Tubular Bells (Sitges and Montserrat, Catalonia)

Last night was a quieter night. The realisation that we couldn't party as hard as we did on night one was recognised by everyone in the group. Maybe every second night would be party night.

Our boats.

Breakfast was the usual array of fresh fruit and muesli with the addition of eggs. At 9:15am we were back in the vans and heading for Sitges marina. Today we were spending time on cruising up and down the coast with a swimming stop included.

On the cliff edge with a great view.

Looking back at Sitges.

We boarded our two boats and headed out of the marina toward the southern end of Sitges and then turned the boats north to locate a protected spot to swim. It was breezy on the water and there was a small swell running. Nothing major, but enough to cause some discomfort for those who are prone to seasickness.

Madness.

Much like Cinque Terre, the rail line appears to be carved into the mountainside with a series of exposed trestles that would make the journey quite picturesque. The mountains come right down to the sea with little place for human habitation. However, it does attract abseilers and rock climbers, dear reader, two pastimes I will never understand. We were all quite amazed to see three separate groups clinging to the rock face at varying points. Discussion turned to how they actually got there in the first place.

Similar to the Cinque Terre rail line.

The ride back to the marina was a little more bumpy because we were heading directly into the wind. Aside from a few splashes as the boat slapped into waves, we all arrived safe and mostly dry.

We returned to the villa for lunch and some down time before the first cooking class of the week.  In the early afternoon, we were involved with the preparation of the three desserts we would be enjoying in the coming nights: saffron panna cotta, cream Catalana and Spanish burnt cheesecake. As well as something I would be steering well clear of, Sangria.

Matt had done all the prep and the ingredients were laid out on the table. He explained each step as different members of the group were encouraged to take an active part in the creative process. Knowing my love of eggs I was asked to whisk the 22 egg yolks for about five minutes. Fortunately it was an electric whisk.

Everything came together in a matter of minutes. The cheesecake went into the oven and the other two desserts, once placed in individual ramekins went into the fridge. Then there was more free time to relax and enjoy the villa and the company of the other guests.

Dinner was a seafood paella. Matt has a portable paella dish that is heated by bottled gas. We all gathered around the dish to watch or participate in the cooking. The other Matt had done all the prep work with the seafood so this was a cooking demonstration.

While it is not difficult to cook paella, the need for a proper, sizeable dish will relegate it to restaurant food for me. Once the ingredients had been added and stirred and the seafood artistically arranged the dish is covered in foil. Time for a relaxing drink.

Seafood paella.

The end product, unveiled after the stock had been absorbed was absolutely delicious. As was the pannacotta. The wine flowed and the laughs continued well into the night.

Breakfast the following morning was termed a 'king's breakfast' - the special addition was sourdough toasties: ham, cheese and tomato. An excellent way to begin the day and fortify ourselves for the longish drive ahead. 

Today the destination is Montserrat, that mass of conglomerate rock that dominates the skyline. The towering pink granite cliffs glow in the evening sun. There is a monastery atop the craggy peak and access is via a funicular. You know I love a good funicular ride, dear reader so I was looking forward to the experience. It is not everyday you ride a funicular.

The peak in cloud.

Before we commenced the road up the mountain, we made a slight detour through the village to get a better view of Montserrat itself. There are many adjectives that could be used to describe the mountain, but, it changes frequently with the weather conditions. It can be moody with dark clouds circling the peaks. It can sparkle in the morning sun. It can glow at sunset. And when we were there, it was all hustle and bustle with tourist coaches.

No words.

There is a cable car from the village to the Cathedral. One look at the cables spanning the valley and I was confident I would not be taking that ride. The vans were parked and we wandered the lookout taking photos of the landscape below. The view went on forever.

The cable car on the way down the valley.

It was soon time to jump onto the funicular and we strolled down the pathway to the station. And then I saw it. The funicular track. OMG! Decorum prevents me from actually recording what was going through my head. From our vantage point the track looked almost vertical. I understand a funicular is used to go up, but straight up? Jayne immediately asked me if I would be ok. "No, probably not", I responded but I was going to do it anyway. There was no way I would miss a 7 minute ride on a funicular. It would certainly stimulate my fear of heights.

The steepest funicular track I've ever seen.

The sense of anticipation grew as we waited for the lift to take us the ground floor. My heart was pounding and I was feeling a little light headed. Excitement or fear? I wasn't sure. I'd never been this worried about jumping onto a funicular before. The carnage of the Lisbon funicular accident flashed through my mind.

The lift doors opened and I looked straight up the funicular track once more. It was longer than Hong Kong, so the ride would be briefer but the gradient was brutal. Then came the news. The funicular was not functioning today. Many people had made the trek up Montserrat specifically to enjoy a ride on the funicular. They would be disappointed. I was thrilled.

Our new destination.

Instead of a death defying funicular ride, we opted to walk the 1km to the cross on the point. Much safer. In an unusual moment in Europe, people queued politely at the cross waiting for their turn to take a selfie or group photo. As we neared our turn, some clown pushed past everyone and walked out to take his time photographing the valley below, deliberately photo bombing the couple standing at the cross.

One of our number made a comment, as did the people at the cross. I couldn't hear his reply but he was clearly not going to cooperate and instead of leaving lingered to take more photos. As he left Jan, the life and soul of our group, gave him a clap. He spat "bitch" back at her as he was next to me. "Wanker" I replied. 

The group shot, well most of the group.

The group in front of us re-shot their photos and then it was our turn. Once done, we walked back down the path to the Cathedral to line up to see the Black Madonna. The Cathedral was as opulent as you would expect, with several side altars and some serious artworks by the likes of Caravaggio.

A relief in the side entrance.

The Cathedral façade.

The Cathedral proper was packed with worshippers as we conga lined our way closer to the statue, through an antechamber with reliefs on walls and ceiling, adorning a number of side altars. There was a school excursion from France and one student obviously wasn't keen to be there, emblazoned across the back of his T-shirt was "All Hail The Six Pointed Star".

We climbed some stairs and then suddenly she was there in front of you. Surprisingly I found myself standing in front of the Madonna, obscuring the direct view of the hundreds of worshippers in the Cathedral. 

The Black Madonna.

The walk out the other side was quicker and we soon found ourselves in the forecourt where we tried to listen to the last segments of the audioguide we had downloaded before we left the hacienda.  Suddenly the Cathedral bells started to peel thunderously. And then they rang and rang and rang - 78 times in fact, because I counted them. No idea what it was signifying - Mass was already underway and it was 12:50pm. Anyway, we could neither finish the audioguide, nor converse so we left the echoing forecourt and moved out into the square in front of  the Cathedral façade to wait for the group to gather.

The bells inspired today's title Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield from way back in 1973. It was a bit of a sensation then.

One of the market stalls.

We strolled back past the market stalls on the way to the vans. Each stall appeared to be selling the same produce, honey, cheeses, cheesecakes and the like. Then it was down the mountain and into the national park to a restaurant for a very enjoyable tapas lunch, under the vines and the scrutiny of an ever-hopeful cat who waited patiently under the tables and on the seats to see if it could score some morsels.

It was out of the way, but an excellent spot.

There were a few nodding heads on the way back home, perhaps as a result of last night's efforts. Dinner tonight was perfectly cooked pork loin, potatoes, salad and a to-die-for peach relish, finished off with the Catalana crème brulée.

We retired reasonably early and left the stayers to solve the world's problems.

Until tomorrow.