Barcelona: Day 5

Despite the cava headaches, Ruby and I made a monstrous effort to crawl out of slumber in order to go to Montserrat. Completely braindead, we stared out the window at the Catalonian landscape, something akin to those French pastoral films of Marcel Pagnol. From Monistrol de Montserrat, a tiny train called the zipper 'La Cremallera' brought us to the Monastery. The ascent was so steep that we had a few problems trying to walk up, to the back of the train, on the way back. If we had worn wood-soled shoes, we would have slid and crashed into the front window. It was cool.



Once at the top, we saw the information booth. As we made our way there, we felt a fine misty spray on our cheeks. What is that? Water...or sewage? We turn and notice a truck vibrating loudly, a big popoid tube disappearing into a sewer. Sewage we said in unison, wiping our faces until we had peeled off a layer of skin. We entered the Basilica to see the Black Virgin Mary, the patron saint of Catalunya. The line seemed to go on without end and when we saw her, we barely had a moment before we were pushed forward by the visitors behind us. They were hesitant to push us onward, wondering why I wouldn't touch the wooden relic orb protruding from the glass. Ruby waited, looking at me, thinking I would touch it. No way! There was no way I was going to touch something that had been touched and kissed and licked by at least a thousand people before, that day alone. Ewww.



Afterwards, everyone rushed into the main hall (whatever you call it) to hear the boys' choir sing. I never noticed that they are purposely dressed like little angels. It's really really scary to hear hundreds of people chanting the lord's prayer in unison.

The flight back was totally uneventful, except for my usual panic at takeoff and landing when I think for several seconds that the plane will burst into flames and I will meet my end. It's 11:15pm and the only way back at this point is bus. Why do I always get the psycho bus drivers? Imagine a petite, black-haired French woman (like Madame Defarge in History of the World Part 1) in a yellow reflective jacket singing and clapping enthusiastically to her Bryan Adams unplugged album, flying around roundabouts in a giant coach, slamming on the breaks on slick roads.