A SANCTUARY OF MAGIC
*I've forced Rick to tag along with me through this architectural history journey I had planned for on this trip to Spain. I know it wasn't his idea but he'd never been to Spain so he gave in. Then I denied him access to pools when the sun was at its zenith. I dragged him through buildings when all he wanted to do was nap. I bought him accompanying tickets that were supposed to give us early access to architectural landmarks but ended up as insufferable tours. Through all of this he accepted his fate, indulged me in my regimental scheduling and did it all with patience and grace. Now if you believe this you've not been paying close attention. Just kidding, he was a trouper.
*EDITOR'S NOTE: Once again the writer has thrown his traveling companion under the bus. In actuality Rick has long been a student of art and architectural history and his knowledge of and enthusiasm for the subject far surpasses that of the bombastic author!
He even managed to enjoy some of our excursions. In Bilbao he loved the Guggenheim managing to outlast me coming back to the hotel well after I had already returned.
So I really challenged him again in Barcelona. We arrived in the late afternoon exhausted from traveling. Our itinerary was becoming tighter with only three to four days in each metropolis before we took off for another. This is not our normal travel plan but if we were going to see Spain it was going to be a taste at a fast food pace.
The minute we arrived at our hotel Rick plotzed and I went out to get my bearings so we wouldn't feel lost the next morning.
I had been told that if we wanted to go to the Sagrada Familia it was best to book our tickets for the first available time slot available on the day we planned to attend. I booked the nine o'clock entry for the day after we were to arrive with the full knowledge I was pushing Rick's travel alarm. Under normal circumstances his body clock alarm wouldn't go off until ten at best.
I roused him out of a deep sleep at seven with my eyes squeezed tight and a little finger jab ready to run if the wolf woke instead of the lamb. I got lucky with only grogginess to deal with. We showered, had a great breakfast, attended to our constitutions and off we went. A cab was my big concession.
The word on the street was right. Getting there early and being the first in gave us access to one of Gaudi's most famous structures that at that time in the morning was almost entirely unencumbered by the hordes of additional tourists who would pour in as the day went on.
The outside of the Basilica is a bit overwhelming and best viewed from a distance. Up close there's so much going on it takes on the appearance of a "Where's Waldo" puzzle where Waldo has left the building.
Inside is a different story especially on a sunny day. The inside is less busy devoid of the thousand and one depictions of the birth of Christ hidden among the grape leaves and plaster fauna.
The inside is pure magic. There's nothing Disneyesque about the play of color that dances around the cathedral.
It is so opposite of what you think of when you are trying to describe the emotional impact of a spiritual place of worship. The normal adjectives are more like somber, reverent and humbling but what I felt in La Sagrada Familia was a sense of joy and whimsy.
I didn't feel repentant but an overwhelming glory in the human race. For me the Basilica is not a building that dropped me to my knees but instead lifted me up and increased the amount of smile lines embracing my aging eyes.
As with the Guggenheim I don't have the sufficient words to portray what I feel my photos can. I'm going to leave it at that and let these images each have their thousand words.
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