The Sagrada Família is a church built like a forest. Antoni Gaudí's columns rise and divide into branches near the ceiling, and the vaults open into whorls of skylights. The glass is tuned by compass point — blues and greens on the east, reds and ambers on the west — so the nave changes colour as the day crosses it. Gaudí called the Gothic flying buttress a crutch and leaned his columns inward like trunks instead, so the load runs straight down them into the ground. The first stone went down in 1882 and the work has not stopped.
Gaudí took the job in 1883, aged thirty-one, threw out almost all of the earlier plan and then gave the rest of his life to it — forty-three years, the last of them living on the site. A tram struck him in 1926 and he died three days later, with a fraction of the church standing. It is still not finished, and that is the thing to listen for while you are inside: cranes turning overhead, and under them a permanent low murmur of people looking up.