Stairway(s) to Heaven(ly Places)

Stump’s Travel Log — (I’ve lost track of which numbered day)

After a couple of tough days — due to both the consequences of my own choices and circumstances beyond my control (which I suppose is true of every day for all of us) — I’m back on a better path. I wouldn’t read too much into this, but this turn of luck has coincided with a transition in my activities from being focused on science, to being focused on religion. Of course I always have something going on in both of those, so the distinction isn’t really that stark. But after a few days of being unsuccessful looking for Neanderthals and early Homo sapiens, I’ve had a very nice day in pursuit of cathedrals and monasteries. And the theme of today is climbing stairways to heavenly places that are a little treacherous, but ultimately satisfying. First a little more about yesterday.

After the sun was getting too much for me on the beach in Morocco, I decided to head back to the airport with several hours to spare before my flight. I didn’t want to take any chances on something screwy happening, and I figured that once I got there, the stress of being in a foreign place would abate somewhat, as the rules by which airports work are fairly standard. So I did the same thing as that morning — walked up to a taxi stand and asked if anyone speaks English. The head guy came over and sorted things out pretty quickly, appointing an old man to take me there, and the price again was 200, so that must be the standard airport price for Americans. I got some food, changed my money back to Euros, and just kind of chilled. We boarded the plane, and then sat on the runway for an hour, but we finally got going. Half the passengers must have been families with small children who were screaming, and I don’t think I could have been much help to any of them, so I put in earbuds to drown out the sounds. One of my go-to bands throughout my whole life when I’m feeling low is The Choir — one of those alternative Christian bands from the 80s that was actually quite talented. They had a song from a verse in Ecclesiastes, “A Sad Face is Good for the Heart” that always cheers me up in a sad kind of way. But I was listening to a different album last night, when I a song I’ve heard a hundred times struck me in a new way, “Flowing Over Me.” Here’s how it starts:

Comes a time on the journey

You wonder how you will survive

There comes a time when you’re thirsty and so alone

You think you might die,

There is a pool in the desert

Where water flows from fountains unseen

Saving water, healing water

Flowing over me

That’s perhaps a little over the top, but wow did it strike a chord we me, while I was literally flying over the desert on a journey that seemed like it was about as low as it could go. It reminded me that even then, there are unexpected oases that get you through.

I made it to Barcelona at 1am and had a good night of sleep, and a good breakfast. Then I successfully navigated the public transportation system involving a bus and the subway, and walked back up above ground right in front of Sagrada Familia

We’re used to thinking of building projects involving cathedrals and hundreds of years as the sort of thing that happened in the Middle Ages. But this one is happening today in Barcelona. The famous architect Gaudí started on the cathedral in 1883 (taking over for some other guy who worked on it a for a year then quit). He was still working on it when he died in 1926. And they are still working on it today. It is really, really impressive. The central pillars inside are made to look like trees, and it looks like you’re walking through a forest.

And the carvings and sculptures outside are also really remarkable, taking you through the significant events in Jesus’s ministry. I took the add-on tour to go up into one of the towers, which gives views over the city. They warned us that you take the elevator up, and then it’s more than 300 steps down the narrow winding stairs. But they didn’t warn us that the bells might ring when we’re standing up in the tower next to them (thankfully it was only 2pm — not 11 or 12 — or I might be deaf now).

Of course it’s a big tourist trap, and most of the people there don’t seem to give off a vibe of caring about anything other than the architecture (and actually, most of them not even that — it’s just the place you go in Barcelona). But I think it’s pretty cool that such a significant and public undertaking has its goal to write the good news of Jesus in stone with such a high degree of quality, and invite everyone to see it.

From there I took two subway lines to get me to a train, and then an hour to another train more technically known as a “funicular.” That’s a train designed for going up steep hills, and it uses some kind of gear that hooks down on the slots in the middle of the track to keep you from sliding back down (I’m sure there’s probably more to it than that). This funicular took me up to Montserrat where I’m staying for the next days. There’s a Benedictine monastery here, with real live monks. I went to Vespers tonight, and heard them sing the service (in Catalonian). It’s kind of like a little village up here, with a grocery story (well, a convenience store with one short isle of more normal groceries), a museum, a restaurant, and three different places to stay. I’ve opted for the apartments, which gives me my own room (unlike the hostel), and gives me a desk and a kitchen where I can work and cook my own food (unlike the hotel).

Zoom in on the peak on the right to see where I'm headed.

So I went to the convenience store and bought some pasta, tomato sauce, and then to spice it up a bit, some garlic and onions. I also got some grapes (though they have seeds), yogurt, a bottle of red wine grown right up here on the mountain, and some artisan bread. There was another misadventure in mistranslation when I tried asking about olive oil. The clerk didn’t seem particularly impressed that I was trying my best to ask in Spanish, because she just rattled off something that made me think there wasn’t any olive oil in this shop, but there might be a little bit somewhere else on the mountain. So I asked, “¿Dondé?” She rattled off something again, and not wanting to admit that I didn’t understand, I said, “OK gracias” and walked away. I wondered if it might be at one of the restaurants where I could snag a little, but then I passed a gift shop which has some small bottles of local olive oil, also grown around here somewhere. That made me very happy.

My diggs for the next few days.

I got ready to cook, but then realized I couldn’t light the gas stove. So I went back to the reception desk, having practiced the phrase for “do I need matches for the stove” three or four times. Evidently it went pretty well, because he produced a box of matches for me, but then said something else that sounded like it was a warning of some kind. I said, “despacio” knowing from that Latin pop song a few years ago that it means to slow things down (but hoping it doesn’t have the connotations of that song!). He gave the warning again more slowly, but I still didn’t get it. But not wanting to admit that I still didn’t understand, I said more solemnly, “OK, gracias” and walked away. Upon further reflection, when the topic has to do with lighting gas appliances, maybe I should have swallowed my pride and asked for an English explanation. But everything seemed to go OK.

I had my dinner, and even capped it off with some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream from the store, which may have been an infelicitous purchase. It takes a lot of resources to get the milk from Vermont cows to this mountain in Spain. And because there don’t seem to be any freezers in this country that are cold enough for ice cream. But after the last few days, I thought I deserved some. I ate half the pint, and it was about the consistency of a milkshake (I fear the other half tomorrow will be the consistency of lumpy milk!). I also had a good long video chat with my good wife. There is excellent cell coverage here, as it looks like the cell towers for the surrounding area are up here. And to cap it all off, I watched the local Spain boys win their semifinal in the European basketball championships. Suffice it to say that I feel like I’m living large.

The only bad thing that happened today was I missed the Wordle. (Spoiler Alert!) PARER?! Seriously? I went from STARE to LAYER to WAGER to PAPER to CAPER to PAVER. But there is a silver lining even here. I’ve been tired of playing that puzzle for several months, but felt like I should continue so long as I kept getting them right. Well, now my final Wordle stat is 245 wins and 1 loss. I’ll take that. And now I can spend my monastery time the next few days in serious contemplation of what puzzle I can become addicted to next. Suggestions?