Good Gaudí

I've wondered over the past week, as we've been in and out of so many immense and elaborate cathedrals of centuries gone by, what it would have been like to see one of them under construction during the hundreds of years they took to complete.  This morning, I found out.  The Sagrada Familia was designed primarily by Antoni Gaudí, and construction, which began in the 1880s, continues today.  It was consecrated in 2010 and is an active Basilica, but it is still only about 70% complete.  Even though it's already one of the tallest buildings in Barcelona, the church has yet to reach its full height, as the largest of the 18 planned spires is still a work in progress.  In addition to being tremendous in scale, the Sagrada Familia has multiple ornate facades, which, among many other things, tell the story of the birth, life and passion of Christ in its entirety.  When it is finally complete, the cathedral will be the tallest in the world, and will be in a style entirely unique.  I hope I live to see it finished.

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After our group sightseeing was done this morning, I was still nervous about striking out on my own.  My confidence was bolstered a little by the fact that I still had all my stuff in my pockets after our tour.   It occurred to me, when our bus passed by the beach, that I'd been too sick to get out while we were in Nice, and I'd never really visited the Mediterranean coast.  This would be my last chance to get in the water before we turned inland again tomorrow, and I didn't want to miss it just because I'm a yellow-bellied coward.  So, I packed up my cheap bag and my ninja scrubs and set out to dip my feet in the Mediterranean Sea.  Two trains and two short walks later, I was there(along with hundreds of other people).  The sand at the water's edge was coarse and rough, and the sea was surprisingly cold, but just being there brought me joy.  This, at least, is one regret I'll never have.   I didn't miss out, and my wallet, phone, passport and even my train ticket are all still safe here with me.  Time for a nap.

Los ladrones

Barcelona.  It's brimming with art and with life.  We've already been fed an array of delights--spiced chicken with cooked fruit, paella, Jamón ibérico, pulpo, custard with cinnamon--and treated to a magnificent flamenco show that touched on every emotion.  I wanted so desperately to give an unqualified glowing report about this place.   But then one of our group members got his pocket picked on the Rambla.  Luckily, only his phone was lost, but that's quite enough to throw a wrench in anyone's holiday, especially in a time when our mobile devices have become almost like external organs.  Perhaps it was a fluke, I thought.  He was a little careless, after all, carrying it in the open pocket of a jacket draped over his arm.  Then, as we arrived at the hotel, another victim, this time a tearful woman with luggage still in tow, was overheard just outside our door, reporting her stolen passport to the policía.  So that's two thefts, of which I've directly observed the effects in my immediate vicinity, within a three hour period.  I'm now a little afraid to go outside with my stuff.

No one can say I'm not careful.  There's never anything particularly valuable in my purse, and I've spent most of my days on this trip either wearing pocketed shirts (ninja scrubs, as my sister calls them) covered with a coat or with my hands in my pockets directly clutching my wallet and phone at all times. These thieves, though, seem to be so slick that I don't know how to reliably thwart them.

It would be a waste to be in Barcelona without enjoying what I can of its goodness, but if I lost either my phone or passport right now, it could become a life-ruining caliber of disaster.  I'm not sure whether I have enough pockets for this.