From your report I can see that while DW and I have sometimes traveled independently being together or with companions or on a tour has advantages. I would not want to travel single in any case. So you have reported numerous irritations but also fascinating experiences. Hope there is more of the later than former in your final assessment.

Bill in Boston

It's a conundrum. Traveling with a partner definitely has advantages, but it's not feasible for me most of the time. Either my friends don't have money to travel or they're not able to keep up with the physical demands required. Since I live alone, I've become used to doing what I want when I want, and I think that might be a problem. I traveled with my sister for 10 years. That was perfect, but it was the exception.

Yesterday, two of my neighbor girls came over and helped me load my pictures on my computer. It was such fun sharing with them the beauty of the processions, the stunning colors of the Nazareños' robes, and the beauty of the children dressed in the clothing of the family's cofradia.

If all goes well, my nephew (aka tech support, as we call him in the family) will come over today and show me how to put up the links to pictures on my next post.

Sarah, one of the girls, commented that the Nazareños looked scary, with their capriotes (headgear) and the fact that the faces were covered except for the eye holes. When I was watching, I thought they would have been more mysterious- or impressive-looking were it not for the children who shook hands with them as they passed by and the children who amassed large balls of wax by pestering the marchers to tip the huge candles they held to drip wax on their wax balls.

But Semana Santa is truly a family affair, as evidenced by the adorable children who marched in a section of their own and by the excited children who watched from the sidelines.

As I'm writing this, I keep checking back with my little digital recorder, and I just heard the trumpets of one of the bands. The sound has the most amazing ability to draw me back to the excitement of the processions. I'm surprised at how strong is the pull to go back and experience it again after I'd decided that I'd go somewhere else next year.

Okay, now I am more or less at Maundy Thursday, the day the Spanish Legion comes off their ship and marches through town. I arrived early at a street near the harbor and waited for the Legion to arrive. They fast-marched by, chins up, with some playing bugles or trumpets for a short time, others carrying ominous-looking weapons--all very macho! Immediately in front of me was a young girl who was obviously addled by hormones. She kept yelling "Guapo! Guapo!" (handsome! handsome!) again and again until one of the older legionnaires broke from the ranks and gave her the two-cheek European kiss. She shut up after that. It was pretty funny, for some reason.

I wasn't smart enough to go to my rented seat to watch them parade down the Alameda Principal, so I had to wait to see them again until the processions that night. They were really fun to see.

As I wandered around, I saw a great ad for McDonalds, but I guess it applies equally to all of Spain. It said, "In Spain, if you return home before 3:00 a.m., it's not from going out [partying], it's from going out to dinner." That's of course a reference to the fact that Spaniards dine notoriously late in the evening. I thought that was quite amusing.

A nice lady stopped me on the street and told me that I wasn't being careful enough with my purse. I thanked her, but didn't point out that my purse was zipped shut, and that the pocket in which I carry my little wallet was also zipped shut--or that I kept only small amounts of money in my wallet. The important stuff--my passport and my large amounts of money are always in my money belt underneath my clothes. I appreciated the fact that she cared enough to point it out, though.

The same thing happened last year in Sevilla. We were watching the processions and a woman next to me pointed out that I was at risk for having my purse robbed.

Which brings me to the fact that a couple did try to rob me on the train to Montserrat. As I stepped up on the train, the man offered to help me up, but I'm a big girl, and I didn't know whether he'd be much help. I preferred to grab the train's "handicapped bar" to help myself up.

I then asked his companion if this was the train to Montserrat, but she said she didn't know. Hmmm. That's odd. You're on the train, but you don't know where it's going? I sat down, and she sat opposite me, sort of knees to knees. I put my bag on the floor between the side of the train and my legs. My bag has long straps for handles, and pretty soon, I felt the straps move against my leg. I realized what was happening and I picked up my bag and moved it. A very short time later she got off the train, and her companion left then too.

I'll probably get some flack for this, but I felt sorry for them. They looked tough--like life hadn't been treating them well. I know that it was unrealistic to think this, but I almost wished I'd followed them and given them $20 or $50.

My guess here is that I look like a sucker. Dumb tourist, not paying attention to what's happening. Well, I'm smarter than I look. I think.

So back to Maundy Thursday. The woman sitting next to me that that it was customary (for one of the cofradias) to arrange to have a prisoner released on this day. She pointed out a man wearing a different type of hood on his robe and said that he was this year's prisoner. Apparently the custom started in medieval times when there was a plague. So many people died that one cofradia didn't have enough men to carry that paso. So they had prisoners carry the paso, and afterwards all the prisoners returned to the jail. Nobody tried to escape.

If I have details wrong, perhaps some Spaniard or other expert can fill me in on the correct details.

I think Maundy Thursday was my favorite day, partly because of the Legionnaires. They are called "Los Novios de Muerte," the "bridegrooms of death." They have a song that they sing that's very dramatic. I've been translating it into English, and it seems to me to illustrate the kind of passion that I've associated with the Spanish, perhaps wrongly, but still...the song is very dramatic.

With this particular procession, the hombres de trono (guys carrying the float) sang the Legionnaires' song, and then when the Legionnaires marched in, they sang it too. Obviously many of the onlookers knew the words and sang along very enthusiastically. I noticed one man especially, a big dorky and a bit chubby, singing along with great fervor. I thought (unkindly I'm afraid) that he didn't look much like a novio de la muerte; he looked more like a novio de la cena (dinner). Bad Peggy! bad Peggy! Especially since I myself can easily qualify as a novia de la cena.

More later.

I thought (unkindly I'm afraid) that he didn't look much like a novio de la muerte; he looked more like a novio de la cena (dinner). Bad Peggy! bad Peggy! Especially since I myself can easily qualify as a novia de la cena.>>

thank you Peggy, for making me smile.

I too, to alter your aphorism slightty, am "una donna della cena".

One prisoner is pardoned by the courts every year.. he repents and is grateful for his release.

Love your report, Peggy. Love.

Wonderful report!

This is so delightful. Thank you!

At one point in the procession, the Legionnaires were stopped. Those directly in front of me were at attention, but there was another group behind them that were gently swaying from side to side, in unison. It was very cool.

I took a close-up of an elderly man (probably younger than I am), and when I went through my pictures I couldn't quite figure out why I took that picture. Today, as I played my digital recorder I realized that I was hearing a saeta, the song sometimes heard during Semana Santa. I don't know much about the saeta, but I think it has a gypsy connection. Anyway, I realized that I took the man's picture because he was singing the saeta. I had seen it on television, and I had hoped to hear it sung in the street at some time in my week in Málaga, so I was thrilled when I heard the man.

Before I forget, I also found pictures that I took of the metal plates--copies of 1978 Spanish newspapers--that were sunk into the Alameda Principal announcing the establishment of democracy in Spain after Franco died and Juan Carlos assumed the throne. Seeing those plates suggested to me what the change from dictatorship to democracy must have meant to the Spanish people. I was touched by seeing those plates.

Apropos of nothing, I saw a sign Cerveceria Vaticano--which seems to mean "Vatican beer store," or something similar. I got a kick out of that. Later I saw a kid wearing a sweatshirt that said, "Blackfoot," which is the name of a Native American tribe in Montana. It didn't seem to have any reference to anything else, so it ranks up there with my all-time favorite sweatshirt saying, which I saw in Tübingen, Germany, "Discount Acupuncture." I was bemused at the idea of going to a discount acupuncturist!

On Saturday morning I spent a small fortune on a taxi to the airport for my Ryanair flight to Barcelona. My driver dropped me off at the security area, but I had to walk quite a distance--I swear it was a quarter mile--to find the counter to check in my baggage. Then I walked that quarter mile back to go through security. The security was not as tight as it is in the States. I have to be patted down because of my artificial knees, but the agent didn't do the really thorough pat down that I get in the States.

The flight was easy. I am a bit vague about how I got from the airport to my hotel, but I think I probably took the train from the airport to the downtowen train station and then got a taxi to my hotel near Las Ramblas.

I wasn't very impressed with my hotel room in the Meson Castilla, though I think the double rooms were more attractive than my single room. In my little room the wardrobe was squeezed next to the left side of the bed, and the nightstand on the right side, where it was hard to reach.

Most of the staff were pleasant enough, but the main receptionist was very cold. I wanted to tell her that she looked like the governor of Washington State, Chris Gregoire, but she didn't look like she was interested in chatting, so i restrained myself.

The first day, I didn't do much except wander around on the Ramblas, try to get my bearings, and find the Plaza de Catalunya. I then bought a two-day ticket for the hop-on/hop-off bus because I'd never done that tour at other times when I've been in Barcelona. In the past I've explored all the wonderful Gaudi buildings, so this time I just looked at them from the bus.

My second day was Sunday. I was really looking forward to going to Mass at the Cathedral and then seeing the Sardana danced in front of it. I dutifully packed my English/Spanish missal with me, but once Mass started it really didn't do me a bit of good, since the Mass was in Catalan. On Easter, there are three Masses listed in the missal with different readings depending on whether the Mass is at dawn, or is one of the later Masses, and I couldn't even figure out which Mass was being said. My missal was pretty much useless.

The cathedral is said to be gothic, but it still had big pillars in the middle so that it wasn't easy to see the altar. Therefore there were television screens at various places around the church. The music was beautiful.

Hasta luego. I'll continue later.

Peg, This is a wondeerful report, Thank you.
Like me, I think you knew how to turn lemons into leamonade.

you are so funny and your humor is becoming more and more intense.. I love your comment

"Most of the staff were pleasant enough, but the main receptionist was very cold. I wanted to tell her that she looked like the governor of Washington State, Chris Gregoire, but she didn't look like she was interested in chatting, so i restrained myself."

A saeta is a flamenco-like a capella religious song of mourning of probably Jewish origin. Used to be sung spontaneous during the processions, especially at night in Semana Santa, but today there are often sung by professionals. Here is wonderful Diana Navarro in the recent Semana Santa in Málaga: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzA8F6FU_QU

I'm truly enjoying your report, Peg. I love your wit and spirit!

It is amusing to read your comments on Malaga's Semana Santa...Behind each float goes a drummer to help everybody (even over 150 people) walk at unison. In later years many brotherhoods have funded their own bands, or they hire another's, and uniforms are different, sometimes more fanciful than correct. The first time I went on procession, dressed as nazareno, with the big tall capirote, I was 22 months-old. In later years I continued till I came of age to carry the Christ float, I did for some years till my back gave way. My colours are black, being my brotherhood Mena, the one with the Spanish Foreign Legion, of which I proudly am honorary member. I too know the songs lyrics. And I am handsome, of course...;-)

What a great report. I am loving every sentence. Thank you for taking the time to share your experiences

Wonderful report. I am so enjoying it and handsome josele's contribution is delightful.

josele: I remember seeing the Mena cofradia. I have a particularly charming picture of little boy dressed in black holding the hand of a tall Nazareño who is wearing a black gown and captriote and also a white cape.

kimhe: Thanks for the information on the saeta. I didn't know it was of Jewish origin nor that it is a song of mourning, but the sound is certainly very mournful. I didn't do a good job of describing it, but it is unforgettable when you hear it during the processions.

So anyway, there I was at the cathedral understanding about one word in 100, but since I've gone to Mass at least once a week since I was five years old, I had a general idea what was going on. The same could surely not have been the case for the boy who was sitting next to me. He and his friend were wearing rugby t-shirts of the New Zealand "All-Blacks" team. Somehow I came to understand that he was not Catholic, but that his friend was. Presumably he'd come to church to keep his friend company. He must have been thoroughly confused.

His friend got up to give an older woman a seat, which I thought was very sweet. I saw this happen several times on the trains, including at least once when someone got up to give me a seat. I don't think this happens in the States much nowadays, so I was impressed.

After Mass was over and the congregation began streaming out, I was surprised to see a crowd of other people streaming in, pushing their way through the exiting crowds. I decided I might be missing something, so I joined those who were coming in, but soon realized they were just crowding in so that they could get a seat in the center of the church at the next Mass, where the huge pillars wouldn't be in the way and they could be closer to the altar.

As were were going out, there was a young, good-looking man, carrying a motorcycle helmet, who was coming in. Many of the young women greeted him with the two-cheek kiss and many of the young men with a hug. I decided that either he had a lot of friend or he was someone pretty famous. I'm curious about him, but I'll never know who he was.

When I left the church, there was a huge crowd watching people dancing the Sardana, the traditional Catalan dance. As we watched, more people joined in the biggest circle, and two more circles were formed. There were musicians on the steps of the cathedral playing for the dancers. Seeing the Sardana is impressive, considering its meaning for the people of Catalonia. Since General Franco suppressed all things Catalan, the Sardana can be seen as a symbol of Catalan culture. I've seen it before, but it was just as thrilling to see it again, I think because it is an authentic expression of culture. It's not like there's a group of paid performers out there, dancing for money.

After Mass, I went to the Plaza de España, where I understood that I could take the train to Montserrat. I was very insecure about how to arrange the trip. When I got there, I followed a couple of Montserrat signs until I found a desk with information about the trains there.

As I waited in line, these three men, who looked like they might be Greeks or Turks, pushed their way in front of me. The woman at the desk gave me a look which said, "These guys just pushed in front of you. Should we do anything about it?" I gave her a look back which said, "No. It's not a big deal." I got a big kick out of the wordless exchange between us.

She was very helpful, telling from which platform the Montserrat train left and then sending me over to a man in a red jacket to buy the tickets. Sure enough, the three guys managed to push their way ahead of me again. For some reason, I was just amused.

I need to have breakfast. I'll continue later.

As I was chopping strawberries for my bran flakes, I was thinking that one reason I like writing trip reports is that they fix memories that I would otherwise lose. I can come back in future times and remember my experience in somewhat the same way as looking at my album of photos.

Feeling much assured that I would be able to find my way to the appropriate platform early on the following day, I returned to the Plaza de Catalunya to find another hop-on/hop-off bus.

The receptionist (Governor Gregoire) had told me that it would take twenty minutes to walk to/from the Plaza Espanya, but not believing her, I took the subway there, though I'm always apprehensive about taking subways in strange cities. I have to tell myself that there are people of below-average intelligence who take the subway in all these cities, so why can't I do it?

I decided to walk back, though. True to my past experiences when someone tells me it will take 20 minutes, it took about an hour. It was a pleasant walk, along a street, Gran Via, with a park-like strip in the middle of it.

I saw one wonderful sign in a window, which made me chuckle. It said, "liquidación bestial," which looks like it means "bestial liquidation," in English, but the "bestial" part apparently means "enormous" or "very large." For the most part, I couldn't seem to understand the signs in Catalan. It was frustrating, though I think it's possible that the differences between it and Spanish are probably not great if one takes time to learn about them.

When I got to the Plaza Catalunya I found the bus for the blue tour. On the but, I saw a lot more than I hadn't seen in past visits to Barcelona, because I had tended to stay in the central part of town. Of course, not having to walk to all these disparate places was definitely a plus.

The next morning I boarded the train for Montserrat, where I had the experience with the attempted theft of my purse. Near the end of the train trip, I apparently got off one stop early (along with other passengers), so that instead of taking the funicular, I ended up taking the aerial cable way. That was okay with me, but there were people in that cable car that were scared to death.

I had read that there's a hymn which claims that angels carved the serrations in the mountains with golden saws. I liked that explanation much better than the one geologists give. Unfortunately, it was extremely foggy, so that I couldn't see much of those jagged, angel-carved peaks. It was so foggy that even the upper reaches just outside of the church were shrouded in a haze. It made for an interesting photo, though.

I saw a line of people going on one side of the church. Not knowing what was the purpose of this queue. I nevertheless lined up along with a couple hundred other people.

Remember that in the first sentence of this TR, I mentioned the word "disappointments." Well, this was one of them. As we moved along, I saw a sign saying that the boys' choir, Escalonia, was on vacation. Aaargh! I guess I should have known, since this was Eastertide, a logical time for vacation. But I was quite disappointed because hearing Escalonia was really the main reson I went to Montserrat.

I was in that long line for half an hour or forty minutes (not even knowing what I was going to see) when I saw some stairs ahead of me. Oh, no, not stairs! I didn't want to climb those stairs, so I started out the the line; however some of my neighbors talked me into staying. The stairs weren't so bad, but when I reached the top and turned the corner, there was another set. By that time I wasn't about to give up, and I don't think my neighbors would have let me throw in the towel anyway, so I stuck it out.