Barcelona: Pilgrims in Spain
Guest Contributor: Andrew Greer
My great friend Ben and I had just crisscrossed France and Italy, utilizing our overstuffed packs, the rail, and a penny flight (scheduled on the wrong day by yours truly) to squeeze in as many sights as humanly possible during a dense two-week Western European vacation. Running a little ragged and short of stamina, we planned to spend the last few days of our European tour relaxing and rejuvenating in Barcelona.
En route to the capital of Catalonia, and as should happen at least once for every American traversing France, the French railway workers went on strike. Had it not been for some determination with France’s impenetrable “Customer Service,” a compact five-speed, (neither Ben or I drive a stick) and a healthy dose of providence, we may never have made the overnight trek from Monaco to the Spanish border before having to head back to the States. Fortunately, Eva, our college friend and a resident of the Catalonian capitol, was waiting at the train station, having freed her schedule to offer us undistracted companionship and conversation in Inglés.
Traipsing through Barcelona was magnificent. At the end of November, the city’s history, architecture, and style were sparkling beneath drapes of holiday lights, exuding Christmas-like flair from every corner. After taking in Gaudi’s remarkable Casa Mila, Casa Batllò, and Sagrada Família, the famously spired cathedral, we sipped dark-roasted java at a local café before settling into Eva’s flat, located in El Born, a quaint fashionable neighborhood inside the Barrio Gòtic, Barcelona’s old city.
Over the course of several months, Eva had made friends with several Catalanes, giving her an outlet to practice her fluency and help her adjust to Catalan, Barcelona’s special brand of language, another trait that makes the city utterly unique. With Thanksgiving Day only twenty-four hours away, the November U.S. holiday gave our hostess a perfect forum to introduce us to her friends and to introduce her friends to an original American tradition.
Though we saved the pilgrim bonnets and Native American headdress for a more discreet celebration, we did prepare a feast: ordering a turkey from a bordering country (apparently Spaniards have no place for a whole bird in their menu); cooking green bean casserole, corn pudding, and marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes; and, of course, preparing multiple desserts. With Eva smoothing over the language barrier, our chatter turned into genuine conversation as Ben and I attempted to fit into the lives and culture of these fascinating guests (or was I the guest?).
Surprisingly, the Spanish natives had an enormously positive opinion of Americans, most having visited the United States at least once before and super knowledgeable of our culture.
Not so surprisingly, the food was only a minor hit. In typical American extremism, the spread was a bit rich for our new friends, who were accustomed to less flavor and fat, preferring the native paella dish (rice) and light tapas appetizers.
Over the next twenty-four hours, Eva continued our tour and conversation as we sauntered across the Barceloneta sands, marveled at architect Frank Gehry’s handiwork on the beaches of Villa Olimpica, enjoyed a lazy sunset over Port Vell, and visited Taller de Tapas for a scrumptious seafood tapas dinner. Finally, full and tired, Ben and I succumbed to the final “All Aboard!,” riding the rails overnight to Paris, where an early morning plane was waiting to take us home.
I can’t recall the exact details of every historical site we barreled through or restaurant we patronized, but my memories are vivid: beautiful people, sincere conversations and fascinating stories, and the merging of cultures that accented our common human tones and diminished our very insignificant differences.
Andrew Greer is a Dove Award-nominated singer/songwriter, respected writer and co-creator of the innovative “Hymns for Hunger” Tour. www.andrew-greer.com
