The Western European Blitz: Day 6 - Barcelona (Montserrat)
September 26
The bus to Montserrat leaves from La Plaza de Catalonia. It’s the dividing place between new and old Barcelona as explained to us by one of our tour guides. They are the pink umbrellas brigade, a group of young men and women from Barcelona. There is one tall white guy named Max that stands out less then he should. Throughout the trip they will take turns on the mic while we move locations on the bus. Some are better at it than others. Humor doesn’t come easy.
We arrive and it is packed! The station where we will be jumping on the cog railway train is full of tour groups. The group boarding now are Russians. There is a tall older woman with a short blonde cut, Hillary Clinton blue pants suit, and a headset mic screaming at her group of comrades, one of whom is just carrying around a 40oz bottle of malt liquor. I immediately picture the woman in some dark ice rink berating young girls on skates. “The gold medal will be from Mother Russia!!” Our tour guide, Laura, shoots us a look, “Russians.”
We are up next. The platform is starting to fill up. It’s hot. There is smoke in the distance up the track. A station worker speaks to Laura in Spanish. She takes off to find someone or something. We’re in the wind.
Apparently, a train has broken down on the track up the mountain. We’re a bit delayed.
Inga snags us a seat on the left side of the next train that pulls in. The “I hope you’re okay with heights” side of the train. The first thing we notice on the way up is the train is shaky and loud in all the wrong ways. As we make our way up Montserrat the views become more and more dramatic. The “don't look down” moments are bit heavy with the whole shaky in the wrong way and broken-down trains thing going on. At a steep pitch with a sheer drop off towards the end of the ride up we see the green rails cars of the broken-down cog train. Bad place to blow a spare buddy.
When you spill out onto a street in Montserrat it looks and feels like a village. Laura is quick to inform us that only the monks and choir boys who are studying music at Escolania de Montserrat live here.
Fact Attack!:
The boys of the choir can only participate in this school from ages 9-14 due to a certain level of dropping that happens to their Voice at 14. At that point most go on to high end music schools, but they do have the option to become a monk. Only one has chosen that path in the past 30 years. (I had questions, but there’s a lot of Catholics around and the church and small boys is a touchy subject so I let Laura move on to tell us about the free booze.)
Free booze made by the Monks. It’s our reward for hiking to the top of the mountain for the view. Before that however, Laura guides us to the church. The house of the Black Madonna. We gather up the history in the square and take in the nature. Although most of the original infrastructure was destroyed by that Twat Napoleon, there is one section that they still dates back 1,000 years. The shear number is something to stop and think about. But we can’t, because the damn train broke down and has cut our tour time down significantly.
Laura gives us a snapshot of the Church and Madonna history and we are off to our hike. We swing by the trail of good wishes where the hall is full of candles you can pick up for a cool 2 euro. Instead, Ingrid fills our water bottle with holy water. God bless.
We didn’t count, but the kill list had to be in the 20’s. (In Seattle, Carrie and Ingrid were counting the people we passed hiking and calling them kills. I was wiping sweat from my eyeballs apologizing for their brash behavior) This time though I'm lock n step. Vista! Vista!
I can’t imagine how many times the girl at the counter has gone through the spiel of the Monks liquor characteristics, but she’s not happy to be doing it again. She lays out the shots for us to try. We are with a couple of college age New Jersey girls who are clearly in need of some hair of the dog and free sweet bread. Cream style wins. It’s a Monk’s version of Baily’s. We grab a bottle because between me and you I can only do so many more expressos.
Mecedes will be taking us to the Winery! She hops on the mic as we make our way down the other side of the mountain. I half pay attention because this bus seems to be going far too fast, again in all the wrong places. The Monserrat travel options are going in the “I have seen better” column today. I hear something about a mankini and nuns but, I’m focused on my exit strategy again and Ingrid is grabbing a siesta.
Olle del Mas. The house of the Potter. The land that the vineyard and winery is on has been owned by one family for 36 generations. They were a family of potters for years and years and just recently the last couple generations have started to turn their wine into a commercial product.
Fact attack:
36 generations is about 1,000 years old.
It’s a gorgeous setting with Montserrat as a backdrop to the vineyards. We head inside for Tapas and tastings. Honestly, this was a little dull and stuffy. Mercedes was fun and knowledgeable but ... meh. We bought a bottle. Salut!
This evening we dine in a flood of Barcelona city recommendations!!!
Dr. Savorkian’s is a hip little unique cocktail bar. They don’t serve normal cocktails. It’s all based on your flavor profile needs and wants. I end up with an Angel Share, basically an old fashion but still muy bueno. Ingrid gets a Camp Nou. It’s green and it’s awesome. She wins this round.
The next move is the rooftop at the W for evening views. The walk is a bit longer than expected and throws a delayed little wrench in the plans to be addressed later. Not to worry! The cocktails here are excellent, the view is stupendous, and dress code is Glam- Chik. And we got in! Go on dust ya shoulders off.
(There are like 3 old guys wearing polos and sandals when we get up there, but lo que se man!) Oh, and Ingrid wins the cocktail battle again with some cinnamon gin jug of heaven from the food as drink menu.
It’s 10:30 PM. We’ve overshot our Spanish supper schedule. (Hello wrench) PLA, our dinner recommendation closes at 11pm but it’s a short taxi back to the Gothic Quarter. Everyone says go get lost in the Gothic quarter. It’s a labyrinth of narrow streets from Roman times. Well that’s fun unless you’re working on a deadline.
Things looked grim. GPS is scattered to the wind. We are winging it. Finally, we find a point of reverence and make a couple lefts. Hopefully Ingrid’s Montserrat holy water kicks in. Follow Lynyrd “F**cking Skynard! You can take the South out of the boy…
Yes! PLA this way. Tucked away in one of the narrower streets in the narrow street area of Barcelona. Every wall is a different bold bright color. There are random placements of corks and driftwood on the tables. Lovin the vibe!
Dinner is fantasticio! Chickpeas actually satisfy and pass as an appetizer and of course pan con tomato. I’m looking at a plate of Duck breast and Ingrid fills up on the paella of the day. It’s declared Vermut with slice of orange and big ice cube is Ingrid’s new go to sipper.
We share the room with only a couple of chaps from England. They are both dressed impeccably. Monocles, lapels, and shoes I dare not even look at. One was round and older. This Winston Churchill looking gentleman with a very English name I can’t remember carries the conversation between the two. Quite loudly, but it doesn't bother us. The other gentleman is younger, tall, and bearded with a very serious look on his face. There is something about these two beyond how out of place they look and sound. They make reservations to return tomorrow night at 9 and leave us to shut the place down.
The waitress talks us into dessert despite the time now being midnight. She still has some cleaning to do, so no sweat! Creme de Catalonia is on the menu! We’ve been looking for it. Now we can compare it to Creme brûlée in Paris. We are rooting for Catalonia.
A toast to our last night in España! Gracías Barceloño y Madrid! Buenes Noches.
What time’s the train tomorrow? Where are the tickets? Okay, YouTube: How to speak French?!