On a dreary Friday afternoon near the end of Holy Week, Semana Santa as it’s known in Spain, the weathered streets of Barcelona pulsed with pilgrims and onlookers mesmerized by the beats and passions of the traditional Viernes Santo procession commemorating the sorrow of Christ’s sacrificial crucifixion.
Ted and I found ourselves standing in the Spanish city’s Good Friday throng mere hours after disembarking from our transatlantic ship crossing. Leapt we from lavish cruise ship surroundings and memories of blissful blue ocean waters into the brooding atmosphere of a seaside city in mourning. Easter on the horizon, but death and darkness first. Continue Reading…