Having completed what I set out to do by reaching Santiago, I flew back to Europe Barcelona in preparation for my next pilgrimage adventure. It was raining the day I arrived, but even the rain here has a certain elegance.
Just walking around aimlessly, in the rain, I couldn't help but feel how different it is being surrounded by so much "incidental" beauty, the monuments are incredible in Barcelona, having the largest collection of Art Nouveau buildings in the world. But even the most mundane shops and buildings have a charm to them, and if one slows down and observes, there are curious details everywhere.
When compared to the stark rectilinear functionality of Vancouver's architecture, this is as different as chalk and cheese, and I find myself continuously asking the same question in Vancouver on my extended bicycle forays every weekend: "why is everything so damn ugly?" There is probably a reason why I'm always drawn to riding through Strathcona: it's one of the few areas that has a vague semblance of character. Were it not for the sea and the mountains, Vancouver would be a very hard place to warm up to.
Here, something as simple as a hat shop,
or a stationery,
or a sheet music shop,
Afterwards we went to another place where some dudes were banging away Jango-like on guitars. I find it interesting that when the Spanish speak English they have outrageous accents, but when they sing English lyrics they don't. I think it may have something to do with parroting the actual sound of the words rather than speaking them, much like some people can sing Edith Piaf songs in perfect Parisian French, yet not have a clue as to what they're saying or have any working knowledge of French. To my eternal shame and consternation I do not speak Catalan, though I understand about 80% of it, going up to 90% if spoken clearly, like on the radio. I can read it reasonably well, though stumble over certain words that are not based on Spanish, French or Latin. When I try to speak it, however, it's just a jumble of Spanish spoken with a French accent or straight French, which usually makes native speakers immediately revert to Spanish. I have made a point of acquiring a few books on the language while here, "Catalan for Dummies", and through the wonders of the Internet, have for the past few months been listening to Catalan radio stations... I'll eventually figure it out.
The guitarists asked if I played piano, and I said sure, and I asked if they knew any Doors tunes, and they said sure, "The End", so I banged away at that, these cats crooning away, but the piano was way out of tune, being from the 19th century and not having a cast iron frame, so likely perpetually untunable without some serious work, and the guitar accompaniment didn't quite work. It was different, owing much to John Cage and his prepared pianos.
In any case, these dudes asked, in English, if I was American and I said no, Catalan, like you. This took them by surprise. Anna stepped in and quickly summarized my life for them in Catalan: "he was raised by timber wolves in a remote dark forest in Canada until rescued by Catalan Missionaries from the order of Our Lady of Stride Bass who tutored him exclusively in Latin and sang hymns written by The Doors" or something like that. Like I said, my knowledge of Catalan is far from perfect. They did say something which touched me though: "benvingut de tornada", "welcome back." We stayed until two, and I would have stayed longer, the place had a good vibe and these chaps were pretty funny, and being only steps to the hotel, but I had an early morning train the next day, and didn't want to be too tired. I still couldn't sleep, so I channel surfed for awhile, then I found a rerun of Star Trek, which I just had to watch, busting a gut laughing at Spock and Kirk speaking Catalan. "Oscular pultem me Scotty!" or something like that.
The next day I took a train to Girona, where I picked up a rental car. A brief word about this; after making a few calls, I found a car rental agency that had Citroens in their fleet. I will not prattle on about the thrill which driving a 21st century Citroen gives me, but I will say that the prospect of driving any other car in the future fills me with a morbid sense of dread, foreboding and disgust. After driving this car, everything else feels utilitarian and hopelessly out-dated, like driving a tractor. The famous pneumatic suspension has been so fully developed and refined, and unlike 20th century Citroens which used fluid linkages to control the various functions of the car, it is now all done through electronics. The car figures out how you're driving, on what surface you're driving, how quickly, how many people are on-board, frequency of potholes, steering corrections, and no doubt dozens of other parameters, and instantly re-calibrates itself to deliver optimum driving conditions. Thus it combines the best elements of a soft suspension on bad roads taken at speed with the stiffness of a sports car on high speed highways with gentle curves and excellent surfaces. The steering is variable ratio, in town lock to lock is a quarter turn: very tight. At speed, however, it takes three turns to make the same curve. As well as variable ratio, it includes variable resistance; super slack in the city at slow speeds, where you can literally drive the car with one finger, much harder on the highway, where it takes both hands to navigate. The car floats along weightlessly, like a magic carpet. It is the weirdest sensation, almost like being in a boat on a calm lake, the only disadvantage being that the ride is so perfect it induces sleep. Citroen has thought of this as well and incorporates sensors to detect when a driver is driving inattentively, photo optic sensors keep track of lines on the road, and crossing over lines or altering the gas pedal and steering inputs chaotically or from previous average parameters are computed in real time. A vibrating function shakes the seat and immediately awakens you, along with a soft chime. Magic! Citroen's belief has always been that the car should be more intelligent than the driver, and it's good to see them continuing with this program. It is the closest thing to NASA on four wheels.
First stop was exploring Girona, a lovely town with a lot of charm, where I had a wonderful meal in the main square. I explored the town on foot, including the old Jewish Quarter, which is dark and creepy, with it's narrow warren of alleys and corners.
The next day I drove out to Olot (as in, "thanks Olot") in the Garrotxa region, an area of tremendous volcanic activity, though thankfully these have all been dormant for many thousands of years. After exploring the cloisters and the old section around the main square, I toddled off to my hotel. The next day I drove out to Ripoll, saw the famous 12th century church there, then onto St. Joan de las Abadias, another lovely medieval town where I again visited the cloister, church museum, and surrounding old section. I was making good time, and I was on a bit of a schedule, since I needed to be in Verge by 9:00pm, but more on this in another entry. It being Maudy Thursday, everything closed a bit early in anticipation of Good Friday
As mentioned, the area is highly volcanic, with most mountain tops actually containing craters in their centers. The volcano at St. Margarida near the town of Sant Pau is particularly interesting because of what is in its centre. The climb is steep, but worth it.
The volcano last erupted 12,500 years ago, so it is reasonably geologically stable. (A note about time lines in this blog; it is assumed that my readers are intelligent, by which I mean they realize the earth is more than 6000 years old. Such is the schizophrenia of North Americans that technology such as MRI 's and nuclear medicine is well received, but when the exact same physics by which these systems operate is applied to geology, the results are rejected as invalid because they contradict the Bible. Seriously, I'm not making this up. Many Americans will tell you, with a perfectly straight face, that the earth is 6000 years old. I tell this to Europeans and they don't believe me). After a fairly steep climb up the side of about 3 kms, which must be done on foot, the top of the crater is reached. Inside the circular bowl of the volcano is a tiny little Catalan-style Romanesque church. Why the medievalites thought this was a good location for such a structure bears some contemplation: it is at least two hour's walk from the nearest medieval village (Sant Pau). As well, the effort required to bring in the materials, none of the stones are of the light volcanic type found inside the bowl, is considerable. The effect is serene, being so remote and complete hemmed in by the forest which has grown up the sides of the crater, as well as slightly unnerving in as much as being a former volcano predisposes it to future eruptions; 12,500 years is an insignificant blip in the 4 billion year history of the planet. Perhaps in the medieval mind building the church guaranteed the volcano would not erupt in the future...how cute is that? I make a point of noticing that every church and cathedral have their bells and metallic crosses grounded with external cabling: it is not the first time lightning has destroyed a church. It is clearly a sign: trust God, but trust physics over God if property is involved.
Next stop, Besalu, with it's stunning medieval bridge and fortifications. After travelling for so long in Andalusia, what strikes me about Catalan towns and villages is that no matter how modest or medieval the town, just outside on the outskirts there are always signs of industry, whether agricultural, or manufacturing, there are signs of factories everywhere. Often, such as in Olot, they'll be housed in beautiful 19th century buildings next to a river which is carefully canalized so that electricity can be generated. Sometimes entire towns, called colonias, or colonies, are built near-by which are self-contained towns in their own right dating to the 19th century based on a single company or industry. The reason I mention the comparison with Andalusia is that I saw very little sign of anything being manufactured in the famous white villages of the South. The outskirts of larger towns had some factories, but when compared to the many kilometers of industry on the outskirts of cities like Girona, Figueras, or Barcelona, there is little to compare.
Besalu had an active Jewish population, and the Jewish Quarter here is well preserved, as is the entire town, in fact. What I love about medieval towns throughout Spain is that the shops tend to carry items which, if not medieval, have a certain air or quality to them of being hand-made or artisanal. Nothing would be more discordant than finding an electronics outlet or a McDonalds in such a place, though considering how many hundreds of towns in Spain either still live within the confines of their original medieval walls or have a medieval nucleus as a town centre, I'm sure there is a Ye Old Burger King somewhere. The distances in the Costa Brava are tiny, so it is possible to do a great many things in quick order if one is reasonably organized about it, and the luxury of having a car (did I mention how much I appreciate this car?) makes short work of the small distances.
There is a charming legend associated with a waterfall on the river Ter (pronounced "tear" as in "to rip") not far from here.
It came to pass that some witches were gathered at the foot of the water fall as one of them was with child. They summoned a midwife from the village to help with the delivery, which went well. As payment, the witches gave the midwife an apron full of lentils. On her way home, in anger, she threw the lentils into the Ter. The next morning she noticed that one of the lentils had stuck to her apron, and it had turned into solid gold.
The country-side is really beautiful in this area, and I stopped in many places on my way to Verge, of which I will write about next.
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