Bienia in Barcelona? Tak!

The most amazing encounter in Barcelona on Monday morning: 

I had a few hours before the train to Sevilla, so I took the Barcelona Metro to see La Familia Sagrada, Gaudi’s famous work. I didn't have a ticket to get in, and it's just as well, as I didn't have much time. People with tickets were standing in line in the hot sun for maybe half an hour just waiting to get in. People without tickets were in a line that disappeared around the corner, and then down the block and around another corner. And then around yet another corner! The line was not moving. Ugh. 

I had to content myself with the view from outside the fence.

As you can see, this work of art which began in 1882 is still under construction.

After walking all around La Familia Sagrada, I took a moment to sit on a bench in the park across the street. Two women came to sit on the same bench. They chatted with one another... in Polish!  This was so unexpected, to hear Polish in Barcelona. (Why not, of course? There are tourists here from all over the world.) I couldn’t contain myself and just had to speak to them. One woman said she lives in Paris now, has lived there for over 25 years. And then, before I could ask her, she volunteered that she was from the southeast of Poland, not far from the Ukraine. From a place called Krosno!  I told her my grandmother was from Krosno. We were both astonished. And then she said her maiden name was Bienia. I just couldn’t believe it. And I wonder if she believed me when I told her that Bienia was also my grandmother’s maiden name. When I said we might be cousins, she sort of pulled away and looked uncomfortable. (Did she wonder what this stranger on a park bench wanted from her?) We chatted for a while about Krosno, about the closing of the glass factory. She said Krosno is becoming a retirement community, as all the young people are leaving to find jobs elsewhere.  And then we stood up to leave, and said goodbye.

Damn! If only I’d had my Bienia Family Tree with me! I’d left it in my backpack in my hotel room. And if only I’d thought to ask her address in Paris; I could have sent her at least the basic tree showing my great-grandparents, Wojciech Bienia and Zofia Janik, and their seven children. And I could have asked her if anyone in her family remembers that there was someone named Anton Bienia — Marsha's grandfather, not on my family tree — who moved to Chicago when he was a young man. Ach. 

My head full of Polish again, I stopped at a little sidewalk restaurant to order paella. When the waiter asked in Spanish if I'd like my water without gas, I answered, "Tak."