Postcards from Barcelona

We spent part of this weekend in Barcelona with Marty’s family. Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, an autonomous region of Spain recognized in the Spanish Constitution as a “nation.” Consequently, Catalonia, while belonging to Spain, enjoys a fair amount of autonomy.

While we have become accustomed to seeing occasional menus translated in both French and English, in Barcelona we enjoyed menus in Catalan and Spanish. We frequently don’t really know what we’re ordering anyway, so the Catalan/Spanish menu added a nice variation to the suspense that usually accompanies our meals out.

The Catalan language, distinct from Spanish, thrives in Catalonia where it is understood by 95% of the population. Surveys show that 75% of the people of the region can speak Catalan, and 50% reportedly use it in daily situations. Catalan was actually prohibited during the Franco era, so it is experiencing a resurgence and is actively being promoted in Catalonia today. Schools mostly use Catalan, and the government business is done entirely in Catalan. Businesses are required to display all information at least in Catalan, with additional languages being optional. There are also areas of southern France where Catalan is spoken.

I was nursing a cold when we arrived in Barcelona, and the questionable air quality left my already-sore throat feeling raw, like it had been abraded with sand paper. My eyes also felt gritty and irritated from the haze that hung over the city. Barcelona, the second largest city in Spain, is sandwiched between the Mediterranean Sea, a couple of mountain ranges and two rivers, making for special climatic conditions which play an important role in air quality. Barcelona was an industrial city and still manufactures textiles, chemicals and pharmaceuticals, among other things. According to the Barcelona City Council’s web site, the gradual migration from being an industrial city to a more service-oriented economy has improved air quality indicators in Barcelona, where cars are now the biggest sources of pollutants. Reportedly Barcelona’s air quality indicators are generally within the legal limits, but my throat and eyes suggest that it is time for either new air quality monitors or new legal thresholds.

While we found the air quality to be unpleasant, the architecture in the city was inspiring. Barcelona is most famous for its works by Antoni Gaudi, a Catalonian architect of global stature. I don’t pretend to know anything about architecture, so I would describe Gaudi’s works as “pre-Disney-esque.” To my uneducated eye, they were delightfully fanciful and colorful. According to more knowledgeable sources, Gaudi’s work is inspired by nature and natural forms.

Gaudi spent the last 40 years of his life working on a basilica for Barcelona called Temple de la Sagrada Família, which is Catalan for The Holy Family. After 115 years of work, Gaudi’s masterpiece is still under construction. Before you start shaking your head and saying bad things about the Spanish or the Catholic Church, keep in mind that it took 120 years to build St. Peter’s in Rome and 185 years for the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, although Westminster Cathedral was a relatively speedy project coming to completion in just 15 years. In any case, when discussing issues of God and the Catholic Church, what’s a couple hundred years or so?

The construction has been constrained by funding, and the project moves forward as money becomes available. The project is entirely dependent on private donations. In America, a visitor to the site would expect to find many different “opportunities” to donate; naturally there would be big thermometers showing the progress of fund raising and perhaps even a few corporate sponsors. In contrast, at the La Sagrada Família I didn’t see one opportunity to give money, not even a little drop box at the exit. It was the most culturally revealing experience we had during our short visit. Perhaps the church hasn’t hired any fund raising consultants to speed up the process. Depending on where you are on the fund raising fatigue spectrum, you may find the lack of obvious fund raising efforts either inspiring or regretful. I simply found it fascinating.

Even more remarkable than the fact that we paid approximately $11 to see a church that isn’t even finished, was the actual building itself. While I’ve visited a fair number of churches in Europe, a required past time for any American tourist, I’ve never seen anything like this. There are columns that soar and branch out like trees, piles of what appear to be colorful fruit collections on the top of spires, and guardians of the Virgin Mary that undoubtedly were the source of inspiration for the Star Wars’ storm troopers (no kidding – check out the pictures). It is simply amazing and worth a trip to Barcelona, even for the church-weary among you. While you may want to give it a few more years for the project to progress, I wouldn’t wait until it is finished because, chances are, it won’t be in our lifetimes.

More recently, a Gaudi-designed skyscraper was proposed for the World Trade Center site. Originally designed by Gaudi for New York City in 1908, the plans were never carried out. You can see a picture of the proposed skyscraper by clicking on this link.

Below are some photos we took in Barcelona, including some of Gaudi’s work. The photos don’t do his work justice, particularly the photos of the unfinished Temple. You’ll just need to see it for yourself. I’ve also included some pictures from one of the Barcelona food markets because I find food markets irresistable.

Temple de la Sagrada Familia (under construction)

Temple de la Sagrada Familia

Temple de la Sagrada Familia

(note "storm troopers" to the left of Mary)

Temple de la Sagrada Familia

(note fruit-like features on top of spires)

Inside Temple de la Sagrada Familia

mosaics on ceiling

Temple de la Sagrada Familia

interior tree-like columns

Gaudi's Parc Guell

Gaudi's Parc Guell

Gaudi Museum - window

Gaudi's Casa Batlló

Barcelona Street Corner

Countdown to D-Day

Sorry, I promised to be more faithful to the blog, but I’m afraid I have failed miserably. Marty and I have been busy with guests, jam-packed trips to the U.S., work for Marty, school for me and, of course, simply living and hanging out in France. At the end of the day there has been little time left to sit down and blog. There has been no shortage of blog-worthy material in our lives, however, so hopefully some of it will eventually get shared with you.

Today I can only offer you a quick update on our activities. Regretfully, we didn’t see most of you while we were in New Hampshire. Marty spent more time in the Durham area than me, since he was there to work on a NASA Heliospheric Theory Program grant proposal. While that sounds like a mouthful, it can be simply condensed to the Bread and Butter Grant for the Solar Terrestrial Theory Group at UNH. It’s big, it’s important and it keeps the theorists fat and happy. In addition, during his two week stay he managed to throw in trips to Washington, D.C. and Acapulco. The Acapulco “work” thing sounds a bit fishy doesn’t it? Perhaps the solar/space physicists decided they needed to experience solar activity first hand and decided to catch a few rays themselves. So far, Marty hasn’t spilled the beans on that little junket, but the masses remain suspicious.

Speaking of suspicious, Marty’s marital fidelity apparently is also in doubt, at least in some quarters (not mine). I learned of these doubts as a result of changes to my own travel plans to the U.S. I arrived at the Toulouse airport at 4:30 am to catch my flight. Marty would be departing later in the day as he was on a different flight. When I checked in, however, I was told that, unbeknownst to me, my travel plans had been changed to a different day. I have no explanation for this; it remains as seemingly mysterious and random as airline ticket pricing. No need to panic, the kindly French airline representative booked me on a later flight, which coincidentally turned out to be Marty’s. All turned out well as I surprised Marty at the Munich airport, and we shared an uneventful trans-Atlantic flight.

Recently, I recounted this story to my French friend, and when I got to the part about how I surprised Marty at the airport, things got culturally interesting. My French friend noted that it was fortunate that he wasn’t with his French mistress, since that wouldn’t have turned out to have been a very good surprise. Hmmn, well I suppose she is right-it wouldn't have been a nice suprise. I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but apparently she did. In fact, she was so insistent about this point that one could have interpreted her comments as a subtle reprimand for my seemingly imprudent behavior. Shame on me.

I assure you that none of you need to be alarmed yet. Against all odds, Marty still appears to be successfully holding out against the lures of French women. I recount this story only for its cultural interest, not to encourage any lurid rumor mongering among you. My own trip to the U.S. was limited to a week and a half, one week of which I spent in Brattleboro, Vermont finishing my degree requirements. I presented my research project, listened to other students’ research projects and, most importantly, PASSED MY FOREIGN LANGUAGE EXAM! Yes folks, miracles do happen and all gods, higher powers, lower powers, great spirits and even not-so-great spirits should be thanked vigorously. And of course my more-patient-than-any-mere-mortal-should-be-required-to-be French teachers deserve the most thanks, but I include them in the category of "higher powers." After my half hour oral exam (no written exam), my examiner declared that I was “definitely advanced,” the minimum proficiency level required for students testing in only one foreign language. (Another option is to demonstrate Intermediate proficiency in two languages.)

For those of you who fear that my head might swell with this French milestone, I want to assure you that the delusional euphoria only lasted a day as my examiner later sent me an email with my official results specifying that I was “Advanced low.” Now really, was that necessary? Low is such a distasteful word in the context of judging others. Couldn’t we have just left it at “Advanced?” I suppose the silver lining is that I now have incentive in my remaining time in France to try to get rid of the ugly “low” qualifier. I’m not optimistic.

I didn’t tell my French professors here that I had actually received an “Advanced” designation from my American examiner because I didn’t want to invite their scorn. Surely someone who, among other things, is completely unable to cope with the future anterior tense, quakes at the subjunctive and has demonstrated such a complete lack of mastery of relative pronouns that her French teacher had to take a break from correcting her exam because it was so maddening could not be considered advanced in French. I will be forever grateful to my American examiner that she generously overlooked my obvious French disabilities.

In any case, I now officially have a Masters in Organizational Management from the School for International Training. Don’t ask me what I am going to do with it; I’m not up to that part yet. We don’t leave France until August 15, and I intend to take advantage of my remaining two months of, how should we call it...”unwaged” status? labor liberation? idleness? deadbeat-good-for-nothingness? Your call.

I am not yet footloose and fancy free, however. My private war with the French language continues. I remain in school until July 6, my personal D-Day when the second great liberation in France will take place. Until then, however, I’m sure that my incarceration at French school will continue to feed the blog. And did I mention that in French school I now sit between two students who are actually French teachers in real life? In fact, at least one of them has a Masters degree in French. How did this happen to me? I was a biology major. I am not French teacher caliber. In fact, I messed up my homework so badly yesterday, that my current teacher, Laetitia, who is relatively new to teaching and therefore still kind-hearted, wrote “Bon Courage!” on my homework. This soldier doesn’t need courage, this soldier needs to storm the beach. While my personal beach invasion awaits, I will try to fortify myself. Where is that Roquefort?