Montserrat
Having sussed things out the day before, getting our combination train tickets at Plaza d’Espanya is no problem and our rapid progress leaves us on the platform half an hour ahead of train. The platform gradually fills up and there is a trainfull waiting when it eventually arrives. However we get seats and it pulls out on time. The transport system here is excellent and good value too. The first twenty minutes of the journey are underground and the rest through fairly unremarkable countryside until we reach the mountains at Monserrat.
We disembark at the first of the two stations as our ticket is for the cable car or Aeri as it is known. This turns out to be a mistake. The cable car consists of two yellow boxes, each big enough to take 35 people. As one goes up, the other comes down, suspended over the void with no supports between the station where we are and the monastery in the distance above. We are not quick enough off the mark to be the first batch into the car and find ourselves in a line in the waiting room. The minutes tick by as I read about the ride we are waiting to embark on. German engineers constructed it in 1935. Quite old then I think and in my experience the Spanish are not noted for scrupulous maintenance practises.
By now about twenty minutes has gone by and it becomes apparent that the cars have stuck. I take a look out of the window and see the descending tin box about a hundred feet above us, while the ascending one is a tiny yellow speck in the distance. As a sufferer from claustrophobia I am beginning to have serious doubts about this as a suitable method for getting up the mountain. (You can just see the speck of yellow that is the top cable car just below the building in the top right of the picture).
The minutes tick by and the next of the hourly trains from Barcelona is nearly due when the wheels whir into life and the cars finally dock. One man descends from the car at our end. There is a lot of discussion between him and the ticket office official and then the cars go back in motion, empty on a test run. We abandon the queue and take the train that arrives on to the next station where we transfer to the Cremolaria, a new, electric, rack railway train, spacious, comfortable, big windows and much more to my liking.
We arrive at the monastery station at one o’clock and race up the hill to the basilica just in time to catch the last five minutes of the choir, which sings for ten minutes every day at one o’clock. The place is packed and despite the no photography signs there is the constant flash of cameras waved in the air above the sea of heads,
After we wander back down to the main square and locate a path that we hope will lead us up the mountains. These are extraordinary, I had thought from the pictures that they are limestone pillars, but they are in fact conglomerate and look like they have been constructed from an enormous concrete mix with some very large stones in it. The path is almost a road really and winds up gently, contouring the hillside. After a couple of kilometres we finally come to a sign, which confirms that we are headed in the right direction. After an hour we reach the top end of the funicular railway, which brings people up to the hermitage of St. Joan. We have a choice of walks here. Ten minutes for the hermitage or an hour for St. Jeroni and the highest point of the mountain range. We choose the latter and set off. It’s a proper path now and very pleasant woodland walking. I assume we are making for a great bald lump of rock, on top of which I can just make out a rusting cross, but we contour round it and then, horror of horrors begin to descend. We traverse a ridge towards another collection of peaks. If it is an hour’s walk it’s a one-way time. At the other side of the ridge we pass a small path signed down to the monastery and then contour up and round the hillside eventually popping out at the small hermitage of St Jeroni. The path forks here and there are no signs. We try to the right and soon realise we are going the wrong way when, looking back we spot an observation platform high above us. Retracing our steps we climb a staircase that gets us to the top surprisingly quickly, nevertheless it has taken us about an hour and a quarter one way. There are a few people up there and a lovely young Canadian girl from Calgary joins us for the descent. This is a turn up for the books as I am a rather taciturn walker and ‘J’ likes a good natter. We take the small, signed path on the way down, which descends quite steeply down a gorge. Not a particularly nice way to go up because of that, but a good one to come down. We pop out in a building site at the back of the monastery about an hour after we left the top.
We go back to the basilica, which is virtually empty now, and taking a side door, visit the black Madonna. She is in a small room way above the high altar. The walls and ceiling are covered in gold mosaic and the Madonna herself is encased in a glass dome, apart from the orb she holds in her right hand. This pops through a hole in the glass so the pilgrims can rub it which we do.
After this we go down to the cafeteria before taking the Cremolaria back down the mountain. At the station the machine rejects our tickets, they are only good for the aeri. I can’t face that little tin box and buy fresh tickets for the rack railway down the hill.
Having sussed things out the day before, getting our combination train tickets at Plaza d’Espanya is no problem and our rapid progress leaves us on the platform half an hour ahead of train. The platform gradually fills up and there is a trainfull waiting when it eventually arrives. However we get seats and it pulls out on time. The transport system here is excellent and good value too. The first twenty minutes of the journey are underground and the rest through fairly unremarkable countryside until we reach the mountains at Monserrat.
We disembark at the first of the two stations as our ticket is for the cable car or Aeri as it is known. This turns out to be a mistake. The cable car consists of two yellow boxes, each big enough to take 35 people. As one goes up, the other comes down, suspended over the void with no supports between the station where we are and the monastery in the distance above. We are not quick enough off the mark to be the first batch into the car and find ourselves in a line in the waiting room. The minutes tick by as I read about the ride we are waiting to embark on. German engineers constructed it in 1935. Quite old then I think and in my experience the Spanish are not noted for scrupulous maintenance practises.
By now about twenty minutes has gone by and it becomes apparent that the cars have stuck. I take a look out of the window and see the descending tin box about a hundred feet above us, while the ascending one is a tiny yellow speck in the distance. As a sufferer from claustrophobia I am beginning to have serious doubts about this as a suitable method for getting up the mountain. (You can just see the speck of yellow that is the top cable car just below the building in the top right of the picture).
The minutes tick by and the next of the hourly trains from Barcelona is nearly due when the wheels whir into life and the cars finally dock. One man descends from the car at our end. There is a lot of discussion between him and the ticket office official and then the cars go back in motion, empty on a test run. We abandon the queue and take the train that arrives on to the next station where we transfer to the Cremolaria, a new, electric, rack railway train, spacious, comfortable, big windows and much more to my liking.
We arrive at the monastery station at one o’clock and race up the hill to the basilica just in time to catch the last five minutes of the choir, which sings for ten minutes every day at one o’clock. The place is packed and despite the no photography signs there is the constant flash of cameras waved in the air above the sea of heads,
After we wander back down to the main square and locate a path that we hope will lead us up the mountains. These are extraordinary, I had thought from the pictures that they are limestone pillars, but they are in fact conglomerate and look like they have been constructed from an enormous concrete mix with some very large stones in it. The path is almost a road really and winds up gently, contouring the hillside. After a couple of kilometres we finally come to a sign, which confirms that we are headed in the right direction. After an hour we reach the top end of the funicular railway, which brings people up to the hermitage of St. Joan. We have a choice of walks here. Ten minutes for the hermitage or an hour for St. Jeroni and the highest point of the mountain range. We choose the latter and set off. It’s a proper path now and very pleasant woodland walking. I assume we are making for a great bald lump of rock, on top of which I can just make out a rusting cross, but we contour round it and then, horror of horrors begin to descend. We traverse a ridge towards another collection of peaks. If it is an hour’s walk it’s a one-way time. At the other side of the ridge we pass a small path signed down to the monastery and then contour up and round the hillside eventually popping out at the small hermitage of St Jeroni. The path forks here and there are no signs. We try to the right and soon realise we are going the wrong way when, looking back we spot an observation platform high above us. Retracing our steps we climb a staircase that gets us to the top surprisingly quickly, nevertheless it has taken us about an hour and a quarter one way. There are a few people up there and a lovely young Canadian girl from Calgary joins us for the descent. This is a turn up for the books as I am a rather taciturn walker and ‘J’ likes a good natter. We take the small, signed path on the way down, which descends quite steeply down a gorge. Not a particularly nice way to go up because of that, but a good one to come down. We pop out in a building site at the back of the monastery about an hour after we left the top.
We go back to the basilica, which is virtually empty now, and taking a side door, visit the black Madonna. She is in a small room way above the high altar. The walls and ceiling are covered in gold mosaic and the Madonna herself is encased in a glass dome, apart from the orb she holds in her right hand. This pops through a hole in the glass so the pilgrims can rub it which we do.
After this we go down to the cafeteria before taking the Cremolaria back down the mountain. At the station the machine rejects our tickets, they are only good for the aeri. I can’t face that little tin box and buy fresh tickets for the rack railway down the hill.
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