food was lackluster in comparison to the night before, and we both agreed that we needed to go back to the first restaurant the next evening. We walked back to the hotel and got ready for bed, ready for what the morning would bring.
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| Cava and tapas |
Sunday morning dawned bright and early. I woke up, and my roommate and I walked to the Cathedral of Barcelona, five minutes from our hotel. I went in for Mass while she chose to wander around the city. When I got out, we went to Starbucks so that I could get breakfast and we could decide what to do.
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| Cathedral of Barcelona |
I wanted to find a copy of Sun Also Rises still, so we went up to the north of town to find the English language bookstore. Unfortunately, Google had lied to us, and it was closed. We wound up wandering the area for a little bit, and then took the Metro to Passeig de Gracia, hoping to find another one that might be open.
It turns out Barcelona keeps everything closed on Sunday mornings. Except Starbucks.
So we took the Metro down to the beach, and my roommate and I laid on the sand for an hour and a half. It was long enough (and hot enough) that, despite my long sleeves and leggings, I have a sunburn.
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| Absolutely gorgeous day at Playa de la Barceloneta |
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| Nothing like a little light beach reading |
When we were ready to go, we walked to a small burger shack near the water (but far enough off it that the prices were still reasonable) and got some lunch. I had an amazing avocado smoothie (not something I ever thought I would say) and a chicken sandwich with pineapple. We walked from there to the Museu Picasso, which is free after 3 PM on Sundays, and waited in line to get in. Once inside, we polished off the one floor of artwork quickly - although my roommate's face when she realized that Picasso was modern art was rather priceless.
After touring the museum, we walked back to our hotel, and rested for a little while, before walking back to the restaurant from the first night. We ordered a completely different menu - chickpeas with ham for the appetizer, and grilled rabbit for the main course - but still had free cava. While the food was still good, we agreed that the meal from the first night was better, and both wished we'd ordered the same food again. However, I enjoyed the dessert I ordered much more the second time - chocolate cake - than I did the custard, and the cafe con leche I had was excellent.
We packed up that evening, and, as we headed home the next day, I wondered about how my thoughts on Barcelona had changed.
Originally, I had wanted to go anywhere but Barcelona. In Spain, I wanted to go to Madrid, Toledo, or Seville - places that had always fascinated me as a student in Spanish class, places with strong cultural heritage and lots of museums. Instead, we went to Barcelona, a part of the country that doesn't primarily speak Spanish (the main language is Catalan), and whose main draw for tourists is football, followed closely by beaches and Gaudi. Never in a million years would I have thought that Barcelona changed me.
There was a video playing in Sagrada Familia that talked about Gaudi and his plans for the church, and in the video he talked about how he believed the church was a physical representation of man's search for the infinite. Barcelona has definitely shown me that I'm still on that search - searching for the things more powerful, greater, and longer lasting than I am. I think I saw it in Sagrada Familia - maybe I caught a glimpse of it too in that bookshop. But I'm going to keep looking for it everywhere, no matter where I am.
Muchas gracias, Barcelona, por ayudarme buscando il infinito.
We can try to make sausage and white beans when you get home.
ReplyDeleteLove, Dad
Looking forward to that, then! :)
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