Barcelona in October 3

Monteserrat, much more than I had bargained for. The peak with an altitude of 1236 meters. The monastery further down, huge, impressive, but leaving me a little flustered; Once a place of recluse, solitude, retreat, peace. Now a full-fledged toursist machine. Or vortex; sucking people in by the grandeur of its site, the buildings. Centrifuging us through the cafés easily catering for a multitude of visitors of all ages and provenances, the museum, the Basilica, the shops, and spewing us out in the other end, overwhelmed, but a little lacking in the peace of mind usually associated with monasteries and hermitages.

Not yet fully satisfied, some of us took a funicular further up, to see more of the mountain, the unique rock formations, the view. Which was amazing.
 Restless, a little impatient, I agreed to meet with the others in time for the descending cable car, and took off uphill. First following a wide pathway, and after a while pursuing a steep upward path, through a thicket of trees. On the way, puffing and panting, knowing I was short of time, I met and passed some resting, out of breath Russians, a couple of sauntering Poles and two young Londoners, clampering up, step by step. The former two never made it to the Magdalena Hermitage further up, both due their wearing high heels, not well suited for the task and their heavyweight cameras and wallets…, the latter arrived a little later, obviously not being in a hurry like me.

The two English blokes and I shared the thrill when emerging out of the bush and onto a plateau, overlooking amazing rock formations and the valley beyond and bellow. We photographed eachother, neither asking the other to take a step back, which would have been a foolish thing, and probably the last of our lives, to do.

Allowing myself a few minutes of exhilaration, feeling high and on top of the word, in many respects, I felt inclined to stay, but knowing I had people waiting for me, took a last look, before I scurried down, again passing the Russians and the Poles, all smiling, but not uttering a word, now even more oxygen-deprived as they were.

Me, myself, I was high, a feeling that stayed with me on the way down, on the train back to town and all through the evening, and hasn’t quite left me yet.