An Absinthe Toast to Our Last Night in Barcelona

I wanted to get back to Barcelona at a reasonable hour for our last night.  With our trusty maps, Chris's navigational skills and the superb Catalonian highways, I drove like a bat out of hell.

We asked a guy who sold Dan, Thom and me hats in Barri Gothic where he would go to find authentic tapas. He recommended Allium.

Our lovely waitresses encouraged us to stay for dinner in a back room that we had all to our selves.

Plenty of wine, great food, great company, great service, a lovely setting and the bittersweet knowledge that Thom and I would be catching a flight back to New York the next morning made for our most convivial dinner yet.

But the evening had barely begun.  We found our way to the oldest bar in Barcelona.   Absinthe not age is the draw.  "If louche had a location, the Marsella would be it," said the New York Times.  Judge for yourselves.  For my money, it lacked only a thick haze of cigarette smoke.

I swear Dali winked at us on the way back to the Axel Hotel, quite possibly the gayest place I have ever lain down my head to sleep.

Dali's Funhouse

We awoke to rain and a dead battery in Carcasonne.  A push solved the latter and we headed back to Barcelona with a brief detour to Figueres for a visit to "the largest surrealistic object in the world," also known as the Dali Theatre-Museum. 

Oscar-like statues surround the interior courtyard.

A gigantic room encloses Dali's crypt.

You find this upon entering one darkened room.

Which looks like this if you're patient enough to stand in line to climb a small staircase.

Dali goes for a similar effect here on a smaller scale.  See how the reflected image becomes the top half of a skull?

Who knew the Cowardly Lion lactated?

Visitors are strongly encouraged to find their own way through the museum which occupies three floors.  The variety of painting, sculpture, furnishing and curious installation astonishes.

Some of the work is instantly recognizable.

And some looks familiar because it's been appropriated by other artists working in different media.  The malevolent doll is now a horror movie cliche.

Sleeping in this bed must stimulate some pretty fabulous dreaming.

 

Don't you just love a self bust?

It put me in the mood for a selfie.

Our admission also included a temporary exhibit of Dali's jewels around the corner.  Here's Thom on his way into the gallery.

"My jewels are a protest against emphasis upon the cost of the materials of jewelry," writes Dali in the catalog.  "My object is to show the jeweler's art in true perspective--where the design and craftsmanship are to be valued above the material worth of the gems, as in Renaissance times."  Mission accomplished.

He even mechanized one of the jewels.  Their intricate beauty reminded me a little of the Faberge eggs I once saw displayed at the Grand Kremlin Palace.

Pilgrimages to a Zoo and Lourdes

We didn't spend much time in Pau, but what little we did was scenic.  This monument to the 20th century's world wars looked as if it had just been sandblasted in the bright morning sun.

There's a chateau with gardens that overlooks the the Gave de Pau, a river that becomes torrential during the spring snow melt.

A carousel in the town square provided a sneak peak of the view above.

I got a kick out of this antique doggie door knocker.

Pau is nestled in the foothills of the Pyrenees. This breathtaking mountain range divides France from Spain. Few passes make it difficult to cross and an excellent border.

The concierge at our hotel told us the local zoo was closed for the season, but Dan insisted that we check it out anyway before our pilgrimage to Lourdes.  Zoo D'Asson appeared to be a family run affair, not unlike We Bought A Zoo, the Cameron Crowe movie that bombed a couple of years ago.

Aside from a couple of women, we had the place entirely to ourselves.

Frost covered the grounds.

The birds and animals appeared to be well cared for, but you don't expect to find flamingos ice skating.

 Most occupants, winged or not, took full advantage of the morning sun's warmth.

Breakfast anyone?

The prospect of going to Lourdes didn't thrill me.  Like Google search, I associate it almost as much with the name of Madonna's daughter as with a religious shrine.  But instead of flung crutches and kitsch, we found this extraordinarily beautiful sanctuary.

Atheist that I am, I couldn't resist mocking piety.  But God is probably having the last laugh. Those are the hands of an old man for whom the sand in the hour glass is now running out.

Bernadette Soubirous, a local peasant girl who endured an awful childhood, put Lourdes on the map in 1858 at the age of fourteen.

She had 18 visions of a beautiful woman in the grotto.  Everyone in town insisted she had been visited by the Virgin Mary.  If you don't believe me, just watch The Song of Bernadette!

This must be where she stood.

Cracked plastic encases the grotto's water source.

No worries--the church has made it very easy to get your fill of holy water.  Dozens of fountains dispense it from a circular wall.  Imagine the lines during the summer.

 

I subsequently learned that you're not supposed to drink the water.  I guess it's straight to hell for me.

Instead, you should bottle it, like lightning.  Using what is undoubtedly the world's most reliable honor system (God is watching, after all!) you can purchase a small bottle marked Lourdes and stamped with a three-dimensional image of the sanctuary. With 5 million visitors a season, you do the math.

You can buy and light candles, too, both inside and outside the church.

These messages hang on the wall just above and behind the holy water dispensing stations. I don't have any idea what they mean.

Here's a head on view of the sanctuary, with the lower half undergoing renovation.

To get to the chapel, you ascend a curved ramp lined with religious statues.

No Catholic church would be complete without a couple of nuns.  They seemed to be in short supply.  Does God's work continue during the off season?

The sanctuary faces the town square and  a fort built during the Roman era, besieged by Charlemagne in 778 and occupied by the English during much of the Hundred Years' War.

But that's all water under the bridge for most pilgrims who care less about the past than the future.

The interior of the chapel can't compete with either Sagrada de Familia or Catedral de Barcelona.

Here's Bernadette depicted in stained glass.

From Lourdes, it was about a 4-hour drive to Carcasonne, much of it along a winding, mountainous road through some of the prettiest country I've ever seen.  With the Pet Shop Boys covering Bruce Springsteen's "The Last to Die," Lady Gaga belting "Gypsy," HAIM harmonizing on "Forever" and a car full of my best buddies, I had to dial back the joy. I'll probably remember it better than any other part of the trip because shifting gears prevented me from taking any photos.

Here's the view from our hotel.  The medieval city is accessible only by foot unless you have a hotel reservation inside the walls.

Surrounded by a natural moat, the city was restored around the time Bernadette had her visions.  Did France have an official tourist board then?

After penetrating the walls, we took a leisurely, circuitous stroll along the deserted cobblestone streets. Then we were the first to be seated for dinner at Chateau Saint Martin Trencavel, which is part of the Universal Cassoulet Academy, a training school.  Get a load of the butter!