The
metro station is just a short stroll from our hotel. The station sparkled and the train to Estacio Espana arrived
within minutes. It was SRO with
students heading to university, surprising in a town where people party until
two even on “school nights.”
Estacio
Espana was confusing but we made it to our train and boarded in plenty of
time. Which was a good thing,
since the train left the station fifteen minutes early. Or were we on the wrong train? the
question that introduced several couples as we scanned the map. No sooner had we come to conclusion we
were OK, there was a loud boom and a bright flash – and the train stopped!
No one knew what was going on – and we didn’t understand in
five languages; Catalan, Spanish, English, French and Korean! Eventually the doors opened and we
followed a loud, brassy woman to the opposite track where a replacement train
took us onward. Connie and I got
off in Montserrat Ariel where a cable car swooped us 2000 feet up to the
monastery just in time to meet the tour bus crowds we had hope to avoid by
taking the early train.
So
we queued up with the old, the lame and the noisy French and shuffled up the
stairway of the saints to view the treasures behind the altar. Even for this heathen it was pretty cool. But the inside of the monastery doesn’t
compare with the views outside.
Soon we were climbing the winding pathway to the top, stopping along the
way to eat lunch. The view from
the top of the funicular was good but there were too many noisy school kids so
we retraced our way back to the cable car and back to Barcelona.
We
decided to do as the natives do and had a late dinner. It was the best meal I
have had since we left the ship but I don’t think I can make a habit of eating
that late. Eight o’clock was late for us but early for the locals. And I haven’t gotten used to being
charged for every little thing, like bread at dinner or milk in your coffee.
