Published: 02/05/2009
BARCELONA, Spain – It was one of the worst storms in recent Spanish history, unleashing hurricane force winds on Barcelona, killing more than 10 people in northern Spain and southern France and causing billions (of euros) in damages.
And we were stranded at a train station, 50 kilometers outside the city, high in the mountains of Catalonia.
The morning had started peacefully enough. Though heavy winds were rocking our apartment building, my friends and I had no intention of canceling our trip outside the city to the Benedictine Abbey of Santa Maria de Montserrat (www.abadiamontserrat.net).
The abbey, first built in 1025 AD, is more than 4,000 feet up in the Montserrat, or Serrated Mountains. Reached now either by a meandering tram or a set of cable cars, it has been a popular Christian pilgrimage site for centuries.
Home to La Morenta, or the black virgin, a 12th century sculpture of the Virgin Mary that is regarded as the patron of Catalonia, the site is revered by the Spanish people as one of the holiest places in Europe. The monastery itself has even been rumored to be the hiding place of the Holy Grail.
The wind was nearly blowing us over as we boarded our train, but being naively bold Americans, we had no intention of letting a little breeze stop our expedition.
After an hour’s ride, we stepped off the train at the base of Montserrat to see cable car lines swinging wildly in the howling wind, quickly dashing our hopes of a ride to the top. Not only were the cable cars closed, but the tram tracks had recently been buried by rock slides.
Our hopes of a Saturday spent walking through the centuries-old abbey may have been dashed, but unwilling to go home, we decided to indulge our vagabond sides and simply follow the train to the end of the line.
But first, lunch. The café was tucked away behind the train station. Standing guard outside was a pair of dogs that seemed fully capable of eating American travelers, and the shack itself could have easily been part of the set for “Hostel.” Despite the place’s appearance, the bocadillos, (sandwiches with Iberian ham, eggs, cheese and tomato spread) were delicious and the owners were extraordinarily welcoming.
We boarded the train once more, heading northwest into the mountains. Exploring the hamlets of Sant Vicenc de Castellet and Castellbell i el Vilar, we discovered an aqueduct built by the Romans and investigated the crumbling ruins of a Spanish plantation, while quenching our thirst with cheap Estrella beer at every local bar we passed.
The afternoon found us tiredly returning to the train station, only to find a uniformed conductor shaking his head. No more trains, the storm had blown trees down over the tracks. No more buses running either.
The Spanish transportation system is impeccable. But here, far outside Barcelona in a tiny town where our English stood out like a sore thumb, we were completely marooned.
So we did the only logical thing, we started walking. An hour of trekking later and one town over, we followed signs to another train station that supposedly led to the city. But things still weren’t looking good. The station was deserted, just a maze of empty tracks and walls of wild graffiti.
Of all the people we could have met in a deserted train station, in a wind storm, in the mountains of Catalonia, “Lefty” was the last one I would have imagined.
“I’m from New Hampshire, how are you guys doing?” were the first words I heard the man say as he came around the corner and spotted us sprawled and looking lost next to the tracks.
“Lefty,” as he introduced himself, had come to Spain from the states almost five years ago. He worked as a jazz musician in Barcelona for a while before he moved to the peace and quiet of the village, where he said he made an honest living as a “gardener.”
Lucky for us, “Lefty” knew the only taxi driver in town.
Two hours and 70 euros later, we were back in Barcelona, toasting to our adventure and watching the sun fall below the stormy horizon of the Mediterranean.
http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27642
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