Learning about the Jews of Barcelona

Although the history of the Jews in Spain is one of unending interest to me I did not plan this trip as an exploration of this story.  But I found myself sucked in as I realized we were staying in the heart of the ancient Jewish part of Barcelona. The sign above indicates a street that was the highest point in ancient Barcelona and the site of the Jewish community.

The old central Catedral in Barcelona is a gothic pile of stone with intricate designs in the French manner.  It is also the heart of the original site that the Romans founded as one of the outposts of their empire.  And some time after that the Jews came and settled in the old city.  Through most of the middle ages they were a vital part of the city working as doctors, administrators, artisans, metalworkers and engaged in all kinds of shopkeeping and trade.  Quite by accident we found ourselves staying at a hotel around the corner from the Cathedral.  This lovely hotel, the Barcelona Catedral offered a guided tour of the area on Sunday morning and we took them up on a it.  About eight hotel guests gathered and met our guide.  They included two young men in town for the huge technology conference that was taking place, a Greek couple and a family from Spain.  The guide was knowledgeable and told us a lot about Jewish life in the middle ages.  We saw where the old synagogue had been as well as houses where you could see the marks where mezuzahs had been. Most of the Jews were driven out in that 1390’s, before the famous 1492 expulsion.  There had been a series of massacres of the Jews at that period  all across Spain and nearly ten percent of the Jews of Barcelona were killed.  Most of the rest either left or became conversos.  Convertings to Christianity but secretly practicing Judaism.  For a wonderful book on this history I read “Farewell Espana” by Howard Sacher before I trip.  He has a terrific description of the golden age of Sephardic Judaism and its subsequent decline.

Paris to Barcelona on the TVG High Speed Train

                                                    One the High Speed Train        

                                                       Barcelona Street

Ah!  If Amtrak could only have high speed trains like the rest of the world traveling by train in the USA would be heavenly.  Speeding through the French countryside at 150 miles an hour was delightful.  Everything modern, clean and efficient.  Our last morning in Paris was a tourist delight walking in the Tuileries and checking out the beaux arts architecture.  Then to the Gare de Lyon and the train and on to Barcelona.

In one of those serendipitous travel karmas that we seem to fall into we have inadvertently arrived during Carnival.  The city is teeming with visitors including lots of costumed and face-painted denizens.  We arrived late in the evening and our cab driver couldn't find our hotel so he let us off in one of the winding gothic alleys and said it's right down there.  OK.  We got out and dragging our suitcases set off.  A time I was glad we travel with only small carry on bags.  Finally we stopped at a restaurant and the extremely nice maitre d walked with us to another alley and explained exactly how to go.  Our very lovely hotel appeared a few minutes later.  We're right near the Cathedral but as though of you who've been before know, the medieval streets are easy to confuse.  After checking in and walking around a bit we retraced our steps to the restaurant La Rioja that had helped us and had a wonderful tapas meal.   The anchovies on toast I had were melt in your mouth delicious.  The city is, of course, a food lovers delight and wandered through the Boqueria market drooling over all the goodies.  Beautiful marzipan candies in dozens and dozens of fanciful designs:  traditional fruits but also exotic animals and plants.  Sausages and hams in too many varieties to count and beautiful produce.

Musings on a Parisian Red Pepper

Diet is always difficult to manage while traveling.  Trying to maintain a healthy eating schedule and nutritious food is hard when so many wonderful fatty, gooey, butter laden goodies abound.  Especially in Paris.  So when we wandered down to the supermercado to stock our apartment with a few items, the produce aisle was the first I hit.  There were gorgeous green striped squashes, seductive egg plants, lettuce that was so fresh it looked like it had been plucked from the ground only seconds before and luscious looking peppers.  None of the produce was marked “organic” or “locally grown” but I would bet most of it came from farms close by and had been grown with a minimum of chemical help.  The red peppers called out to me and I bought one.  If Eve had tempted Adam with this one he would gladly have eaten it.  Back at the apartment I sliced it into strips and ate it.  Happy stomach and according to my nutrition app I got a big blast of vitamins C and A and lots of other good stuff.

While I was eating I watched a TV food show.  There are only two kinds of programming I can watch in French and somewhat understand with my limited language knowledge.  They are political shows and cooking shows.  I think this is because both are very formulaic and use a limited vocabulary.  Polititique is the same everywhere and so is cuisine.  The show I was watching was about wine production in the Loire Valley and featured spectacular shots of what seemed like miles of grape plants marching in soldier like rows, evenly spaced as far as the eye could see.  There were narrow paths between the rows and they were being plowed by a workman in what looked a scene from a medieval woodcut print.  The plow was a wooden contraction with rotating wheels that aerated that soil.  The plow was harnessed to a horse in front and then a workman behind was harnessed by leather straps to the plow and the horse so he could steer both.  The sun was beating down on a cloudless summer sky.  The workman, when interviewed said he love his work.  It was hard for me to imagine an American farm worker engaged like this.  The vineyard owner and the chef had set up a little table in the field.  A wine bottle sat in an ice bucket and the two and were drinking chilled glasses of the wine produced and having a fine time.

Arriving in Paris

Arriving in Paris

Enchanting Paris is always fun to come back to.  Even when it’s only a few days stopover on the way to Spain.  The grey skies and smells are unique to this city.  The perfume of shoots pushing through in the late winter days and the faint undertones of garbage from the Seine fill the air as always along the the more recent odors of roasting halal meats and incense.  The streets with their charming three and four story stone houses and winding lanes remain a constant in a world of change, but the people on them are no longer a distinct type but a diverse amalgam

OUr flight was an easy non-stop on Norwegian Air from New York and as usual we wrestled with finding our way into the city.  The RER train from the airport was a piece of cake but figuring out getting from the Gare du Nord to our apartment hotel was a bit confusing.  We made it however although because of a miscalculation I made we got off a stop earlier and had to walk a bit dragging our suitcases. It didn't help that we were a bit jet lagged. Not so much thought that we didn't set out to explore our neighborhood and go food shopping for a few necessary items.

We lunched as a little bistro where I had a Croque Monsieur and a  pastis thereby fulfilling my desire for a food craving left over from my earliest trips to the city.  Culinarily the place has moved on.  Ethnic restaurants of every stripe line the streets.  Asian, Middle Eastern, African:  they’re all here.