A busy day. Picasso Museum, because it’s free on the first Sunday of every month. That was the first culture boost for the day.
We rambled down the Ramblas to the waterfront. Being weekend – it was buzzing with tourists, Sunday walkers, cyclists and street performers.
We watched a Buena Vista Social Club-style group, soaking up their rhythmic beats and the hot, hot day. We took the funicular up to Montjuic and our first stop was a lush green park. We all fitted ourselves onto one beach towel and read and slept, happy in Spain.
A cat-nap later, it was time to fill our awe buckets a bit more, so we ventured upwards, to the castle, where we admired our latest city, ate ice creams and laughed. A slow walk brought us the museum atop the Magic Fountain, where we waited for the sun to set, accompanied by a guitar-playing busker and a dancing, free-spirited girl. Barcelona nightfall brought with it a cacophony of lights and waterfall repertoires.
For a bedtime story we tried out the Ramblas by night. We shared a couple of beers bought off a man who also had hash and coke if we wanted. The streets were alive. Prostitutes linking arms with tourists declaring love. Pamphlet pushers insisting that their club is the one and only place to party tonight. Stilettos. Flirting. Drug offers. Drunkenness. We watched, enchanted, hearts stolen by this amazing city that had still not let us down in the slightest. This everything city.
