Spain on the rocks

The Montserrat mountains and Benedictine monastery outside Barcelona captivated MARY MOYNIHAN, but she didn't expect quite so many chiming bells

ON OUR PREVIOUS TRIPS to Barcelona we intended to travel to magnificent Montserrat, but there were always too many Gaudí distractions in the Catalan capital to make time for the journey. This time I booked accommodation in this mountain retreat in advance, to ensure we spent time there over Easter.

Montserrat is 40km from Barcelona, up the Llobregat river. From a distance you can see the weird formation of the mountains towering 1,200m above you. Maybe these shapes were an influence on Gaudí’s architecture, with top-heavy figures on narrow bases. Ten kilometres long and five kilometres wide, the “serrated mountain” was formed by geological forces in the distant past. Your imagination can run riot as you make your own images from the rock formation.

High in the mountains is a Benedictine monastery, where 80 monks live today. It was built centuries before the 16th-century basilica where Mass is held daily. This is home to the Escolania choir, one of the oldest boys' choirs in Europe, and white-robed children sing here every day except Saturday. They deliver only two hymns, the Salve Reginaand the Virolai, and although the recital takes just 12 minutes we nearly missed it, as we had to park halfway down the mountain. It seemed so strange to be going to anything in the early afternoon, when they sing, because this is usually siesta time. (The choir also sings at vespers, at 6.45pm.)

We returned later, when the basilica was quieter, to admire the interior, which was restored after being damaged by Napoleon’s troops in 1811.

We climbed the steps to the high altar to touch the Black Madonna with child. Pilgrims have been coming here through the ages to ask Our Lady favours for their physical and mental welfare.

An audiovisual room teaches visitors about the symbolic dimension of the monastery, while the art museum has paintings by El Greco, Caravaggio, Picasso and Salvador Dalí. The gold and silver pieces from the 15th to 20th centuries are awesome.

There are two funicular railways. The Santa Cova railway descends to the 17th-century Holy Grotto, along a path of 15 groups of sculptures known as the Monumental Rosary. The Sant Joan railway ascends to give spectacular views of the mountains.

On reaching the upper platform we walked to the little church of Sant Joan, perched on an outcrop. Fitter folk climbed for another hour to the Sant Jeroni hermitage, for reportedly amazing views across to the Pyrenees.

That evening we had a splendid meal in the Mirador dels Apostols building. At night it’s the only show in town, so we didn’t expect such a high standard. When the hordes vanished on the many buses, and with all cars being banned, we felt privileged to have the place to ourselves and were delighted that we had opted to spend the night here.

We felt really relaxed, and waited for the bells to ring out at midnight before settling down. But that was the end of our peace, because we got the full blast of the bells, being right next door to them, and the sultry night necessitated an open window.

A grating bell rang every 15 minutes through the night: once at quarter past, twice at half past, three times at quarter to and four times on the hour. How come we didn’t register this racket during the day?

One of us slept right through, and it wasn’t me. Now I wasn’t feeling quite so smug at having the place to ourselves. How wise the other tourists were to vacate. In my head was Hamlet’s line “To sleep, perchance to dream”.

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