Barcelona, Spain is one of my favorite cities in the world. Since the 1992 Olympics, it has gradually become one of the most popular destinations on the globe. When I first visited this Catalan Capital in the early nineties, few people were familiar with it. Yet now, it is not uncommon for acquaintances and friends to have this be the site of their summer vacation.
There is more to Barcelona than meets the eye. There are more than beaches, tapas and the iconic Basilica of the Sagrada Familia. In its depth, there is a culture that outsiders seldom see. There are streets outside the tourist zone where foreigners rarely tread. Bubbling behind the surface is also an independence movement that at times has sparked violence.
I returned to Barcelona a few years ago with my daughter. Part of my goal was to show her as much of the city and its culture as possible, both known and hidden. What follows is a story of Barcelona through the lens of a camera.
Carrer
de la Volta dels Tamborets in El Born District.
Església
de Santa Maria de Montalegre de Barcelona.
Detail of Basilica of Santa Maria del
Mar.
Local street festival.
L'Estel Ferit, a
contemporary sculpture on San Miguel Beach.
Competition of human towers.
Tombs of Ramon Berenguer I and his wife, Almodis, in the Cathedral of Saint Eulalia.
Detail on Basilica of the Sagrada Familia.
Pockmarks from the Spanish Civil War on the walls of the church of Sant Felip Neri.
Sculpture of a child's face.
View of Montjuïc
from roof of the Cathedral.
Palau
de la Música
Catalana.
Cathedral of Barcelona.
Street in El Raval at Midnight.
Barcelona Metro.
Palace of the Balmesiana in the Plaça
del Vuit de Març.
“Woman
and Bird” sculpture by Catalan artist, Joan Miró.
Casa
Milà,
a building designed by Catalan architect, Antoni Gaudí.
The Champions.
Sant Pau del Camp, a former church and monastery from the 12th century.
Montjuïc
Cemetery.
Plaça
d'Espanya.
Camp Nou, home stadium of Barcelona Football Club.
Church
of Sant Llàtzer
in the Plaça
del Pedró,
El Raval.
A silent protest for political prisoners.
Street performer in the Gothic Quarter.
Sculpture of La Gamba (the shrimp) located on a walkway next to the sea.
Words written on a tree to memorialize a terrorist attack on the Rambla in 2017 which killed 13 and wounded 130.
Fragment of Roman aqueduct in Barcelona.
Saint George (patron Saint of Catalonia) killing the dragon.
A crowd gathers in the Plaza of Fort Pienc in Barcelona. Most are wearing white trousers, with a blue shirt and black sash fastened around the waist to support their back. Six strong and burly men come together to form the base of the tower. Behind them a throng of supporters lean into the men, adding strength to the base. This bulk of people is called the pinya. They support an amazing amount of weight.
Now the tower begins.
On three or four sides of the pinya there is a line of people waiting their turn to go up. The second level now begins to climb. They too are strong men. Someone kneels on the outer edge of the pinya, with one leg placed so the men climbing can use it as a step. They step on the thigh, then climb onto the backs of the pinya. At last, they stand on the shoulders of the six burly men, and clasp arms. Their bare feet feel for balance. Their collars turn upward and they bite down on the corners. This has a dual purpose: to keep their shirts from sliding when someone steps on their shoulders, and to ease or divert the pain of holding so much weight.
Team members climb into position to build the tower.
Now, the second level is complete. Three players begin to play a tune on a gralla and tabal, a traditional Catalonian wind instrument and drum.
A third and fourth level now begins to assemble. Each person steps across the pinya and climbs up the trunk. They grasp onto shoulders, thighs, heads, hips and use their bare feet to find any possible nook to plant their step. They dig toes, finding a foot-hold, into the black sashes. With each succeeding layer, the climbers become lighter.
It is unnerving to watch them ascend, knowing the distance of the fall should they collapse. As they climb they cling tightly to the body they are using as a ladder. Sometimes they struggle at the final heights, having to regroup strength. Each level is braced in concentration, shaking and wobbling from the excruciating weight.
Each level is braced in concentration, shaking and wobbling from the excruciating weight.
A throng of supporters lean into the pinya.
The tower is now six levels high. The very highest levels consist of mere children. But these are no ordinary kids. They have courage that would soar much higher than that of most adults.
Two boys climb to the very top and clasp arms. Another, called the aixecador, climbs atop them and squats, with one foot on each of the boys.
Then comes the enxaneta, or rider. She is the crown of the tower. With agility and courage that would make anyone jealous, she climbs atop the aixecador and raises her hand. The tower is complete! The crowd bursts into applause.
A tower nears completion.
The aixecador raises her hand, signaling completion of the tower.
Now all is left is to dissemble the tower. Sometimes this is the most dangerous part. Level by level, the team slides down the tower as if they were slithering down a pole. When the last person is down and the pinya broken apart, the gralla and tabal stop the music. Mission accomplished! They congratulate one another, patting on the shoulder and giving hugs.
I first learned of the Castellers in December 1992 while living in Reus, Spain. My friend knew a family who was part of a colla, or team. We watched them rehearse one evening inside an old building—one with a high ceiling.
The following week we watched them compete in Cambrils, a town just a short distance away by bus. Their team name was the Xiquets de Reus, and they performed in the town plaza, wearing traditional garb of white trousers, black sashes and tan-colored shirts. I watched them build towers that appeared taller than those constructed during the rehearsal. I was impressed. I remember the plaza being crowded with people, and onlookers standing on the balconies of the apartment buildings surrounding the plaza.
The gralla and tabal are played during the tower's construction.
That evening we ate dinner with the family and I recall sitting down at the table with the brother, who was strong and burly and stood as part of the pinya during the competition.
Since then I have continued to be obsessed with these human towers. It is a cultural tradition that is unique to Catalonia, Spain. I have seen it nowhere else in the world.
Every city, and in some cases, every neighborhood has its own colla. Throughout the summer and at festivals they will hold their competitions in various locations. Two or three teams will display their talent and courage by making the tallest or largest tower.
A human tower in Barcelona.
I have come to Barcelona this summer with my daughter, Kaitlyn. I purposely sought out two different competitions. This was the first true competition I have witnessed since 1992.
We walk eight blocks from the Sagrada Familia (brimming and chaotic with tourists) to the Plaça del Fort Pienc, a modern square full of people, but no tourists. What a refreshing sight! We have time to stop in Mercadona and buy a treat.
It is fascinating to mingle with the teams and supporters and observe their preparations. They wear uniforms consisting of white pants and a team-colored shirt, usually in long sleeves rolled up past their elbows. I witness several members, including women, change into their shirts right there in the plaza. Several wear bandanas over their head, usually a team-styled bandana.
Sashes help provide back support.
Fun times hanging out before competition.
They tightly wrap a long black faja, or sash, about a foot and a half wide, around their waist and back. One person holds the loose end while the one putting it on slowly rotates like a spool until it is firmly around his waist and tucked in. This acts as a back brace. Sometimes they use one or two bandanas to keep it secure.
Members of all sizes mingle around, from large and husky men to young girls who wear helmets and chase around their friends. We mingle with members of Sant Cugat, who support their team with a table selling t-shirts, bandanas and bookmarks.
The time to build the first tower has now arrived. A crowd now gathers to form the pinya. Onlookers like myself stand and observe, some taking pictures. Even the youngest are moving into position. Two girls, nearly eight years old, get carried piggy-back style to the edge of the pinya where they will soon walk on top of shoulders and climb up the tower.
Young girls wait their turn to climb the tower.
The first level is made, then the second, and then comes the music to serenade levels three, four, five, six and seven. Making it look easy, the aixecador summits the tower and raises her hand. Then they dissemble, level by level, and meet an enthusiastic applause from the crowd.
We watch this process over and over. The three teams take turns, and with each turn make their own unique tower. There appears to be no rivalry, and I don't even know how this competition is “tallied.”
When we leave I know that I have witnessed a truly local event, steeped in culture.
Statue honoring castellers in Tarragona, Spain.
The castell is a cultural icon of Catalonia. It can be viewed as a symbol of Catalan nationalism. It brings a sense of pride and helps unite a people who are growing weary of the Spanish government and have created their own separatist movement.
The human towers likely have their origin in the muixeranga of Algemesi, in the province of Valencia. This was a religious festival that built towers to honor the “Mother of God of Health,” also known as the Virgin Mary.
Human tower in Esplugues, a suburb of Barcelona.
The first recorded instance of human towers in Catalonia comes from the city of Valls, just north of Tarragona. First documented in 1712, it soon spread to other surrounding areas. By the early 1800's groups were being formed in the area around Tarragona.
During the International Exhibition of 1929 in Barcelona, the first castells were built using the current attire of colored shirts, white pants, sashes and bandanas.
Following the repression of the Franco years, Catalan nationalism has made a resurgence, along with the castell.
The pinya.
Building a tower takes large levels of concentration.
The higher the levels, the younger the children.
The following day, Kaitlyn and I gear up for our second round of human towers. It is Sunday, and we are lucky because there happens to be a competition near the church we will be attending.
We take the blue metro line to Esplugues, and after attending church we wander out and find a wide promenade lined with trees. A large crowd has gathered and a team of castellers are gathering to begin a tower. There are three groups competing here. I notice an ambulance parked here just in case of a fall. We watch from an elevated structure for a better view.
These single towers are called pillars.
For an hour we joyfully watch the towers being built. Each one is unique. On one of them a tower is built inside a tower. After the outer “shell” is complete, it is disassembled, leaving a single column that was simultaneously built within, but hidden from our view.
We are very satisfied by the time we leave.
Most people who come to Barcelona spend their time touring the Sagrada Familia, Parc Güell and the beach. But we are in Esplugues surrounded by no tourists, watching local people do what they've done for centuries.
Deep within Spain's autonomous region of Catalunya lies the charming town of Girona. The cathedral rises from the skyline, projecting from within the old Roman walls. Lazy waters of the river Onyar subtly flow past pastel painted houses through the center of town and below the Pont de les Peixateries Velles. Every 23rd day of April, the Rambla de la Llibertat becomes a spectacle of vendors selling roses and books to lovers and non-lovers alike. They come to celebrate the day of their patron, Sant Jordi. Spain is one of the most festive-laden countries in the world, rumored to have a holiday in one of its towns on every day of the year. While living there during the early 90's, I became acquainted with Holy Week, the Fallas of Valencia, Carnival, The Day of San Juan, Three Kings Day, and numerous other celebrations. Each one brought an exhilarating satisfaction of being able to experience such an event on foreign soil.
Girona is the only place where I experienced the Day of Sant Jordi. I can still remember the streets full of people and tables set up with displays of roses and books. Everything seemed to be festooned with red and yellow, the traditional colors of Catalunya. It is on this day that the men buy a rose for the ladies, and the ladies buy a book for the men. The holiday is very much akin to Valentines Day, but with a twist.
El Dia de Sant Jordi, or sometimes called the Day of the Roses, has its roots in a legend that goes back hundreds of years. Although versions may vary, it is said that long ago, a dragon was attacking the kingdom. In order to appease, two lambs a day were offered to the ferocious beast. When animals became scarce, it was decided to draw lots among the people, and to feed the hungry dragon one person a day. When the lot fell upon the princess, she was taken to the entrance of the dragon's cave where she encountered a knight named Jordi (George). The knight slew the dragon, thus saving the princess and the kingdom. As blood issued from the dragon, it transformed into a delicate rose, which the gentleman gave to the princess. Hence originates the tradition of men giving a rose to the ladies. As for the custom of gifting books, that didn't begin until 1923, probably to commemorate Miguel de Cervantes and William Shakespeare, who both died on April 23, 1616.
This is a really old photo of the Rambla de la Llibertat on the Day of Sant Jordi, 1994.
As for me, one reason that I took a liking to the Day of Sant Jordi is that it falls on my birthday. And although I didn't have a significant other during my stay in Girona of 1994, I decided then and there that I would bring the tradition home with me to the States, and buy a rose for my future wife on that day.
I have lived up to my commitment. For the last 21 years—on my birthday—I have bought a rose for my wonderful wife, Jenelle. Several years ago I decided to expand the custom to include my four daughters. I enjoy including them because, being kids, they don't receive flowers too often. There is a glow of appreciation on their faces. I think they look forward to it every year.
Now it is again that time of year to gift a rose to those I love. Jenelle isn't home yet, so I leave hers on the pillow. My two youngest are excited to see their roses, and Jenna, with a big smile on her face says, "Thank you, Dad!" Savanah runs up and gives me a big hug. Kaitlyn is in the shower, so I quietly set hers on her bed.
Brittany's rose is always the toughest one to deliver. I get back in my truck, make the drive through our hometown, past kids playing in the park and green fields of alfalfa. Having arrived at my destination, I carry the red rose across the grass and past the other memorials. Gently, I tuck it behind a pot of flowers and next to a plastic angel that sits at the base of her headstone. ♠
