Gold, Surrealism, and Stone: A Journey from Dalí’s Dreams to Girona’s Ancient Walls

By Michael L. Weiss | Besorah from the Journey

Some travel days feel like they were choreographed by a higher hand. Not just a list of places to see, but a tapestry of meaning—where the thread of imagination is stitched next to the thread of memory, art beside empire, beauty against sorrow. That was our journey from Figueres, the hometown of Salvador Dalí and home of his surrealist temple, to Girona—a city built of stone, stories, and no small share of heartbreak.

Figueres: Dalí’s Theater of the Mind

It begins in a place that feels almost imagined—like Dalí himself. Figueres, a small Catalonian town, gave the world one of its greatest artistic provocateurs and then received him back, in the end, as if it had never let go.

Dalí built his Teatre-Museu not in the great art capitals of Europe, but here—among the familiar streets of his childhood. The building, with its crimson façade, giant white eggs, and golden figurines, feels like a dream sketched onto a city block. Inside, paintings melt, jewelry pulses, and logic politely excuses itself.

The first installation we encountered offered no gentle introduction. Rainy Cadillac—a black convertible filled with mannequins—sits beneath a suspended boat dripping blue gem-like droplets. Insert a coin and it rains inside the car. Below, a distorted Venus figure rises from a platform, caught between classic beauty and surreal nightmare. The symbolism is thick: opulence, decay, artificiality, and longing. Dalí doesn’t offer interpretation—he demands it.

Then came the famed Mae West Room, where what appears to be an odd sitting room—a lip-shaped sofa, two paintings, and soft golden drapes—snaps into place when viewed from above through a lens. Suddenly, it becomes the face of Mae West. Dalí’s point is as clear as the vision is clever: truth, like beauty, is a matter of perspective.

Jewels that Beat with Life

Tucked in a quiet gallery within the museum lies Dalí Joies, the jewelry collection Dalí designed over decades. These were no ordinary adornments—they were emotional machines crafted in gold, diamonds, and engineering.

A ruby heart actually beats. A golden eye weeps sapphire tears. A flower opens and closes with clockwork grace. Crafted by master jeweler Carlos Alemany under Dalí’s meticulous direction, these pieces marry myth and mechanics, pain and seduction, into tangible poetry. Beauty, for Dalí, was never passive—it moved, breathed, and sometimes bled.

Girona: Thrones, Faith, and Forced Exile

From surrealism to solemn stone, we arrived in Girona—one of Catalonia’s most important medieval cities, rich in faith, art, and, sadly, expulsion.

By the 11th and 12th centuries, Girona had become a flourishing center of religious scholarship, trade, and diplomacy. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim communities coexisted here, albeit tenuously. The Jewish Quarter—El Call—was among the most vibrant in Iberia. Esteemed Jewish scholars like Nachmanides (Ramban) walked these same streets, and Girona’s yeshivot drew students from across Europe.

It is said that by the late Middle Ages, Jews made up nearly 30% of Girona’s population. Scholars argue that without the Inquisition, Spain may well have become the world’s largest Jewish community. Today, it is estimated that less than 25,000 Jews live in all of Spain—a quiet echo of what once was.

Our journey began at the Cathedral of Saint Mary of Girona, whose vast Gothic-Baroque staircase rises like a sculptural hymn. Step inside, and the vaulted nave envelops you in silence and majesty. It’s no surprise that filmmakers chose it—and much of Girona—as the backdrop for Game of Thrones. Much of Season 6 was filmed here. The cathedral became the Great Sept of Baelor. The alleys transformed into the shadowy streets of Braavos. Walking these real-life corridors gives the distinct sense that history, fantasy, and memory are layered upon one another.

We climbed the ancient Roman Wall, which still encircles much of the city. From its heights, we looked across red-tiled roofs and stone spires—but beneath our feet lay the sorrow of exile.

The Inquisition did not descend on Iberia all at once. In Catalonia—and Girona in particular—the process unfolded methodically. Initially, Jews were given one week to sell their possessions and leave. On paper, it seemed like an orderly departure. But then came a second, devastating decree: Catholics were forbidden from purchasing anything from Jews.

The result was calculated ruin. Sales became impossible. Jews were forced to abandon homes, businesses, tools, and treasures. The Crown, led by Ferdinand and Isabella, absorbed this property into the royal treasury. It was less an exile than a sanctioned robbery—motivated not just by religious zealotry, but by economic desperation.

It was under these same Catholic Monarchs—unifiers of Spain through both marriage and military conquest—that the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon were joined, birthing modern Spain. And yet, in their efforts to build a singular Catholic kingdom, they expelled the very communities that had helped sustain it for centuries.

Ironically, it was here in Girona, not far from the Jewish Quarter they erased, that Ferdinand and Isabella signed the 1492 contract with Christopher Columbus—a deal that would launch the Age of Exploration and reshape the world. That same year, they issued the Edict of Expulsion, formalizing what had already unfolded in towns like Girona: the erasure of Jewish Spain, not in one moment, but through a gradual, ruthless dispossession.

Final Reflections: Stones, Stories, and the Surreal

This day was more than sightseeing. It was an encounter—with imagination and with memory, with what has been created and what has been taken.

In Figueres, Dalí gave us gold that beats like a heart. In Girona, the stones beneath our feet spoke of hearts broken, lives lost, and histories nearly forgotten.

Travel, I’ve come to believe, is not about escape. It’s about revelation. Spain, in all its complexity, continues to open itself—one cobblestone, one brushstroke, one whispered story at a time.