Sola

I just traveled by myself in Spain for a few days – Catalunya – on my way to a destination wedding of a good friend (see her DTBF story here). Not sure what I was thinking, but not having anyone else to go with, and never having been to Barcelona before, I just figured what the hey, spend four or five days exploring alone.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, and like less of a good idea as the trip got closer. I had been alone in Paris before, but that was years ago, and I wasn’t sure I still had the naïve confidence that you have in your 20s that all will be well.

My Spanish being far from flowing, and my Catalan even further from flowing (I’m happy to say I kind of grasp that lovely language a bit now, if only on signage) I got more and more worried as the trip grew closer that I was bound for disaster.

Hearing nothing but “Senorita, cuidado con su bolsa,” as soon as I landed, I was fairly convinced that, while headed to my perfect, Gaudi’-themed hotel just off the noisy, texture-y La Rambla, both my wallet and passport would be stolen immediately and I would spend the rest of the trip at the American Embassy. Paranoia set in. I’m a girl. I’m alone. I’m small. My purse is big and shiny. I’m an idiot.

After a nap and the realization that I had not spent all this money to nap in a hotel room (as attractive as that sounded), I headed out just before dark to explore. Oh, yes, and on the way, I asked the desk clerk for a better room with a better view (hey, the DTBF instinct was finally kicking in!).

It was getting dark and beginning to rain. And it was cold. And the holiday lights were blindingly beautiful. I walked and walked until exhausted and settled in for hot thick chocolate at Café Zurich on the Placa Catalunya – a place that hummed with life and excitement . Now, find a place for dinner – vegetarian paella (a total myth that it’s hard to be a vegetarian in Spain, as much as people would like you to believe that), salad, lovely wine, and lovelier coffee. I struck up a conversation with a British/Pakistani couple at the next table who had just gotten married and were on their wedding trip. Suddenly I was glad I was alone. I could talk to anyone. Go anywhere, not wait for someone else’s preferences.

Now for more walking. It was getting late by U.S. standards, but Spanish time actually suits my own body clock much better. Still cold, still some rain. Big discovery. On practically every corner in Barcelona is an Irish pub. Gotta love the Irish for spreading the joy! It was comforting to sit at a warm, cozy bar watching soccer/football and talking to the Dublin ex-pat bartender who was generous with the vodka. I envied her for following her impulse to uproot herself from one beautiful city to live and work in another beautiful city for awhile in another country. Would I be able to do that?

Chatted with an Englishman on vacation from his job in Japan who was just coming from his sister’s wedding. (Hmmm… is December the month of weddings in Europe? This December certainly seemed to be.) It was odd and interesting to talk to someone from the U.K. while sitting in a bar in Spain, hearing his opinions on the economic situation in the U.S. from the framework of his job in Japan. Will I ever be able to have a world view with such multiple perspectives? I really hope so.

The days progressed as I slogged my exhausted but dazzled way through the city, enraptured by the rich architecture of Gaudi’ and Gehry, and then it was on to a midweek trip up to the mystical and magical monastery of Monserrat (okay, all that alliteration was completely unintentional). A bus tour was necessary to do this excursion, as the monastery is so high up in the mountains (god, the view!) with narrow switchback roads. Three of us traveling solo, along with the half-dozen couples, inevitably clumped together by time we reached the mountain top – an Australian music teacher, a Canadian taking a long break after selling his business, and me from the U.S.

We heard the boys choir sing, marveled at the amazing basilica, touched the Black Madonna and made our three wishes to her, admired the view and the multitude of monastery cats, lit candles to the virgin, took in the monks’ unbelievable art and artifact collection (ancient Torahs, Egyptian artifacts, Russian icons, and actual Caravaggio, plus Dali, Picasso, Miro’, Cocteau, Chagall – unbelievable), and drank rich and yummy coffee while overlooking the misty valley. And then, sadly, it was time to head down the mountain and back to secular civilization.

My usual, cautious, guarded, self-protective attitude was undergoing a change. I was becoming mas abierto to my fellow humans and travelers. Something that would likely not have occurred if I had been travelling with a friend. Here, I had no choice. I had to trust – I had to … just enjoy.

Realizing we all were staying in and around Las Ramblas, my two Montserrat friends and I reconnected that evening for a classical guitar concert by a Segovia Award-winning artist at a beautiful church in the Gothic quarter that one of them had heard about. And, of course, more hot chocolate after. The next morning, I joined the music teacher for a tour of the Liceu, Barcelona’s stunning opera house, adorned with the beautiful golden dragons that are the symbol of the city. It was such a great experience to have encountered someone just at random who would enjoy touring an opera house as much as I did. I don’t think any of my friends would have been as up for that as we were. So another bonus for traveling alone and letting myself be open.

Off to Els Quatre Gats, the famous café where Picasso, Dali, Utrillo, Casas, Albeniz, Granados, and other famous Catalan and Spanish artists and musicians sat for hours talking about setting the world right. I love that it is named The Four Cats. Just sitting alone, drinking it in, hoping some of that artist magic would rub off on me, I accidentally ordered something that had once been alive and came with its head still attached. Slightly freaked, but not wanting to make a fuss, I pushed the plate away and drank my water. The aristocratic and elegant maitre d’, whom I first thought had the arrogant manner of gatekeeper to Barcelona’s artists, noticed and asked me if all was well, and why was I not eating? I apologized and said I was sure it was not the chef, it was me -- I was vegetariana. He told me not to worry and a few moments later brought back a plate which he set before me, saying “No carne, no pescado” smiled and departed. I was touched by his kindness and quick grasp of my situation in such a busy restaurant at such a busy time of day.

Other encounters, other gifts from the universe continued to come my way as I remained open and curious about every stranger around me, setting aside my usual business-like and focused travel agenda. Fabulousness was happening as I gave it space to happen, all the while being cuidado con mi bolsa, of course!
By the time I had trekked by bus and taxi further up the magnificent Costa Brava to LlaFranc, I was definitely in the mood for a party and for meeting all the wonderful people from all over Spain and England that came together to celebrate our good friends’ wedding. The happiest of times filled with the happiest of people in a beautiful place. (Another story for another time.)

It reminded me that daring to be fabulous requires being more open than is always comfortable. A bit more trusting in the universe and in others. We shut down so gradually to protect ourselves in our daily lives – or at least I do – that we don’t even realize it’s happening. I know I didn’t realize it had happened to me.

I fully intend to hold onto that curious openness I regained travelling by myself to a place where everyone was a stranger and a potential friend. If I can do it there, I can do it at home. There are always adventures to be had, no matter where you are. In fact, I just accepted an invitation to waltz at the French Embassy tomorrow night. The adventure continues … .

Patti