Location: Montserrat & Barcelona, Spain
Summary: An early start for a tour to Colònia Güell and Montserrat, worsening leg pain, missed trains, a difficult climb to the top station, a medical scare, and an evening spent in Barcelona University Hospital before finally learning the issue was not thrombosis.
Trip to Montserrat
We got up early today for a coach tour to Montserrat, stopping first at the Church of Colònia Güell. Our hotel didn’t serve breakfast before 07:30, so we left without eating. I wasn’t too upset, after yesterday’s awful breakfast, I wasn’t keen to try again. I did sneak in and steal a glass of orange juice to take my tablets. My leg was aching badly this morning, so I took two painkillers and packed a few more for later.
We walked to the Metro and caught a train into Barcelona, where we boarded our coach with the Catalunya Bus Turística. Our first stop was the small village of Colònia Güell. We walked around while our guide explained how it had once been a textile village owned by a single family, who later allowed the villagers to buy their homes at reasonable prices. The tiny church here was built by Gaudí, and it is believed he may be buried here.
Gaudí used this church to test ideas before designing the Sagrada Familia, which UNESCO declared a World Heritage Site in 2005. Having now seen both, I prefer the small church. The Sagrada Familia has been altered so much since Gaudí’s death that many of the things I remember from childhood, like coloured bottles cemented into the walls, have been covered by new decorations. In my opinion, it’s not an improvement.
We then visited a local Cava producer just steps from the church. I tried the very dry Cava, which we were told was the “good stuff”, unlike the lower‑quality exports. If this was the good stuff, I won’t be rushing to buy any. My ankle pain was getting worse, so I left before the short tour and took two more painkillers.
We were soon back on the coach and heading to Montserrat Monastery. I was disappointed that we weren’t taking the cable car up the mountain, but instead driving up to use the two lower funicular railways. When we arrived, we were told we’d be leaving shortly and only had a few minutes to grab a takeaway drink or sandwich. I was surprised the coach company hadn’t pre‑booked tickets. Our guide had to queue to buy them, which took so long that we missed the first three trains and had to catch the fourth, nearly half an hour later.
A Spanish boy gave me his seat on the train when he saw me struggling. There was only one seat per compartment, so everyone else had to stand. After a winding ride up the mountain, we reached the Monastery. Our guide gathered us to explain what to visit first, but it was taking ages and my leg was hurting badly, so I sat down and waited. I knew Paul could fill me in later.
We walked to the next station and queued for a lift. After a short wait, we moved up three floors and rejoined the path, walking would have been quicker. At the station, I needed water as I was getting hot sweats from the pain. I bought a bottle from a machine that behaved like a fruit machine. One bottle dropped, then two more, then another two. I ended up with five bottles. I gave Paul two, kept two, and handed one to an Australian lady. She tried her luck and only got two, not as lucky as me.
We boarded the second funicular, which was much steeper than the first. I asked an American lady if I could have the one seat, and she kindly gave it up. By now, my leg was in agony. At the top, there were walks of 10 minutes to an hour to various viewing platforms. I told Paul I couldn’t manage even the shortest one, so he headed off alone.
My breathing became laboured, the pain was excruciating, and I was sweating hot and cold. I walked to a seat in the station to wait for Paul, who had the tickets. After an hour, I couldn’t wait any longer. I explained to the ticket lady, in my basic Spanish, that my friend had my ticket and I needed to get down. Whether she believed me or just wanted me out of her waiting room, she let me on without a ticket.
Medical Point then Hospital
When the train reached the bottom, it took me 20 minutes to walk the 30 yards to the medical assistance point. They didn’t understand much of my Spanish, but they understood the situation. I told them I was on a tour, and they tried to contact the coach company. After another hour, Paul arrived, worried sick, and had already phoned the tour guide. The guide soon joined us, and a tram was arranged to take me to the coach. Before returning to Barcelona, the tour company arranged and paid for a taxi to take me to Barcelona University Hospital.
At the hospital, I was checked in quickly, but then the usual waiting began. I was sent for an x‑ray to check for breaks. When none were found, they arranged a Doppler ultrasound to check for thrombosis. I told Paul to leave at this point, as he wanted to wait for the results. Around 22:00, I was taken for the scan, which thankfully showed no deep vein thrombosis. Back in the waiting room, it seemed likely I had an infection, possibly from an insect bite. I fell asleep and had strange, hallucinatory dreams, probably caused by the painkilling drips in my arm.
Big thanks to Paul Dunne.
I want to thank Paul for helping me today and insisting I go to the hospital. If it hadn’t been for him, things could have been much worse. I’ve since been told I might have died if I hadn’t gone.
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