Advertisement
Ariadna and Gabriella
Mother and baby, our hostess at Anita's B&B 9 May 2009
It is 12—noon in Rome on Via Ruinaglia. The bells of Santa Maria Maggiore, just up the street from Hotel Saturnia, are ringing. This is Rome.
So, what happened since the last blog.
We landed without any major hangups in Barcelona, but not with walking distance of the public transport, so we took a taxi to our favorite spot, Anita’s Bed and Breakfast, high up the side of Mount Tibidabo above the city.
Since our hostess, Adriana, had delivered a fine baby girl on Monday, we were met by Anna, the mother of Adriana and grandmother of little Anna (the “Anita” for whom the business is named) and the new arrival, Gabriella.
After quickly settling in the same room we had in a previous visit, we took the bus down to the metro and bought a three day transportation pass. Then we went to Palau Guell before it closed. As it turned out only the foyer and the basement was open, so Connie’s view of the place was limited to a slide show, which is not much different from the many images I had from 2004 before the renovation began.
The next
morning we met Adriana’s father, Carlos Menero, who was bringing in the bread for the B&B breakfast. Menero is the head of a law firm. He also is a man who has had many hobbies, including sailing in the Virgin Islands, where he has a sailboat, having shares in a vineyard with wine bottled under his name and, for the last 20 years, acquiring the fifth largest collection of stereoscopic and 3D images and equipment in the world.
Take it from me, both the wine and the collection is memorable. Since the man is my age, I had to ask what he planned to have done with his collection when the time came. He shrugged. “It will be up to my children,” he said. Of course he was making a catalog, but he said he was behind in that task. “It is easier and more fun to enjoy acquiring new things for the collection than spending time in organization.” But he could put his hand to things he wanted to show—even if he did have to search a bit.
A man after my own heart.
Barcelona was what it always is. There were more living statues than
Our train travel companions
Nico and Maya, at a quiet moment before. I suppose that one day every third person arriving in town will be required to spend a day working as a living statue to keep the tradition growing.
Connie was particularly interested in seeing the Palau de Musica, which was built by the community choral society in the 1900s and has recently been renovated. This building is compact, even jewel-like. Its design by the great architect, Muntaner, draws in light despite having been built between buildings that would have ordinarily blocked the sides and back. Mosaics of glass in many colors light from the roof and the upper sides for an auditorium of superb acoustics that seats as many as 2000 people (although some seats in the left and right rear of the balcony have little or no view of the stage). Another, newer, stage underneath the first floor holds up to a thousand people for smaller or more intimate performances. With café, cafeteria, public areas and rehearsal rooms this building would fit in half the space of modern monstrosities such as the so-called lively arts center built in Daytona Beach that has undergone financial trouble, varying control and name changes—yet the palau can handle the same number
Everyone knows this place
A side view of the Colosseum between the roadway and the Roman Forum of people with far more grace and convenience.
Our next goal was to depart Barcelona, taking the train up the coast to France, stopping overnight in Nice. We stayed at the Ibis hotel, just steps to the north of the station. WE recommend Ibis hotels for their convenience, overall uniformity (when you know what to expect for an overnight stay, you waste little time in getting settled) and low average cost. The restaurant in the hotel had a plastic menu and a simple kitchen, but the young men working there turned out good food and excellent pastries, nonetheless.
My most exciting moment in Nice was getting up the escalator from the train platform to the station level. My suitcase wheels caught wrong as the escalator steps rose up. The suitcase fell over and somehow my feet were knocked out from under me. I fell onto the escalator, but had turned enough that my backpack (loaded with camera gear, but well padded) blunted my fall.
Unfortunately, I was just at the point where the jagged teeth of the steps popped up. I was trapped with the sharp points digging into one arm and my legs. On my back like an overturned turtle, I began kicking against the rising steps while, unbeknownst to me, Connie had grabbed the handle strap at the top of my backpack and was trying to pull me off the escalator. Between the two efforts we managed to get off the escalator. A young British-Indian couple had rescued the bag and came to our assistance as well.
I now look as if I had been involved in a tiger attack. Even my cane has scars and a couple of cuts from the cruel teeth of the metal steps. We suspect there was a stop button on the escalator, but it was not at the bottom step, and we have since seen that they are usually located at the top of the stairs. Fat lot of good that would have done me!
Next, we bought tickets for the forward journey to Rome with a transfer in Genoa to keep on the coastal route—my aim being to see as much scenery as possible. Unfortunately (still in the Nice station, so maybe I should avoid it in the future)) the ticket clerk, an attractive woman who was gossiping with a friend about her date the previous evening as she issued my tickets, dated them for the 10th of May.
But I was standing in the line for travel that day, not reservations. This led to the difficult situation of us competing for seats that were already occupied for the day. Somehow we made it to Rome anyway. In the first leg, we tightened up easily because a woman had two small children with her and they never used one of their seats—one child or the other, sometimes both, up and running around the aisle. The next leg had several empty seats, so no problems.
I strongly recommend the coastal routes from Barcelona to Rome, even though it takes two days to accomplish, because the scenery ranges from snow-capped mountains (in the spring) to fertile plains of grain and vines to vast views of the rocky coast merging with the sea.
Next, Roma—slices of history.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.106s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 11; qc: 31; dbt: 0.0318s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb