Gaudi

I never thought much of Gaudi, actually I didn’t think about him at all till reading a novel set in Barcelona where so many of his architectural wonders were mentioned, especially the Sagrada Familia, and then I went and looked it up and saw a picture of an unfinished cathedral, sporting a fanciful set of towering spires keeping watch over the city.

Now I am here and I have gone from wondering where he got his ideas to considering him a mad genius to realizing his genius was unique and not so mad after all.

Getting to Park Guell

Our mission today is the exploration of Park Guell, one of his last undertakings, Gaudi being the creative partner in a failed project due to timing and circumstance.  Originally planned as an elite suburban housing development it is now a fanciful park where you must make an appointment and purchase tickets to enter. Nothing is easy.

Instruction on our tickets read: From the Vallcarca stop on line 3 it is a 15-minute walk, and we advise you to take the escalator on Baixada de la Glòria, and then go to the entrance on Passatge de Sant Josep de la Muntanya.

Exiting the metro terminal Rhonda — who has been here before — says the park is up a hill.  We follow her lead, but something feels wrong.

We left home an hour early — I was sure that was enough time to be on time. But now, looking at the clock on my phone, I worry that we will not make the thirty-minute window allowed. I remind everyone that we are supposed to pick up our tickets at 1 p.m. — no later than 1:30 or we forfeit our reservation and our purchased tickets. We need to hurry.

Asking for Help

A gentleman who looks like a native Catalan walks toward us.  “Hola!” I say, asking, “ Park Guell?”

He motions that we should turn around, go back the way we came, cross two streets, and then turn left.

The climb to the escalators which will take us to one of the entrances is steep and causes someone to say, “This is all we are doing today.”  We huff and we puff finally reaching the escalator, then another, and another, and another, and another.  And another.  I am not sure how they manage weather proofing these moving outdoor stairs, but I am grateful they are here.

After we exit the last escalator, there is still more climbing ahead. We see an entrance but no ticket takers—it seems we have come to the park—the free part— through the back door.  It is now after 1 o’clock and we are in a quandary as to which way to go.  I venture to the edge of the hill. I look down.

“Down there,” I say, “We need to go down.” Michael, Patsy and I scurry not knowing how long it will take.  I feel like Cinderella trying to make it home before her gown turns to tatters and her coachmen to mice.  We lose Rhonda on the way.

Seeing a gathering of people, we stop and are directed further down the trail.

Park Guell – an Architectural Smile

I present my phone, showing four tickets purchased. By some form of magic, all of us enter the park together.  Patsy suggests we make plans on where to meet if we get separated.  My head spins and I wonder how we can make that happen when we don’t even know where we are, or how to get where we are going.  I stick to Michael like Velcro.  Sometimes the Velcro rips and I find myself with Rhonda while he and Patsy go wandering off together.

Parc Guell is all swirls and whirls. It is shimmering, billowing, meringue embedded with colorful sugar crystals. There are no right angles.  Everything is serpentine—flowing.  It is grandma’s quilts. Broken tiles. Broken stones.  A forest of columns. Fanciful creatures.  And everywhere cameras pointed. Clicking.  It is a child’s fantasy—not so bad for an adult either.

We wander at will, trying to capture the moment, some of us clicking madly away.  Others — just being.

 

 

Alone, Michael and I leave by the front gate, walking forever until we find another metro station, the Lesseps. Descending into its depths, we race home at warp speed beneath the streets of Barcelona.