Lunchtime in Barcelona was spent at home with family and friends during the afternoon siesta. Food was prepared, newspapers read aloud, and children were allowed to watch TV. It was a magically quiet and relaxing time.
The day we visit Montserrat I was prepared to be away from the house and my host family during the siesta, but I was not prepared for how we would spend the siesta on the mountain.
My friend, Sonia, made arrangements with a few friends to travel with us. Five of us piled in to a tiny European car and drove outside the city and in to the mountains. The further we traveled and more winding the roads became, I started to get nervous about what I’d gotten myself in to. Two weeks earlier I’d broken my foot and was getting by on an air cast.
When we arrived at the foot of the mountain, we drove through the visitor’s parking lot to a gate. Sonia’s friend argued with a policeman for a minute and then turned to me and said “make sure to limp a little, the policeman is being nice and letting me drop you off here.” Sonia helped me out of the car and held my arm as I limped off to the train.
Montserrat is the home of the Santa Maria de Montserrat monastery. Sonia described that at a young age Spaniards, including herself, make a pilgrimage here. When she did it, a group of them walked all the way from her hometown. She pointed across to another peak where a tall cross stood. They’d stopped there before continuing up to the monastery. It was roughly a 16-mile journey for them. Regardless of my broken foot, I felt humbled by their journey.
Before too long, it was lunchtime. The weather was perfect and so we found a few stone steps outside to sit on. The steps circled around forming almost a stage in the middle. Many other travelers were seated there to eat as well. Sonia had packed a lunch for the two of us. We snacked on some chips and anchovy filled olives. Once we were finished with that, she served the sandwiches. She’d made a baguette with smeared tomato and salt cured ham. We ended with a couple chocolate digestives.
As we sat and ate, other travelers filed out of the monastery and started to gather on the “stage”. Several of them wore traditional polka dotted dresses of Seville. This group had clearly, made a long pilgrimage from the south. A few of them men from this group sat close to the gathering and started to play their guitars. Before long, the women started dancing.
From my experience of a Barcelona siesta, this was much louder and much more active. The group from Seville never asked others to join in, or shooed them away when then did. We were free to watch or free to take part. There were the entertainers and the entertained. Instead of a culture clash between regions, we were experiencing balance and harmony. We sat for nearly an hour watching, and it was an unexpected highlight of my trip.
First, you are doing wonderful work on all of these additional travel posts. But its my job to critique.
ReplyDeleteLunchtime in Barcelona was spent?
Or we spent our lunchtime in Barcelona? Don’t use the passive voice. Take your time. Help your reader out.
Lunchtime in Spain is called a siesta. The Spanish word for nap, siesta is an extended afternoon break spent at home with family and friends. Adults prepare food and read the newspapers aloud. Children play and watch television. It is a peaceful, almost magical experience for a foreigner.
During my semester abroad in Barcelona, my friend Sonia made plans for three of her friends and I to spend a siesta on the mountain of Montserrat. We piled into a tiny European car and drove until the city disappeared and the roads grew thin and winding. I was nervous. I was getting by on an air cast because I had broken my foot two weeks earlier…
It is not much different from what you wrote, but it keeps track of tenses and takes time to explain where and when.
On the whole, I like this piece, but it’s a lot of buildup and not much of a destination. I wish I got to know Sonia better. I wish I learned the names of her friends. We did get to know Sonia a bit from the story of her pilgrimage. And we saw a little of one friend’s cleverness with the cop. I want more of this and them.
The story is not just about you, but you amongst others. It might feel more invasive to start talking about them, but that is writing.
I believe I caught a glimpse of William Least Heat-Moon’s book Blue Highways in one of the candid photos from your presentation. Was it your copy? Go read that kind of travel writing –the only kind– again. He is a storyteller.
Take the time to describe the man you met in Charles du Gaul or the friend who took you to the ER or the transformation of Mr. White’s backyard.
Take the time to remember every detail and give each one a sentence. You might just remember things in hindsight –put two and two together– that you didn’t way back when.
Great work.