St Matthew's Day in Tarragona

After a couple failed attempts recently I finally took a train to Tarragona for sightseeing. The excursion using the RENFE Regional Express cost less than fifteen pounds. It meant changing trains at L'Aldea-Amposta, with a short wait in between trains. Most disconcertingly there is no signage of any kind on the platform five where we were deposited and picked up from. The train announcements were clear, but I'd hate to be deaf in a situation like that. By the looks of it, the station although complete, is not yet fully furnished like others on this line. I was aware of the anxieties of other travellers, in both directions.

Tarragona station is just north of its busy shipping port (a counted ten ships at anchor waiting off shore), close to the sea shore. It's about a kilometre walk following the shore line north, but going up hill toward the town centre, ancient and modern. From the brow of the hill is a marvellous view of the the bay, and of the remains of the Roman amphitheatre, sitting just behind the beach and railway line.

Its surroundings have been made into a park, and behind the park inland is a large restaurant on a terrace, taking advantage of the view. I couldn't help noticing a stylish glass and chrome lift installed to give access from street level above to the restaurant. 

The other side of the street is the intact Praetorian Tower, the ruins of the Forum and Circus, surrounded by a mixture of buildings both modern and a few centuries old. Remains of the century Roman colonial city built of golden hued limestone appear all over the town centre, some times cordoned off for paying customers, other times, just there in the middle of one of several plazas as a decorative feature. Right in the heart of the old Roman quarter stands the magnificent 11-12th century cathedral.

In the plaza outside its gothic decorated west front is an imposing ancient house (now somewhat dilapidated and in need of restoration), said to have been a residence of the Archdeacon of Tarragona, built on the site of a Roman Temple. Across the road, in a mediaeval house with a modern entrance extension is the Tarragona biblical institute. I got the impression that the city doesn't rest on its laurels, but remains a cultural dynamo for the region.

The church building complex is entered from the north side, where a fine gothic cloister is situated. It is unusual in having a series of chapels built in to its perimeter.

Several of these are still used for current devotional purposes. Large ancient rooms off the cloister belonging to the Chapter, plus the old Sacristy house a remarkable collection of high quality mediaeval religious art, beautifully displayed, well conserved, a collection any national  museum would be glad to possess. 

The Cathedral nave has a romanesque high stone vaulted ceiling and octagonal lantern at the crossing between nave and chancel, and a beautiful gilded gothic high altar reredos. I think there were a dozen side chapels in all, but I may have miscounted. The fine baroque organ case is but a shell at the moment, as the organ has been taken out for restoration. Work on a building of this majesty is never ending. It's quite encouraging to see how much of it is in good repair, well looked after, and well used for prayer.

All around town there was an abundance of portable toilets, like Cardiff on an international match day, only much more generous provision. A bit late for the tourist season, I thought. But then, I noticed the festive banners in honour of St Tecla the Virgin, said to have been one a St Paul's travelling companions. Her feast is this coming Sunday, she's patron saint of both the city and the Cathedral. I imagine the entire weekend will be one of celebration, to judge from concert stages being erected in plazas, and in the cathedral. Banners of the saint, mixed with the Catalonian flags flutter in the breeze everywhere.

After three hours of walking and photographing in the sun, I was pretty tired, despite fortification from pizza and beer en route. I returned to the station, but found I couldn't get a Regional Train connection until five forty, so I made the circuit again, and took some more photos. I was glad to get on the train, even if it was so full I had to stand until it got to Salou. A lot of young people with holiday cases in tow are on the move this weekend. Some coming into Tarragona for the fiesta, others heading for the beach one last time before the start of a new academic term, no doubt.

I was glad to get home and eat, but thrilled with most of my pictures. You can see them here

 

Comings and goings

Yesterday, while Clare did some errands, I spent the morning updating various computers at home, knowing how much machine minding this would entail after nearly two months away. In the afternoon we went to friend Andrea's seventieth birthday party at her chalet down on the Lavernock Point holiday park. It took us ages to find the place as I made a directional error when we arrived in nearby Penarth, so we ended up visiting and enquiring after her on two other sites before finding the right one. Fortunately the weather was good, so wandering through the lanes of coastal South Glamorgan was not unpleasant, even if slightly annoying.

This morning, we woke up early, before the alarms went off, and after breakfast Clare drove me to Cardiff Central station for a seven thirty train to Bristol. The 'Bristol Flyer' airport bus connection came within five minutes and in a surprisingly uncongested rush hour run, we arrived in twenty minutes. By ten to nine I'd cleared security and was dozing in the departure lounge until the Barcelona flight was called. This took off punctually and arrived five minutes early, giving me enough time to get from the arrival area in Terminal 2 sector B to the RENFE station - a fifteen minute brisk walk. With only hand luggage, there was no delay, and this was essential given my plan to catch a three o'clock from Barcelona Sants station. I still had a twenty minute wait, and the train was packed when it pulled out, making me more than glad I wasn't pulling a case through the crowd when I got off the train.

With some trial and error I found correct the 'book on the day' ticket booths (#25-30). Only 'Preferente' tickets were left (1st class), and rather than wait several hours for a train with 'Turista' seats available, I upgraded my 14 euro ticket for another 20 euros. The total round trip for a trip equivalent to the Bristol-London journey still only cost a total 48 euros. You'd be lucky to get an equivalent second class single trip for that amount of money on British Rail. It was well worth it. The seating is comfortable and not cramped, the trains are smooth and swift, stopping three times before reaching Vinaròs in one hour and fifty minutes. This was a real treat to conclude my long weekend at home.

Michael picked me up at the station and handed back my keys, reporting that Fr Hywel had got away early this morning, and would be in the air on the way back to Cardiff as we spoke. Then I received a text message from Kath to say she'd was on her way home following their flight home from Alicante. We must have been in the air at the same time.

Now all that remains is to get acclimatised again - I had to wear a pullover for half a day when I got back home, while I adjusted to the change in temperature and humidity. It didn't take me long to weary of slate grey skies however, so it's great to be back under blue skies again.

Home for the weekend

I admit that I was a bit nervous about making the journey home for this weekend. I didn't sleep well, and only remembered to set my phone alarm for six at three fifteen in the morning. Fr Hywel conscientiously set his alarm, but forgot to change the time on his phone, so it bleeped then we were driving to the station for the ten past seven train for Barcelona.

It's a RENFE stopping train that diverts from the main line on a 'spur' line to Tortosa, and this adds an hour to the journey. The train leaving an hour later and arriving much at the same time cost nearly twice the price, but the early start was worth the effort to see this other section of the rail network, even if I was nodding off every now and then as we travelled. I noticed that several of the stations in the first part of the route, before the railway begins to follow the coastline beyond L'Ampolla, are well outside towns, and station signs carry the names of neighbouring places served - even Vinarós for that matter, unlike other coastal towns on this route has its station outside the main conurbation. The further north you go, the more the railway hugs the shore-line and holiday resorts and occasionally, where cliffs descend into the sea, even hovers above it.

The further north we travelled, the more travellers got on until the train was packed, standing room only. One inexplicably curious thing I noticed was that for every man there seemed to be ten women on the train. When we came into the Llobregat coastal plain, the airport control tower was visible on the horizon, closer to the sea beyond many square miles of market gardens, with their rich dark brown fertile soil. El Prat airport and the commercial zone area around it were constructed on land reclaimed from less productive salt marshes.

The train runs right into the south eastern corner of the Barcelona to Sants station. I quickly found a ticket machine for the airport shuttle train, with its instructions in Catalan (I couldn't find the language option button). Thanks to the universality of the machine's operating system and its user interface, I had no difficulty getting what I needed, and as luck would have it, boarded an airport train which immediately left for the 17 minute journey to Terminal B.

I was amused during the journey to hear the strains of an accordeon playing 'Besame Mucho', and observe the amused smiles of other passengers, as the busker, an older man, moved down the car soliciting donations of appreciation, oblivious to the fact that everyone has heard it before and can live without it as they strive to chat to travelling companions. It reminded me of walking down Trinity Street in Cardiff, and Geneva tram rides. 'Besame Mucho' seems to be the universal anthem of enterprising unlicensed buskers wherever they are, scraping a living as they dodge enforcement personnel. 

It's a quarter of an hour's walk from the train station to the check-in through sections A and B of Terminal 2, and the last part of the route to section C where EasyJet has its base is badly signposted in comparison to the others. All that was left to do was doze and wait three hours until the flight was called. The flight and connections the other end were just right, and I was home for the weekend by half past five.

 

Punctuality - normal or exceptional

With the suitcases packed, there was enough time this morning to drive Eddie and Ann to the car park at the top end of the Costa Norte road, and walk up and down the length of the Jardi de Sol de riu nature reserve before lunch. We got to the station in good time for the train only to discover that it was running three quarters of an hour late. Fortunately this was of little concern for catching their flight to Britain, as this departs late evening. I'm proposing to use the train to get to El Prat airport for my brief visit home in August. Now I'm wondering about how often trains as unpunctual, and whether I will have enough slack in my itinerary to be sure I arrive in time for the flight, even if I only have hand baggage.

After their departure, I drove Clare along the Vincaros sur coast road down to the Playa Aiguadolivia. The sea being so rough today, the beaches along this stretch were almost empty. We parked in the area where the fun fair had been a few weeks ago, and used the more sheltered beach nearby for Clare to have a swim. The beach was not as packed as those we saw yesterday at Peñíscola and Benicarlo, but populated mostly by young families and groups of very well behaved teenagers having fun, not looking bored or irritable. Not a shadow of loutishness anywhere. It really adds value to the holiday experience when everyone behaves decently together in public.