I stepped inside its colossal belly with reverential care – my mouth fell with admiration. I was not the only person left speech-less, the group of tourists behind me, who previously were yabbering loudly to be heard over the pandemonium of the city, also subsumed.
I hugged my best friends arm and pulled him tightly against my clammy dress. I stood still, apart from my eyes darting to every corner, desperately trying to absorb all the intricate details that were laden upon every pillar, wall, floor and ceiling.
The sweltering sun penetrated through the towering stain glass windows, rippling its heat into the church. Rose gold, turquoise, jade and indigo flirted with the gigantic pillars that stood erected, like a labyrinth of pastel candy sticks dancing in the light.
I am not a religious person but I felt a flicker of something within me that day. Maybe it was the Christ on the Cross, suspended above our heads under a umbrella of heavy gold, that looked like a parachute descending from heaven.
Or maybe it was the depiction of Saints, that were mounted high up, almost on the heads of the pillars, that from the ground looked like bright hard boiled sweets, with black inscriptions scribbled over them.
Or maybe, it was the magnificent construction and genus of configuration that felt so ‘God like’, all assembled so extraordinary; that it left everyone of its visitors astonished that such splendour could be man-made.
Whatever it was, I felt it. Along with a tremendous amount of gratitude for my dear friend, who bought me all the way to Sagrada Família.
*Footer photo by Claudio Testa*