We were lucky to get out of Morocco
Oblivious to all of us in Marrakech, a snap traffic controllers strike {talking to locals they said the Government handled the altercation badly as the controllers who earn over half a million dollars a year many many perks from the past regime}in Madrid over their long weekend holiday meant that all planes had been grounded and chaos had ensued in the previous two days before our flight: queues of six hours at Menara Marrakech airport for people only to be sent away; Brits buying additional € 600 plane tickets trying to get home; hotels in Madrid charging € 300 per room when a week ago they would have charged only € 60 for the same room. A reality of plane travel.
Some flights were only being resumed at 6.00 am of the morning of our scheduled 2.00 p.m. departure from Marrakech. A trickle of flights with a huge backlog. With limited expectations we arrived at the airport to find our flight leave only 45 mins late and both the girls, to London, and Anne and I to Barcelona made our connecting flights from Madrid.
We were lucky.
I was at my vague, absent- minded and spatially challenged best in Barcelona airport.
Somehow I had managed to find myself wandering out of the airport without my luggage, passport or wife! Anne had earlier gone to find an ATM, she had my passport from the flight, and I went looking for the luggage carousel. I went to information booth were they told me I had to go back in to arrivals. Only trouble was that security would not let me back in without my passport. With the aid of some sweet talking and my driver’s licence I was eventually reunited with my wife, passport but not my luggage. It had been mislaid and I would only see it in another two days time when it was couriered to our accommodation at Casa de Marcello (€75/night) in the heart of the old town of Barcelona. This beautiful guest house was surrounded by hip cafes, chic boutique shops and wide tree lines streets and the leaves still hung with their late autumn colours.
After our €30 taxi ride we headed for one of those nearby hip tapas cafes. It was late by our standards, 10.00 p.m. but sitting outside in the mild evening air, enjoying a selection of delectable tapas’, immersed in a family atmosphere and washed down with wine and beer was the best €40 we had spent for a while on cuisine. We were already falling in love with Barcelona. (Marrakech, are you listening?).
The next day we were off to Montserrat, a Benedictine monastery perched high on a serrated mountain.
But before our visit, Barcelona put on her charm with blue skies, a mild 19°C as we visited the Picasso Museum, Santa Mar Cathedral and Barcelona Cathedral. Lunch was a quick bite to eat with the rest of the Catalan community on the steps of the Barcelona Cathedral, as it was a five day religious long weekend.
The one hour train trip followed by a stunning cable car ride to the top as the sun was setting over the monastery was stunning.
There are moments that remain with a man forever.
The vespers sung by the monks in Catalan in the Basilica was hauntingly beautiful, ethereal and deeply spiritual. There was such a deep connection to my Benedictine spirituality cultivated over the last ten years of my professional life.
Veneration of the Black Madonna and a prayerful excursion of the Basilica was a humbling experience. In this very place, for religious buffs,was a meeting point between the Benedictine and the Jesuit charism. It was here that a young Ignatius of Loyola prayed and found metanoia. I was in my element.
A Michelin star dinner followed with free wifi in the hotel room, Benedictine hospitality again.
The following morning we soaked up more of the atmosphere and heading back to Barcelona around lunchtime. It was there on the train that Anne was violently ill, not once but three times. This was to pass over the next 24 hours but the trip back to the guest house was slow and painful for Anne.
After a nap (I was feeling queasy too and out in sympathy with Anne) we went for a three hour walk down to Port Vell and then along the famous La Rambla, the ‘Champ Elysees of Spain’. An avenue of street artists, both conventional and unconventional, various stalls and a great vibe filled the night sky.
As we walked hand in hand in the last rays of the Catalan sun, we had come to the same conclusion that the people of Barcelona are gentle, warm, family orientated, kind, proud and love their food. The cities topography opens its arms and invites you to explore its architecture, its food and her people. She teased us and enticed us to come back for more. The Sagrada would have to wait. God willing we will be back one day.
The following morning we learnt a new word in Spanish cancello, as we looked at the Flight Information Board at the airport.
The weather gods had closed Charles de Gaul airport in Paris. Through fate or good fortune we were offered and accepted an earlier flight to Orly airport. As we landed at 11.20 a.m. the snow mercilessly spared none. It was perhaps the last flight for the day.
We were lucky again.
The city of lights beckons as does the tales from our daughters of their adventures in the old dart.
Until next time
Good tidings and God’s blessings
Janika
No comments:
Post a Comment