From Barcelona to Montserrat

From Southampton, England, we sailed for three and a half days to the port city of Barcelona, on Spain’s east coast.  1726 nautical miles at a speed of 21 knots. 

For the uninitiated, a nautical mile is 6076 feet, as opposed to a statute mile, which is 5280 feet. A knot is one nautical mile per hour or 1.15 statute miles per hour.

The three days at sea were worth it.  Barcelona is a fabulous city and with over a million and a half residents, it’s Spain’s second largest, with about half the population of Madrid.

First off, I love Barcelona, or Bar-tha-lona, as the locals call it.  Spent many happy hours, running, walking, and crawling from tasca to tasca, in search of the perfect cup of Spanish red.  Turned out they were all perfect and got even better as the night wore on.

But, that was long ago, when I was young, nights were long, and adventurous women turned up like the pages of a favorite book.

Now, of course, all that has changed.  I am old.  Nights end before the moon lights up the sky, and I have been invisible to adventurous women for decades.  I’ve found, however, wine tastes even better over breakfast.

If you haven’t visited Barcelona make a plan.  Big. Expansive, yet a local feel that makes you long to wander the streets.  Las Ramblas, the major shopping and tasca-hopping thoroughfare.  All the Gaudi buildings and the as yet unfinished, Gaudi designed, La Sagrada Familia basilica, among others.

Gaudi's La Sagrada -still not finished

Details of La Sagrada

Another of Gaudi's fanciful buildings (on the right), this one an apartment.

By the way, what’s the difference between a basilica and a cathedral?  A basilica has been designated by the Pope as a very important church. A cathedral is where the bishop’s throne (cathedra) sits. It’s the main church of a diocese. A cathedral may or may not be a basilica.

A note on Gaudi, one of the world’s most inventive architects. His buildings are so fanciful, so different, they take your breath away.  Love the style or hate it, Gaudi was his own man.  When he began construction of La Sagrada in 1883, he was asked how long it would take to finish.  His famous reply:  “My client is in no hurry.”  No slave to monetary gain, he died a pauper, having been hit by a streetcar.

For more Gaudi, do not miss the Park Güell, as fanciful collection of building as you’ll find in the world.  But there is far more to the city than an architect’s fantasies.  The Picasso Museum plays homage to another favorite son.  Also, there’s the Olympic Stadium from the 1992 games and the Gothic Quarter, with edifices dating to the middle ages.

The name, Barcelona, comes from the family Barca, who ruled the region some 300 years before Christ.  No wonder it has remained a centerpiece of Catalonian culture.  2.8 miles of spectacular beaches, world class restaurants…nearly every year it boasts two or three restaurants in the world’s top ten…Barcelona is a place to be savored.

The endless avenues, guarded by heavy stone buildings, and romantic balconies, take you back to the late 19th century. Tall trees and greenery, strewn carelessly, yet artistically.

A Catalan Flag in a show of Independence

Stroll the waterfront.  Eat freshly fried calamari with a twist of lemon.  Drink a tinto (cup of red wine) or two.  Barcelona is a combo city.  Catalan. Spanish. Both languages inhabit the schools and the streets.  Big push for Catalonian independence these days, with Catalan flags draped from apartment balconies.

But, alas, the ship was only in port for a morning and afternoon.  Rack your brain, hop bus after bus, do your best….all in vain.  It’s impossible to see a city in a few hours.  Oh, you can see buildings and museums, but you can’t listen to the lilt of the language, smell the baking bread and morning coffee, watch the city awaken like a sleeping giant, dance into the evening, and see it drift to sleep like a weary child.

This trip, we decided to step outside the city and explore another of Catalonia’s wonders, Montserrat, perhaps the most famous mountain in Spain, known for its Benedictine Santa Maria de Montserrat abbey, convent, and home to the equally famous Black Madonna.

If you’re in the basilica at 1 p.m. (not in July or on Christmas), you can catch a free concert by the boys’ choir.  Yep, there’s a school here, high up the mountain.  Choir boys only.

The mountain is about an hour, northeast of the city and you’ll need to do your homework on how to get there.  Bus. Taxi. Train. Funicular. Cable car.

http://www.montserrat-tourist-guide.com/en/transport/00-transport.html

Montserrat means serrated mountain.  One glance tells you why.  Craggy and wild. Spectacular views of the city below.

The Catholic history of the mountain begins in 880, or so I’m told. It involves shepherd children, bright lights, angels singing and feelings of immense joy.  I don’t doubt it, having had those same feelings myself, under slightly different circumstances.  The roaming kids later invited their parents and a priest, all of whom shared the experiences.

In the same vicinity, in a cave, a statue of the Virgin Mary was found….no idea who found it.  However, it is now celebrated as The Black Madonna and is ensconced in the monastery’s basilica.  It’s not very big, but you can see it from the floor of the church, or stand in line to view it up close.

Outside the entrance to the basilica

Near the basilica is a wonderful museum that specializes in Spanish art, from early beginnings into the post-impressionists, and 20^th Century artists.

On the road leading from a restaurant, up to the church, vendors sell kick-knacks, but also some very special foodstuffs, such as local wines, jams, and cheeses.  Tried several of the sheep and goat milk cheeses.  Superb.

You come away from Barcelona, wanting to come back for a week, or a month, or a year.  It has a Hemingway-esque air that invites you to slide into a sidewalk café, order a wine and a small plate of spiced shrimp, watch the people, write a novel, and live an artist’s life of late nights, and late mornings.

Barcelona is the lost friend you've always longed to find again.  You’ll go back.

A Lunch to Remember

St Étienne rises from the center of Metz

St 

Inside the cathedral

A little Alsatian beer to whet the apetite

From inside Le Bouchon

Garlic butter at its best

A helpful staff member

In the confectioner's

Can't be lunch without dessert

I love Italian food, especially the cream dishes from the north.  Also fond of German, Japanese, Spanish, and … to save time, just glance at a map of the world.  But, as I’ve said before and will say again, until a court order shuts my blasphemous mouth, the French could teach anyone how to eat.

To make my point, I need only mention bread.  The baguette is so simple even a simpleton, or a vicious ex-wife could make it: flour, water, salt, yeast.  Lots of people, including the Germans, do a fair job.  But, for my taste buds, if it ain’t French, it ain’t a baguette. Nowhere else is the golden crust so wonderfully crunchy and the inside so delightfully chewy.

            After a tour of Saint ´Étienne, the Metz cathedral, it was time to put aside the political differences between the French and the rest of the world, break a couple of those baguettes, slosh some eau de grape, and spend what’s left of our shrinking American dollar. 

            What’s the difference between a bistro and a restaurant?  To my ever so humble eye, a restaurant is a self-contained, sit-down, eating establishment, while a bistro sells coffee in thimbles, and has a bar you can lean on when you see your bill.  Also a bistro’s the tables spill out onto the sidewalk like the pedals of a flower, where clusters of women in high heels and men with scarves gather to look down their Gallic noses at the rest of us.  Busy, obnoxiously well-groomed waiters flit about with martial like efficiency, delivering cream softened coffee, beer, wine, and full plates of things you can’t for the life of you find on the menu.  The beer in Alsace, by the way, is exceptional.

Bistros are quite the experience, but today we settled on Le Bouchon, a restaurant in every sense of the word, tucked into a corner of the bustling downtown.  Elegant tablecloths and napkins, glistening goblets, polished silverware, waitresses in black and white ensembles that make a man fidget and pray.  With my French pretty much limited to bonjour, au revoir and de la bière pour les chevaux, I had to be careful with the menu.  Once before, my arrogance led me to hastily call for rognon de veau, which turned out to be veal kidneys in a sauce far too mild to overcome my gag reflexes.

 This bright, sunny, hopeful day I went for the escargot, salade, entrecote avec béarnaise, pommes au gratin, and hericots vert.   For the uninitiated, or those who refuse to learn French because it makes you sound like you’ve got a serious sinus problem, I’ll offer a fighter pilot’s translation.  Snails, salad, rib steak, mayo with tarragon, toasted potatoes in a cream sauce and some green beans.  Again, it all sounds simple, but a French chef has that magic touch that channels the simple into the sublime.  Maybe it’s the creamy mixture for the potatoes combined with delicate browning, or the freshness of the eggs for the béarnaise.  Maybe it’s the rigid standards for culinary perfection in everything, from meat to the greens, to the politely wrinkled silk tablecloths?  Beats me, but it also beats most anything, anywhere outside of France.

The French do not eat, they dine, meaning unhurried conversation and unhurried consumption to the point of idle dawdling.  Dine we did, for the best part of two hours…actually the best part of any two hours you’d care to name.  I could go on about the food, the superb garlic butter on the escargot, the crisply tender green beans, potatoes that praised themselves, and the perfect doneness of that steak, but the photos do a better job.

After a meal like that, it was time for a short walk to a confectioner’s for coffee and dessert with the very young and beautiful.  Unfortunately, I stood out.

Roamin' With the Romans in Trier

Porta Nigra, the lasting symbol of Roman power

Inside Germany's oldest cathedral

The Hauptmarkt

A flower seller on the Hauptmarkt

Time for lunch

The bar at the Kesselstatt

The smoked fish and smoked fish plate

Coffee in an old wine cellar

View from Porta Nigra

 Ok, centurions, gird your loins, grab yourselves by the togas!  The battles are won, the Frankish rabble scattered like stray dogs at a Korean barbeque! We’re off to shrug the tempestuous turmoil and savagery of conflict and get some R&R  (that’s rollicking and rolling) at the wine center of the northern empire, Trier.

            What can we say about Trier?  Everything.  It’s such an old, cobblestone city, dating back to well before the Romans.  Population is just over 100,000 and the location, right on the Mosel River, has played a big part in making this a center of wine commerce for thousands of years, right up to the present.  Really great wine was another good reason.

            Officially, the city dates from 16 B.C.E., making Trier the oldest city in Germany, but there’s plenty of evidence to suggest there were settlements here long before.   Under Roman rule, the city really came into its own and the remnants are still the highlights of any visit. 

It’s not exactly Roman, but a good place to start, and one of the stars of your visit, is the Dom St Peter.  It was, however, built on a Roman foundation and contains what some believe to be the robe of Christ. When it was originally constructed, the cathedral was about four times the size it is now, but attacks by the Franks and Normans smashed it down to what you see today. There are relics galore in the Dom’s museum, including what is reputed to be one of the nails from the cross, now encased in gold and jewels. Tarry awhile.  Enjoy the magnificence of the towering ceilings and the majestic serenity.  You can drink later.  It’s the oldest cathedral in Germany, dating from near 330 C.E. Sometimes I think of Trier as a city of churches.  There’s the Dom and the Lieberfrauenkirche, The Church of Our Lady next door, with its fabulous gothic architecture. There’s an old Roman palace, now a protestant church (Aula Palintina), and dozens more.

Most famous of all the Roman ruins is Porta Nigra, or Black Gate. If you get to Trier, don’t miss this one.  There are also Roman baths, and an amphitheater.

Shortly after you leave the Dom, heading for the Porta Nigra, you’ll find yourself in the center of a huge walking plaza, Hauptmarkt, fully equipped with, food, drink, shops, and always a festive air. On the way, you’ll walk from the Hauptmarkt, down the Simeonstrasse.  No vehicles allowed!  About half way there, glance to the right at the House of the Three Magi.  Looking like something out of the Arabian Nights, you can’t miss it.  Dates from the 13^th Century.  That big hunk of dark stones and open portals at the far end of the street?  That’s the Porta Nigra. You can buy a ticket and visit both the Gate and the museum next door.  Climb the stairs; look out the highest windows for a spectacular view of the city.

Time for a break.  Time for lunch.  Head back toward the Dom.  Right across from the Dom is the perfect lunch spot, the Weinstube Kesselstatt, or Cauldron/ Kettle Place.  At lunchtime the weinstube is bustling, but the service is fine and the food wonderful.  Check out the wine–by-the-glass list over the bar.  Ask a barista to suggest something.  She'll probably off you a sip to try.  The waiters are also knowledgeable and speak English.  Try the local platter of smoked fish and smoked meats over salad.  It’s enough for two big eaters or three reasonable people.  It’s also a delight to just stop in the weinstube for soup or wine.  The décor is striking.  A large wine press and dark barrels stacked along the walls draw me back again and again.

Sated?  Time to pick up the pace.  Karl Marx was born here in 1818 and his home is now a museum.  To get there, you’ll have to wander out of the very center of town, but not very far.  Within easy walking distance of the Dom and the Hauptmarkt are the Roman baths, the amphitheater, the Roman museum, Aula Palintina, and the Roman bridge over the Mosel, dating to 150 C.E..  Short paragraph, but a long time, if you really want to give things more than a passing glance.  There are also stop-and-go buses that hit all the highlights.

All that walking and it’s time for Kaffee und Kucken.   Reverse course and trot back to the Haupmarkt.   I can think of no more interesting place for coffee and cake than in an old wine cellar.  It’s right near the House of the Three Magi, but on the opposite side of the street, underneath the Karstadt Department Store.  The entire city is an underground warren of wine tunnels and cellars.  Most cannot be visited except by appointment.  But, in this café, you can sip, nosh, and enjoy seeing the cellars, minus the wine.

            Even my glittering words do not do justice to Trier, a city of never ending discovery and enchantment.  Makes you want to paint a picture, write a book, light a candle, make a wish.  I think I’ll settle for another glass of wine.

Note:  You are probably used to seeing historic dates as B.C. (Before Christ) and A.D.  B.C. is English. A.D. is Anno Domini in Medieval Latin, translated as: in the year of our Lord.  B.C.E. stand for before the common era and C.E. stands for the common era.  C.E. has been used at least since 1708 and B.C.E. since 1856.  Short answer:  B.C. = B.C.E. and A.D. = C.E.

Meet Me In Metz- The City of Dragons

Saint Étienne rises from the center of Metz 

Mac Chagall's famous glass

A chartcuterie  in the covered market

wines and cheeses abound

Coming out of the covered market - Place de Chambre

Time to pick a bistro

Quiche Lorraine!

Metz is a city sizzling with history, wine, food, and culture, just across the border from Germany…no, I mean just across the border from France…no, wait; now it’s in France.  Hard to keep track.  Metz has crossed the border more times than the German army.  Right now it is in France, or at least all the people speak French and don’t smile much.

Like most cities in this part of the world, the history of Metz goes back to well before Julius Caesar came, saw, and conquered. Metz was first fortified by the Celts around 110 BCE.  Roman, Frankish, French, German, and American armies have all seen battle here. You may have heard of the nearby Maginot Line, which the German Army overran in 1940.  In 1944, it was the Germans who had their backs against the wall. A vicious, three-month battle ensued, with German defenders holding on until George Patton’s 3^rd Army broke through. 

Sitting at the confluence of the Moselle and Seille Rivers, Metz (pronounced Mess by the French and Matz by the Germans) was once a part of the Holy Roman Empire.  In the 18^th Century it became a part of Lorraine (of quiche fame), which is also when The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg became independent.

Now Metz is known by yours truly for it’s fabulous old style food market, it’s astounding cathedral, and for it’s wonderful bistros

First, let’s amble through the Saint Etienne Cathedral. Etienne is the French version of Stephen, pronounced et-t’-YIN, from the Greek word for crown.   Its nickname is God’s Lantern, named for having about 6500 square meters, or 70,000 square feet of stained glass.  The cathedral’s first stained glass dates to the 13^th Century.  Note the deep blue, called “bleu de Chartres.”  Marc Chagall did the latest and most modern windows in 1963.  In 2008, vandals broke into the cathedral through a hole in the window (since repaired).

Lots of myths and legends surround the Metz Cathedral.  Myth, legend, truth?  You pick.  According to tradition, Saint Peter sent Clement to Metz in the 1^st Century to spread Christianity.  There are several miracles surrounding Saint Clement.  He is said to have killed a dragon, The Graoully.  This dragon and a host of snakes inhabited the Roman amphitheater, poisoning the air with their breath.  After getting a promise from the locals that they would convert to Christianity if Clement dispatched the dragon, he walked into the amphitheater, was attacked, but made the sign of the cross.  This tamed the snakes, apparently including the dragon.  But, this tale has dragoned on long enough.  You can see representations of The Graoully in various places around Metz.  Don’t forget to visit the cathedral museums!

On to the famous covered market, adjacent the cathedral, in the Place de Chambre.  Begun in 1785 as the Bishop’s Palace, a little disagreement called The French Revolution stopped its completion.  In the early 19^th Century it became a market and has remained so.  More than a market, it’s a step back in time, especially for Americans, who may be astounded to find sausages and hams hanging from hooks and patés that are not entombed in adult-proof plastic wrap.  Cheeses, vegetables, meats, fruits, seafood, all are wonderfully fresh.  Oh, ya gotta try some breads!  Prices are reasonable (if you don’t count what’s happened to the dollar).  Look around and you’ll see why.  Mostly locals shop here, unlike an unnamed market in Seattle, which attracts upwards of 10,000 tourists a day.  Big difference.  Metz market is a must see.  Of course, that’s just my ever so humble opinion.

Now we’ve worked up an appetite.  It’s time to thumb through the dusty memories of our high school French and do our best Maurice Chevalier imitation at a French bistro.  When hunger is at hand, don't’ limit yourself to the cathedral/ market area.  Come out of the covered market into Place de Chambre, make a right turn, then turn left about 25 yards later at the flower stand.  That lane will lead you to another open plaza, lined with wonderful bistos.  Restaurants are open for lunch from about 1130 to 1400 (2p.m.).  After that, best of luck finding more than a snack kiosk open.  The bistros open again about 1700 (5p.m.).  Best bets for my taste are the quiche Lorraine (After all you are in Lorraine!) and a  meat platter of local sausages and hams on a bed of sauerkraut.  The region is also famous for it’s Mirabelle plum brandy, and its wines.  If you're a beer connoisseur, try one of the excellent French beers, such as Fischer.

A final tourist tip for Metz.  On the side of the cathedral is another large plaza, the Place d’Armes, so named because it was built in the 18^th Century to symbolize the four seats of power, the church, the government, the courts (justice), and the army.  Only the army has been replaced, by a tourist bureau. Sign of the times.  (Office de Tourisme Place d'Armes.  http://tourisme.metz.fr/en/commun/contact.php )  The tourist office has a lot of great information about where to see the Roman remnants inside and outside the city, but best of all, they also have toilet facilities at a price of only 50 European cents!