Last night I slept on the beach with the aquamarine sea lapping just feet from where I slumbered. I awoke to the sound of the rolling surf (which I thought was thunder and leapt out of my sleeping bag and out of my tent in a hot panic, ready to run for cover, my heart beating a million miles a minute. Only to find that it was 4AM and the sky was perfectly clear.) and I lay awake listening and checking my phone. I see on my weather app, that although there is indeed no rain, the wind is forecasted to pick up and hover around 30 mph later today with gusts to of up to 80. There goes the hope of any sleep. I fitfully dither about what to do, and finally decide to get up the coast to Tarragon, the site of an old Roman Capital, as fast as I can, before the wind can find me. I set sights on a hostel I find there and make haste.
By noon I have made it and as I arrive, so does the wind, knocking down the sandwich board signs outside shops, threatening to tear awnings and hurling dust and litter into the air. I feel quite pleased with myself as I stow my gear on my bunk and head back out, bikeless and carefree to see what this town has to offer.
I am not disappointed. I find colosseums, Roman circuses, ancient city walls and of course the Tarragona Cathedral, the most prominent feature in this town.
I pay to go inside. I am not religious, but I am still in awe whenever I go in one of these lavish Roman Catholic churches. The craftsmanship, the art and the effort it took to build something like this in the 12th century is baffling in scope. This cathedral is enormous with towering vaulted ceilings, many ornate apses and the biggest organ I have ever seen in my life. I walk slowly through, staring with bugged out eyes at all the history held here.
It is quiet in the cathedral. There is no wind at all. After sometime, I find myself eyeing the pews and wondering what would happen if I just had a little lie down. It has been quite a week, actually quite a month! Nobody would know. There is nobody around.
Suddenly, my legs feel like day-old molten lava. My eyes get all crinkly. The stone floor beneath my feet becomes impossibly hard. Maybe a little rest, I think. So, I lower myself down on to a bench seat for just a moment. If there is a god, I am sure they wouldn’t mind a bit.
As I sit blinking back sleepy tears, it occurs to me that I am not the first to be overcome with sleepiness in here. I am probably marching in line with centuries and centuries of visitors all exhausted from their daily toils who have found respite in these walls, (as well as boredom) and have been overcome, as am I. I think about how early my day started. I think about the wind and then I too become history.
that country sounds so varied and rich in beauty. I love your journey.
Sweet dreams! I hope you set the alarm clock so you can make room for the parishioners when it’s time for mass. 😇