FIFTY-THIRD
DAY
SAILING
AWAY
November
4-5
My usual neurotic self takes over
immediately as we enter the International Airport at Fumicino (Roma). There is a long line awaiting the Alitalia
tourist class that makes me think we won’t make the plane. Kimberly can’t even believe that this
troubles me or at least she appears to be quite calm. We do make it through and the security is surprisingly
limited. The guy, who has to inspect me
because my hips always beep, barely checks anything and we are on the plane.
Even though it is an hour late, the flight is short and we are in Spain,
Barcelona to be exact. They (the
Barcelonans) do not consider themselves to be Spanish. They want special recognition of their
differences and Spain has agreed to discuss this with them. It is the same thing as the Basques in the
north, but they seem to choose bombs and raids on police stations to make their
case.
Perhaps
the reason the Catalans don’t make too much noise is the fact that Barcelona is
a prosperous town. It has lots of
museums, restaurants, churches and loads of history to go with it. The Spanish have a lot of momentum in Europe
at this moment and industry in Catalonia is thriving. There are 3 million people in the metro area
and the drivers seem sane after Rome.
Lots of motorinos but not as many crazies driving them. Apparently, many Italians come here to work
because there are more opportunities; most seem to be from Sardinia.
We decide
to take a bus tour. Kim loves these
things because you can see what you like and either get off or go back when you
must see it closer. We take the Red line
first and get a taste of Gaudi within moments of boarding. What a fantastic Barcelona treasure! We know we must go back to Sacrada Familia,
his world famous church that is still under construction 100 years after it was
begun. We go through and around
Barcelona on the bus and decide it was so good we would try the Blue line,
which covers the Olympic Village and the highest hills of the town. By the time we get off the bus four hours
later, I smell like diesel but we really got the taste of this bustling Spanish
port. Our Hotel is right in front of the
Cathedral with a terrace overlooking the church. What a spot.
To us after 2 months in a dorm, it seems like heaven. The shower water pours down, the towels are
big, the sheets soft and the room cozy.
It even has a TV. There is
nothing to watch but CNN, but so what.
The weather is holding and we sit on our terrace and watch the people
pass by and walk in and out of the cathedral - not bad. One of the big
differences is that we don’t have to have Italian food. We decide to look for something simple more
like home and are directed to a restaurant that is a block from the Hotel. Kim has fresh Salmon and a salad, no first
and second courses, no waiting for the waiter, no prolonged Italian style meal. Just simple and straightforward and it feels
just perfect, a good time for a break from the Romans.
The next
morning is electric. The sun is shinning and coffee on our terrace is a great
way to start our day. Kim scouts out the
cathedral while I read the Herald Tribune.
The H/T is owned by the NY Times but in everyway is a European
newspaper. Most of the news is about
Europe, lots about Asia. Sports as covered in American is non-existent as is
most American news except Bush bashing.
I do miss the Times and even the SF local papers but have gotten used to
using the computer for most of my scores and news updates. Still the H/T is a taste of home and I read
it everyday. It amazes me that I am more
moderate than the editors and that the old red-hot liberal is now a
conservative Democrat. I had better
explain that. Conservative on fiscal
issues and liberal on social causes and issues.
Oh well, I make no dents in anyone’s politics these days.
We take a
cab to the Gaudi church, Sacrada Familia and are walking through the entrance
at 9:45, well ahead of what is sure to be a big crowd. We immediately take the elevator to the top,
and Kim continues up, but I return to Earth - too high and scary for me. The elevator woman told me that lots of
people end up going back down. What a
place, it is hard to describe this incredible church. It is really a tribute to construction and
architecture but of course motivated by the Christian Catholic movement. I would give this place 3 stars for
everything from ingenious conception to style and execution. It is a wow moment. When Kimberly finally climbs down from the
top of one of the towers, she agrees that the climb would have been impossible
for me. We slowly meander back to our
hotel to pack-up. It gives us a real
chance to see the various neighborhoods of the city. As we are walking back someone throws coffee
out his or her window and guess what they hit?
It is all over both of us. A guy
comes running up and starts to help us clean ourselves up. We have both been spotted from head to
toe. It is rather nasty but no big
deal. As they say, it happens. Or something like that. Our walk is so delightful exploring at
leisure that our estimation of Barcelona grows.
We have to leave the hotel by noon as they fill up with all the
passengers coming in from cruise ships.
We stop for a Tapas lunch in the old section of town. We naturally order too much pointing to
things we’ve never seen; we love the small plates and can’t eat it all so we
have dessert. The calamari was fab and
so were the minnows or whatever they were.
Nothing is cheap, but was faultlessly prepared and delicious.
The boat
awaits. We’re early at the dock, but
there is a neat conference hotel next to the dock and we enter for a look
around. It is huge, new and lovely and
not the kind of place we would ever stay but I like it. The Windstar ships are 4 mast sailing vessels
and we have been on this one before, probably 12 years ago on the French
Riviera. Soon we are sailing in calm
seas, sails unfurled, sun setting, the world fresh and Barcelona receding. On to Mallorca. My Mom and Dad could never have imagined my
great good fortune. I hope they knew
about my zest for living the dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment