Wandering in the Barri Gòtic

Just outside the cloister of the Barcelona cathedral is the Monument to the Martyrs of Independence. The five depicted men, waiting for their execution, were garroted (i.e., strangled) because of their resistance against Napoleon's conquering of Spain. The monument's placement here, adjacent to the Catalonian government offices, was deliberate.

Sculpture placed here in 1941, shortly after the communist forces centered in Barcelona fell to Franco's forces in 1939. Franco abolished the Catalan government, suppressed the language and culture, and tried to assimilate -- or Castilianize -- the region into Spain.

A majority of Catalonians favor independence from Spain (and ideally would carve out a part of southern France for their Catalan nation). Referendums for partial or total independence have reached a high of 74% of the population in support. While the rest of Spain somewhat shrugs at these separatist hopes, Catalonia seems genuinely eager to split off and form its own nation within the European Union. Wandering in the Barri Gòtic, you see a lot of Catalan independence flags.

The traditional senyera (i.e., "flag") of four red stripes on a field of gold, derived from the former King of Aragon, is transformed into a separatist flag by imposing L'Estelada Blava (i.e., "blue star"), a lone star signifying independence.

By comparison, Scotland will vote on independence next year in a referendum but polls show less than 50% support. Although a majority of Scots favor some further autonomy -- usually called "devolution" -- they do not (yet?) want full independence from the United Kingdom. It's a political question that I'll be following closely over the next year.

Just down the street from the monument and cloister is a neo-Gothic bridge connecting the Catalan president's official residence with the Catalan government building. Though it looks old, it was built in the 1920s.

Neo-Gothic bridge in the Gothic quarter of the city.

Though very few vehicles drive in these narrow lanes, some of them are designated one-way. They don't display the usual "no entry" signs, but instead have ornate "Entrada" and "Salida" signs.

Entry to a one-way street.

This is the exit for the one-way lane, so don't turn down this street from here.

Down the street in the other direction is the Catalan College of Architects, an ironically ugly building in a city of gorgeous architecture. It gets a bit of attention, though, because of the Picasso frieze that wraps around three sides. This is late Picasso, well outside of his Blue or Rose or Cubist periods. Charitably, it's called "childlike."

If it wasn't Picasso, it would be crap.

The confluence of the government buildings, cathedral, Picasso, and monument brings a steady flow of tourists. So, of course, it's a great place to set up as a street musician. The acoustics are quite good, too. When traveling, we try to stop at a fair number of buskers for a breather and to give Jackson some entertainment during our touristing.

These guys were good.

Though the Barri Gòtic is the medieval heart of the city, there's a sprinkling of sights from other eras, as well. For example, the Viceroy's Palace displays a Renaissance courtyard and a wooden coffered ceiling, and holds King Ferdinand's and Queen Isabella's 1491 contract with Christopher Columbus.

Renaissance courtyard within the Viceroy's Palace.

Coffered ceiling above a staircase.

You can see a church pockmarked from shrapnel during the Spanish civil war:

Church of St. Felip Neri.

You can visit Els Quatre Gats ("The Four Cats"), a hangout of Picasso and the first place where he publicly displayed his art. Established in 1897, the building is a rare piece of Modernista architecture in the Barri Gòtic. The restaurant got its name when the owner told friends he would stay open 24 hours a day, and they said that no one would come and it would be just him and four cats (apparently, Catalan slang for crazy people).

Els Quatre Gats.

The prices for a meal weren't bad, considering its draw as a tourist attraction.

Stonework over the front door.

Or if Roman ruins are your thing -- they're definitely my kinda thing -- you can visit the Barcelona History Museum to see an underground sprawl of ruins. Instead of the usual Roman temple or theater or government building, these ruins are of everyday life in Barcino. You see the remains of a winemaking facility, fish processing plant, sewers, clothes-dyeing plant, and other artisan workshops. It's by no means Pompeii or Ossia Antica, but you do get a glimpse of the average person or artisan from these ruins.

The Roman ruins lie beneath the Royal Palace (left) and 14th century Chapel of St. Agatha (right).

The ruins are from the 1st through 6th centuries AD.

A walkway guides you through the ruins.

Wine was processed and aged in large pottery casks. Honey and sea salt were sometimes added for flavor.

You're not allowed to go down this hallway, which meant, of course, that I really wanted to go down that hallway.

A little bit of the tile floor in this building remains.

Not a lot of art or decoration has survived, but bits and pieces of things have persisted, like part of this fresco.

This bust is from the 2nd century AD.

We were able to see all of the major Barri Gòtic sights within a four or five hour period, including a stop for lunch. Then we pressed on into the other major neighborhood of the old city, called El Born. It was the kind of day that left us tuckered out but satisfied with our touristing prowess.

Lunch with a view of the back side of the cathedral.

Tuckered out for a (too late) nap around 4:00 pm.

Bath — Aquae Sulis

At the end of August we headed to southwestern England. The impetus for our trip was to get Kate's veterinary license in the U.K., as mentioned here. Her appointment was on a Tuesday, in London. Since we've previously visited London, we decided to take a long weekend and explore a part of England where we've never been.

On the Friday afternoon we flew from Glasgow to Bristol. We didn't spend any time in Bristol, just picked up a little rental car and drove to Bath on delightfully narrow country roads. Sometimes, the road was not wide enough for two cars to pass, but no one seemed to mind, even though we were often walled in by giant hedges. Fairly similar to Scotland, really.

No escape! This photo was taken from the passenger's side, so the view on the driver's side is even more unsettling.

Bath is a tourist's dream. Its attractions span the ages: ancient Roman, medieval, Enlightenment (i.e., Georgian), Victorian, and modern. Bed and breakfasts abound. Great restaurants. Beautiful parks. A river perfect for boating. All the sites are compact and walkable; indeed, you'd be foolish to drive and miss the experience of wandering in the town. Flowers and charm and beauty seem to ooze out everywhere.

So, of course, I have too many pictures. Way too many pictures.

Medieval cathedral, wide Georgian avenues, flowers, creamy limestone — a snapshot of Bath.

Consequently, I'm dividing up an ungodly long unwieldy blog post into a handful of comparatively shorter posts.

This post will focus on the Roman spa that gives Bath its name. As a town established by the Romans in the AD 60s, Aquae Sulis ("waters of Sulis") took advantage of a natural hot spring. Although originally the Romans just built a temple over what had previously been a shrine to the native Briton god Sulis (whom the Romans associated with Minerva), by 200 AD they had built a spa complex of a hot bath, warm bath, and cold bath (calidarium, tepidarium, frigidarium). After the Empire collapsed in the fifth century, the spa fell into disuse and silted up.

Eventually, the local inhabitants had no idea the Roman bath was nearby and below them. Though there were still places to bathe in the hot springs, the spa was eventually filled by silt and then forgotten. The town carried on in importance due to its church, and an English king was crowned in Bath in the 970s. But gradually the town declined until only a few thousand inhabitants remained in the sixteenth century. Late in the sixteenth century, the baths were improved and Elizabeth I issued a royal charter to make the town into a city.

In the 1700s the city exploded in popularity because of the supposed restorative powers of its thermal waters. The city's economic boom resulted in a gorgeous neoclassical city of wide avenues, tall pillars, large doors and windows, and sweeping vistas. This "Georgian" style — so named in England for successive kings named "George" who were ruling at the time, but known to the rest of the world as neoclassical style — now dominates the heart of the city.

It wasn't until the 1880s that the Roman baths were rediscovered, though some of the surrounding Roman ruins had been found many centuries earlier. The spa was excavated and then, in classic Victorian fashion, "enhanced" by adding a fake Roman promenade above to look down into the baths. The spa waters are now 18 feet below the modern ground level.

We visited the baths in the evening, when they are lit by gas lamps. We thus enjoyed much smaller crowds and atmospheric lighting. Here is the view you get when you start your visit:

Looking down into the Roman spa at Bath, from the Victorian era balcony.

Kate and Jackson peer down between two faux-Roman statutes.

Your visit to the baths is enhanced by a good museum and extensive audioguide. You get a lot of detailed information regarding topics such as the usage of the rooms, models of the complex, coins tossed for luck into the pools, surviving pediments, and even curse tablets (e.g., patrons cursing people who stole their clothes while they were in the baths). Oftentimes, historical reenactors wander the site to try to give a flavor of Roman life.

There's a fair bit of scholarly debate about whether the fellow on this pediment is Neptune, or a Gorgon (but those were usually female), or something else. Are those possibly snakes in his hair?

Display of Roman coins found in the spring, dated from 50 to 176 AD. Coin portraits continue in modern times, too.

Who knew the Romans sported beehive hairstyles?

The thermal waters bubbling up from underground rise at a supposedly uniform temperature of 114.8 Fahrenheit. It certainly has a fair amount of iron:

Looks like your ideal bathing water, right?

Some parts of the baths have almost vanished, while other parts are remarkably well preserved:

These little pillars supported the floor. Hot air could flow amidst the pillars and heated the floor and room above.

This room is walled off from foot traffic.

I think the best time to experience the baths is at night. It might even be romantic. Except for the other tourists. And the toddler.

Early or late hours = fewer tourists.

Mood lighting in the evenings.

Wishing well bath: we donated more than our fair share of coins because tossing them in was Jackson's favorite part of the evening.

You can also drink as much of the water as you can choke down want. As a Dickens character opined in The Pickwick Papers, "I thought they'd a very strong flavor o' warm flat irons." Jackson, of course, drank multiple cups.

"Please, sir, I want some more."

These ruins are one of the best-presented Roman sites I have come across, including Italy. Between extensive displays and a thorough audioguide, visitors can spend hours delving deeply into as much history as they would like. Meanwhile, those who want a quicker visit can stroll through the guided path and still pick up key points merely by glancing at exhibits without stopping. It's very user-directed, catering to different tastes.

In the next post, we'll jump ahead more than a thousand years to take a look at the medieval church.