Tibidabo, Barcelona

and I shall give to you... said to be named after the temptation of Christ...



This is one of the most poignant places I have ever visited. I couldn't pinpoint what makes it so compelling but like most magical places, it is more than the sum of it's parts. If however I did try to break it up into parts I'd have to start with the timing.

I've been to Barcelona a fair few times however it was always after exams when summer evenings open out before you, full of opportunity. So my feelings towards Barcelona have always been one of liberation and freedom but there is more.

Another less specific consideration is the sheer commitment involved in getting there. Walk to one end of La Rambla, board the subway. At the other end, pay two euros (approx $ 147 at current conversion rates) to board a fenicular railway. Yes, a tram that is pulled up claustrophobically-tight turns by one single, fraying rope. Those of an anxious disposition should look away!

After winding up the hill, you will be confronted with a retro, pleasing theme park to your right, with decaying rides and sugary goodness in the form of churros. It has a niche appeal all of it's own but to stop here is to miss the main event.

The church.

I'm not joking, for in the church is the lift, the lift takes you up to the top of the church where you will find a narrow flight of stairs. Climb, climb, climb. The stairs open up to a large stone walled platform, once here you can walk around the entire frame of the church, marveling at the view. On one side there is the ochre confusion of Barcelona city, all noise and buildings. On the other side are the milky mountains of Barcelona, all hazy and undulating and luscious, a bit like a Henry Moore sculpture from the 40s.



This large stone vista is dotted with stone apostles, undeniably handsome, bearded men, looking out over the same views with an ingrained (get it?) sense of wisdom and acceptance. They appear to be diplomatically ignoring the rather transient tourists. They have seen it all before. It is one of the few examples I have even seen of a statuary having presence.

It is customary to spend a considerable amount of time with the apostles, seeing what they see. It stops the monkey-mind and slows you down, completing the transition from bustling working life to this altogether more considered, poignant phase.

But there is still more to see, up there on the ledge, of the church, on a hill, way up high. If you can bear to tear yourself away you must enter the central body of the building and start climbing an increasingly-steep series of ladders. Up, up, up, incidentally, this is not a time to wear a skirt above the knee.

Once you have run out of stairs and ladders, you will climb through a trap door. You can then walk out in to a tight, walled circle. Directly above and behind you is a statue of Jesus so large it literally frightens you. You are now at the very pinnacle and the views outward are hazier still, the world beneath you appears to be shimmering or breathing. You can see the rhythm. Far below you can hear distant screams of people on the fairground rides and you can smile at the thought of all that life so far below.

Wistful and compelling as this is, it is the company you keep that makes each visit to the very top so peculiarly affecting. The first time there was a collection of nuns, singing in one lilting voice to the statue of their Christ. On another occasion attractive school children were there with a teacher and part of their experience was to write one feeling or state on a piece of coloured-rice paper and throw it out into the world. Due to unexpected air thermals several of these paper birds came back to us, I caught 'Pax' (Peace) and Kate caught 'Amor' (Love).

Is it any surprise that I love it so ? I wonder that we managed to leave, but we do each time.