First Barcelona...

At our wonderfully-located accomodation. Splendid.

Park Guell

The goddess who kept following us in posters across Barcelona. I mean Ian's goddess.

Gaudi's intimacy with nature's outlines.

Sagrada Familia. Let's hope its completed soon; a masterpiece.

Yes, the start of my holiday-cellulite programme.

A site not common in the English Midlands.

The man who encouraged my cellulite programme throughout the trip.

The man again, with me, at the biggest stadium in Europe, Nou Camp.

Indeed, this is way overdue. I have already been back from my trip to, first Barcelona, then Rome, with Ian, for about 5 days now. I needed some time to ask myself what did the trip mean to me. It is so easy to let the box-ticking sightseeing and photo-whoring be definitive of the trip. Now, too, that Easter is here, the angst of the pregnant wait for Easter to arrive is now gone, along with my unfulfilled Lenten promises (what's new).

But despite failed promises (very much reminiscent of every New Year resolution I make), the prelude to Easter was very much fulfiling, and in large part due to this trip that which I was graced by Ian's splendid company.

Barcelona.
Barcelona was Gaudi. For me, Gaudi very much typified my trip to the Catalan capital. (Do check it out. If you didn't already know, Barcelona, despite not being Spain's capital, is the capital of the autonomous state of Catalonia, a state within the Spanish state). Cities speak differently to different people. If we listen, cities do speak. For me, it was Gaudi, for others it may be SanGria, or Nou Camp.

Gaudi's adherence and inspiration from nature was inspiring and captivation His intimacy with nature would make any partner jealous. His daring art breaking conventions of his time, is not that foreign in the spirit of the Barcelona people. The city's peoples came across as flamboyant, fun-loving and being daring to try. The Spanish knew how to enjoy. I thought I could hear that in their music as well. Ian and I attended two music events there in the Catalan city, one of jazz in a historic jazz club, and the other of Spanish guitar, in a basilica.

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia captivated both our attention. It was nice to understand the biblical references made in the sculptures and facade. Not just in the unfinished masterpiece, but also in the other churches that Ian and I visited, popular or not. Ian and I are sincerely hoping to see the Sagrada Familia completed in our lifetime. We will be back for Barcelona, then. Especially also disappointingly not getting to visit the Sagrad Cor.

Barcelona was also where the pilgrimage started. For me, after being privileged to have seen a number of beautiful churches in both the cities of London and Paris, I sometimes wonder what to think, or feel, or do when I enter these ancient structures. To some of my friends, it is yet another ancient building, feeling the brunt of time on its facades, and have its insides shaken by the din of tourists and their accompanying photo-flashes. I, too, am guilty of such undertakings. But these are my Father's house. What am I to do then? I didn't know. I still don't. The best thing I can do is to kneel and pray in each church that I walk into. On my knees.

Rome in the next entry.

Uncle T