When we woke the air in the square below was full of swallows. Apparently they nest in the walls of the church and come out at dawn to snag bugs out of the air. We watched some of the neighbors playing with dogs down below. Barcelona has a lot of dogs, but no cats. I offered a bounty of a candy bar to whoever spotted a cat first.
Our first tourist destination was Barcelona Cathedral -- the Cathedral of Saint Eulalia, a huge Gothic pile with a wonderful lacy stonework spire. Off to one side is a charming cloister, with geese for some reason. The interior of the cathedral is very dark and solemn, with the usual side-chapels dedicated to various saints.
After that we headed for the main drag of Barcelona -- La Rambla, the tree-lined avenue which runs from the seashore deep into the interior. It was packed with visitors just like us (but not so nicely dressed). We made our way to the old central market, La Boqueria, an acre of food stalls under a big metal roof (but around the edges there's what looks like and 18th-century colonnade). I was pleased to see that the market hasn't become just another tourist attraction, the way Philadelphia's Reading Station market or the French Market in New Orleans have. From the look of it, people still buy groceries at La Boqueria.
In fact, that was one of the most charming things about Barcelona. It's a living city, not a museum. People lived in the flats around the square below our flat. There were a lot of kids in evidence. If all the Americans, Englishmen, Germans, and Australians quit coming to Barcelona tomorrow, there would be some grumbling from souvenir vendors and tour guides, but the city would go on much as it does.
After a two-hour nap and a lunch of bread and cheese, we went over to the Picasso Museum, which was only two blocks from our flat. It was very good. They have a very impressive display of Picasso's younger work, and you can see the point at about age 14 where Pablo went from "a kid drawing pictures" to "a genius in the making."
Some observations:
• The first picture from when he moved to Paris is called "The Carnival Stall" and it is entirely done in shades of brown, gray, and dark green. Looks like a little culture shock for young Pablo, leaving Spain's sun for the rainier climate of northern Europe.
• One female nude from his Blue Period suggests that Picasso may not have been quite the satyr his reputation paints (at least, not yet). Breasts don't work that way, Pablo.
• The Museum had a special exhibit of self-portraits by Picasso, and I have to say he made them almost absurdly flattering -- his paintings of himself all have a much stronger jaw and a lot more hair than the photos indicate.
We dined at a restaurant near our flat, called "Origen," an organic-food place which was good but not great. I had roast rabbit, Diane had duck, Emily had cod, and Robert had lamb meatballs in an eggplant sauce.
Cats sighted: 0
Tomorrow: The Mountain!
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