So. Spain.

Not really on my bucket list.

Not NOT on my bucket list. Just not noticeably on it, either. Like maybe 237th on the list of places I’d like to visit on Planet Earth. Aside from fleeting and quickly dispelled ideas of walking the Camino de Santiago Campistella, I’ve never thought of traveling to Spain. I feel guilty for having lived most of my life in New Mexico without learning to speak Spanish. I will always hesitate before traveling to Mexico, Spain, Central or South America because of this lack of fluency. Guilt? Embarrassment? Whatever. I’d never considered traveling to Spain. Until now.

My brother-in-law’s sister, Timi Annon, left New Mexico last year to become a permanent resident in Spain. She’s currently living in a small town just outside Barcelona. The location is sunny and warm, not overly expensive and is a short flight or train ride away from the many, many places she intends to explore over the next few years. While she has said “Come visit!” to many, I’m the one with the opportunity to do so as I’m overseas at least a couple times per year. Stop off in Spain on my way home from Estonia?

Hell, yes.

Don’t have to invite me twice.

So for my next leg of these end o’ the year travels, I came to Barcelona. I had three things in mind: get a sense of the place, visit a building by architect Antonio Gaudi and have some actual downtime, with true rest and no responsibilities.

And in an amazing twist of fate, I’ve managed to do all three. Plus spend some lovely one-on-one time with Timi.

My visit here started with an evening arrival in Barcelona. During the taxi ride in from the airport, I was amazed by the Christmas lights up everywhere, by the huge numbers of people out and about and the size of Barcelona. I’ll admit it: I knew nothing about Barcelona. I did no preparation, planning or research. I made a two night booking at the hotel Rowan Tree Travel used during our recent tour here. I made no other plans. When I arrived, I ate dinner (purchased on my way out of the airport), did laundry, posted to you and went to sleep. Oh, I did one other thing! I purchased a ticket for entry and a guided tour for the next morning at Sagrada Familia.

Normally I would NEVER book a morning activity after a day of travel. That’s just asking to be groggy through your experience. Plus, breakfast at European hotels should never be rushed. Right?

But for the Sagrada Familia, I would take whatever entry time was available — and gladly take it! I looked at the cathedral’s location in the city, then my hotel’s, making quick calculations about whether I could walk to it. Ummmmm… better not to chance it. I’d splurge for a taxi. My ticket was for an entry at 9:45 am. Count back for travel time plus traffic, add time for breakfast, add time for becoming conscious and getting dressed… I set my alarm for early. Ick.

And soon rolled out of bed at its blare.

I tried to make coffee in my room but couldn’t turn on the Nespresso machine.

I threw on clothes, grabbed my backpack and lurched down to the basement breakfast room. I hoped for the best.

And I hopped in a cab for the ride across town. Actually, what I thought was across town turned out to be maybe an eighth of the way across town. Again, Barcelona is BIG. But before too long, there I was at the foot of Sagrada Familia. This contemporary cathedral, designed by Antonio Gaudi and shepherded through its construction for over a hundred years (and still underway) by a succession of artists, architects and builders, rises from the heart of the city. It’s a great brute of a structure. Love it. Hate it. You cannot remain ambivalent toward it. I’ve never admired its shape nor aesthetics. But it is grand. Make no mistake. Grand. And a work of many hands, spirits, yearnings and great love. It is the only building I’ve ever encountered that could compete with the respect and admiration I hold for Durham Cathedral, in England. It is as ethereal as any holy building could be that’s made of stone, glass and steel. A modern cathedral on a gothic scale.

In the front courtyard, hundreds of visitors milled about. They took pictures, called to each other in unrecognizable languages and managed to form themselves into groups around the tour guides. I took a small radio and earbuds so I could tune in as well. My guide turned out to be a tiny Spanish woman. She had a big smile. She held up a sign with a big number 2 on it. Then she started to tell the tale of the cathedral.

In the days of the great Romanesque, Gothic and then Baroque cathedrals, the majority of Christians in surrounding communities were illiterate. So the building itself had to become the storyteller. Each part of Jesus’s life, tales from the gospels, of the saints, from the old testament and even the cultural mores and traditions of the extant community were worked into the surfaces of the cathedral. Every sculpture, pane of colored glass, the number of columns, the relationships between spaces… it goes on and on. It’s all infused with meaning. Every stone, candle, door and detail. They all reveal the story of Christianity. And yet… above and beyond all the didactic responsibilities placed on a cathedral is the one most important and elusive: to connect the earthly to the divine.

So though our guide gave us all kinds of wonderful information about the intricacies and representation before us, what I took away was a sense of the latter. I’ll share some pictures and try to throw in a few thoughts as well.

It really was the most glorious interior space I’ve ever encountered.

I honestly don’t know if any of these pictures can convey the space to you. In a way, the more I show, the more confusing it might get. The interior is complicated, ethereal, soaring. There is huge space alongside intricate details. Can it translate for this tiny screen on which you read?!?!?!

Really, it goes on and on. I could show you a hundred pictures.

But I’ll spare you.

After the tour, I wandered through the subterranean museum. It was a beautiful exhibition, providing history, context and insight into the entire project.

Oh my. I forgot to tell you that I went UP. Into one of the towers! Me with my fear of heights! And recovering heel!

That will have to be a tale told tomorrow. It’s late in the evening on Christmas day. I’ve got to catch a plane in the morning. And there’s too much more to tell than can be written tonight. Alas, parting is such sweet sorrow…

More soon.

XOXO