Spring had definitely arrived in Barcelona by mid March. (By contrast, spring tends to still debate her arrival in Chicago around that time). By then I was well familiar with every winding alley of the Barri Gòtic, decided I preferred Santa Maria del Mar over the Barcelona Cathedral, and established a cafe con leche routine at a modern cafe. Of course, such a taxing lifestyle sometimes requires one to escape for a bit. Hence I signed up for a weekend tour of the Costa Brava.
The tour first brought us to Girona, a city just over 60 miles outside of Barcelona. It was quiet, clean, and colorful. The entire time I was there, I couldn’t quite figure out the city’s character; it was complex. On the one hand, there were neat, colorful row-houses lining the Onyar river. Well kept and pristine, strangely bright yet almost sterile. (I suppose I was a used to a bit more crumble in my buildings, surrounded by 19th century facades in Barcelona.)
But contrasting these square houses with minimalist facades and modern lines were the city’s old fort, the breathtaking Sant Pere de Galligants Benedictine church, and the Jewish Quarter. I’ve never seen a more perfect embodiment of the term “centuries collide.” That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy Girona. But I left still uncertain of the impression it left on me.
Next on the trip, and really the selling point for most participants, was the city of Figueres. Birthplace of Salvador Dalí, we had heard tales of wonder, amusement, and confusion from visitors of his famous Theatre-Museum. Though the surroundings are sleepy and slow, the museum is unquestionably Dalí. Bright red and crowned with eggs, the entrance both foreshadows (yet reveals nothing) of the spectacles that await inside.
Some of Dalí’s most famous works are displayed inside, including Port Alguer (1924) and the portrait of his wife, Galarina (1944–45).
I’m having a fiery internal debate about whether to include more pictures from the museum. On the one hand, I want to share what an incredible, eccentric experience it was. On the other, I don’t want to ruin the surprise for future visitors! Part of the fun and wonder was really not having any expectations for what you’d see next. And how could you? This is Dalí we’re talking about!
Ever the entertainer, even his museum’s architecture can’t be left untouched by his art. Thought provoking images and details are everywhere. Even if one doesn’t “get” Surrealism (I suppose it isn’t a movement that aimed to be understood, but rather is defined by non sequitur… but I digress!), visitors are really in for a treat!
After a stimulating, laughter-filled afternoon at the museum, the group recharged on some cortados and sandwiches before loading back onto the bus to Cadaques.
I really thought the best was over; what I had aimed to see on this trip I saw, and the rest would just be a relaxing blur. But to this day I remember the remainder of the itinerary more vividly than anything else!
Cadaques was the perfect combination of warm and windy when we stepped off the bus. White, Mediterranean houses lined uneven cobblestone roads. The smell of the sea mixed with the aromas of freshly blooming spring flowers. We took deep breaths at Port Lligat, too tired by the journey to listen to all the biographical details of Dalí’s life there, nevertheless still in awe of the view.
After a few moments of sitting in the sand to regain our energy, the tour group (I should mention there were only about 15 or so of us) wandered into the the center of Cadaques and — after much indecision — picked a restaurant for dinner. We sat in a tree-lined sun room at a long table, sharing countless carafes of red wine and tasting local seafood. The meal was long and filled with vibrant conversation (probably with the help of the wine.)
The sun set on Cadaques that day, and I felt contentment like I never had before in my life. The soothing lapping of the sea, the stillness of the streets, and the company of fellow travelers. I wished the moment could last forever.
We finished up the trip in Coillure, France. On our way, we stopped by a small, independent museum in La Jonquera dedicated to the Spanish Civil War, particularly the Republican exile. The Museu Memorial de l’Exili (MUME), though small, clearly had a strong donor base and many public grants from the Generalitat de Catalunya. Filled with high-tech exhibitions, digitized archives and highly interactive films and digital artifacts, the museum commemorated the harsh, often fatal conditions of refugees forced into exile in France. A somber but important stop, the museum shed light on many details about the Spanish Civil War I was confused about (but too worried to ask a local about such a sensitive subject). The Spanish Civil War certainly still exists in the cultural memory of Spain; the same way WWII was such a fundamental experience for my own grandparents in Poland, their siblings in France, and older generations of my family. There’s a huge difference between learning about war through a textbook and witnessing through storytelling the lives it affected, the faces of its victims. The MUME certainly gave me a new perspective on that era of Spanish history.
Our last stop of the trip was just past the French border in Coillure, France. Another sleepy port town, it was the definition of quaint.
Small fisherman’s boats would gently rock in the water, and the sun shone so brightly over that little town. Besides the aesthetic beauty, Coillure also had the most wonderful savory crepes, unforgettable violet gelato, and small, old-fashioned violet and lavender hard candies I remembered from my childhood. It was absolute bliss!
It’s impossible for me to decide which part of the trip was my favorite. In its entirety, my Costa Brava weekend was both busy yet relaxing; a packed itinerary of the most tranquil destinations.
If you are ever in Barcelona and want a change of scenery from the hustle and bustle, take a day trip around Costa Brava! You will experience such peace and calm, you’ll never forget it.
(Or be able to recreate it, sadly.)