We rose early to walk Rohan to Catalunya Square in time for him to catch the bus back to the airport. 
His stay had been a very short one but well worthwhile in terms of seeing a bit of Barcelona and developing a taste for Spain, as well as a family reunion. Next we had a mission to find the Immigration Museum, which Joel was committed to seeing for his work. We took a train out to the suburb where Joel’s Google map showed the location of the museum and walked along beside factories and motor repair shops until we were blocked by the railway line. Another attempt seemed doomed to failure when we walked head on towards the stadium, even though there had been a sign pointing in that direction for the museum. A deserted looking building with a train carriage parked beside it surely couldn’t be where we were going, particularly since it had a very large vegetable garden on the grounds as well. A tiny paper sign said that it was the Immigration Museum, so in we went.
We were greeted with some surprise and Joel, who can speak Spanish, had a chat with the lady who greeted us. It is a museum in the making, with the current exhibition being for school groups and with the labels only in Catalan. We were allowed to go up and we spent quite some time reading all about the movement of other Spanish people into the Catalan region, and the influx of both rural Catalan people and others into the city of Barcelona. The Civil Wars saw a further influx of refugees. The interesting thing about the Catalan language is that it is reasonably easy to read if you know French and Spanish, so Joel was fine and we were able to read quite a lot too.
Barcelona made rapid progress industrially and needed more workers in the 19th Century, so immigration was encouraged. As always seems to be the way, facilities and housing provision lagged far behind need, so shanty towns grew up where workers lived in fairly unsanitary conditions, in misery and in poverty. Later, suburbs full of buildings were created to rehouse them, with many of the photos being poignant reminders of the early days and difficulties. Gradually the immigrants became citizens of Barcelona, becoming organised and standing up for their rights, as well as participating in many spheres of life.
This gem of a museum will grow and, if the display we saw is an indication of their further work, it will be interesting to come back when it is more fully up and running.
On the way home for our siesta, we visited the Parc de la Ciutadella. It is a very long and beautifully tended park featuring a multitude of interesting floral displays, hedges, statues, and abandoned ancient buildings left over from long ago international exhibitions. One is a shade house and one is a glass house, allowing for displays of all sorts of exotic plants that can’t be grown in the climate here and for floral displays in winter. They are due to be restored and have plants in them, but as we peeped through the wooden slats of the shade house, I expected to see a ghost child running along the paths. Two dogs chased a cat to a tree where they bailed it up while their owner watched complacently. The dog is king here. Gardeners threw well grown and flowering seedlings to each other as they put in an instant garden of bright orange marigolds. All roads seem to lead to the Arc de Triomf on this side of town, so it was no surprise that the gardens led to a grand walkway which took us back to it.
Our siesta left us enough time to visit The Cathedral and stroll about in the cool before a late dinner. Although probably playing second fiddle to La Sagrada Familia in tourist terms, this is a fine and dignified medieval cathedral, begun in 1298 under the reign of King Jaume II and completed in 1448. The west facade dates from the 19th century. The stone turns to honey colour under the lighting, and the gilt painted sculptural scenes from the lives of the saints glow in the chapels. Ever thoughtful to the needs of the people, the tomb of St Ramon de Penyafort, 1190 – 1275, has his sculpted image placed on his side so that it can easily be seen. An amazingly busy and sought after man, he was the confessor to kings and popes, a Doctor of Law and a Master of Morals, Master of the Cathedral of Barcelona, patron priest of two cities and the College of Lawyers, if my translation is correct. They should have added, Master of Time Management.
Keith appeared and apologised for having disappeared, but he and Joel had entered the cloisters just as the door from the church to them was being locked. They couldn’t see me quickly so they had gone in and were now back, with tales of a gorgeous garden. The Cathedral is so large that I had just assumed that they were reading or admiring somewhere obscured by a pillar.
Evidence of ancient times in Barcelona is everywhere - on the buildings, on the walls, in the sculptures and in the fragments of walls and towers from Roman times. A woman fed the pigeons and some cats in a run down square created by the meeting of a modern wall with an ancient wall. Palms with the type of fronds that Gaudi had used as one of his motifs for wrought iron work, flourishing in pots, helped the walls to dwarf the woman into a short lived doll compared to time and nature.Suddenly and inexplicably we were in a down at heel area, with loungers and curb drinkers eying us as we walked on in the semi-dark. Young teenagers were playing a dangerous game of hurling things at a friend who ran the gauntlet on her bike past them. Conversations were shouted along the distances of alleys. Graffiti appeared – we recognised some and we were nearly home.
Keith and Joel went off to the internet café and I caught up on a day or so of typing. We really appreciated the air conditioner, since the night was particularly sticky.
His stay had been a very short one but well worthwhile in terms of seeing a bit of Barcelona and developing a taste for Spain, as well as a family reunion. Next we had a mission to find the Immigration Museum, which Joel was committed to seeing for his work. We took a train out to the suburb where Joel’s Google map showed the location of the museum and walked along beside factories and motor repair shops until we were blocked by the railway line. Another attempt seemed doomed to failure when we walked head on towards the stadium, even though there had been a sign pointing in that direction for the museum. A deserted looking building with a train carriage parked beside it surely couldn’t be where we were going, particularly since it had a very large vegetable garden on the grounds as well. A tiny paper sign said that it was the Immigration Museum, so in we went. We were greeted with some surprise and Joel, who can speak Spanish, had a chat with the lady who greeted us. It is a museum in the making, with the current exhibition being for school groups and with the labels only in Catalan. We were allowed to go up and we spent quite some time reading all about the movement of other Spanish people into the Catalan region, and the influx of both rural Catalan people and others into the city of Barcelona. The Civil Wars saw a further influx of refugees. The interesting thing about the Catalan language is that it is reasonably easy to read if you know French and Spanish, so Joel was fine and we were able to read quite a lot too.Barcelona made rapid progress industrially and needed more workers in the 19th Century, so immigration was encouraged. As always seems to be the way, facilities and housing provision lagged far behind need, so shanty towns grew up where workers lived in fairly unsanitary conditions, in misery and in poverty. Later, suburbs full of buildings were created to rehouse them, with many of the photos being poignant reminders of the early days and difficulties. Gradually the immigrants became citizens of Barcelona, becoming organised and standing up for their rights, as well as participating in many spheres of life.
This gem of a museum will grow and, if the display we saw is an indication of their further work, it will be interesting to come back when it is more fully up and running.
On the way home for our siesta, we visited the Parc de la Ciutadella. It is a very long and beautifully tended park featuring a multitude of interesting floral displays, hedges, statues, and abandoned ancient buildings left over from long ago international exhibitions. One is a shade house and one is a glass house, allowing for displays of all sorts of exotic plants that can’t be grown in the climate here and for floral displays in winter. They are due to be restored and have plants in them, but as we peeped through the wooden slats of the shade house, I expected to see a ghost child running along the paths. Two dogs chased a cat to a tree where they bailed it up while their owner watched complacently. The dog is king here. Gardeners threw well grown and flowering seedlings to each other as they put in an instant garden of bright orange marigolds. All roads seem to lead to the Arc de Triomf on this side of town, so it was no surprise that the gardens led to a grand walkway which took us back to it.
Our siesta left us enough time to visit The Cathedral and stroll about in the cool before a late dinner. Although probably playing second fiddle to La Sagrada Familia in tourist terms, this is a fine and dignified medieval cathedral, begun in 1298 under the reign of King Jaume II and completed in 1448. The west facade dates from the 19th century. The stone turns to honey colour under the lighting, and the gilt painted sculptural scenes from the lives of the saints glow in the chapels. Ever thoughtful to the needs of the people, the tomb of St Ramon de Penyafort, 1190 – 1275, has his sculpted image placed on his side so that it can easily be seen. An amazingly busy and sought after man, he was the confessor to kings and popes, a Doctor of Law and a Master of Morals, Master of the Cathedral of Barcelona, patron priest of two cities and the College of Lawyers, if my translation is correct. They should have added, Master of Time Management.
Keith appeared and apologised for having disappeared, but he and Joel had entered the cloisters just as the door from the church to them was being locked. They couldn’t see me quickly so they had gone in and were now back, with tales of a gorgeous garden. The Cathedral is so large that I had just assumed that they were reading or admiring somewhere obscured by a pillar.Evidence of ancient times in Barcelona is everywhere - on the buildings, on the walls, in the sculptures and in the fragments of walls and towers from Roman times. A woman fed the pigeons and some cats in a run down square created by the meeting of a modern wall with an ancient wall. Palms with the type of fronds that Gaudi had used as one of his motifs for wrought iron work, flourishing in pots, helped the walls to dwarf the woman into a short lived doll compared to time and nature.Suddenly and inexplicably we were in a down at heel area, with loungers and curb drinkers eying us as we walked on in the semi-dark. Young teenagers were playing a dangerous game of hurling things at a friend who ran the gauntlet on her bike past them. Conversations were shouted along the distances of alleys. Graffiti appeared – we recognised some and we were nearly home.
Keith and Joel went off to the internet café and I caught up on a day or so of typing. We really appreciated the air conditioner, since the night was particularly sticky.
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