We do decide to have a wander down past the posh shops but mainly to see the famous Gaudi buildings of La Pedrera and Casa Batllo which are so innovative, despite being built in the 1900s. The gorgeous curves and unusual wrought iron work are characteristic of his style and they look as if they belong in Disneyland because they are so playful and eccentric. The queues for both of these buildings are rather long and, with an 11 year old in tow, we decide to just enjoy them from the outside.
More walking continues through the morning, but unfortunately no shopping. Decide to visit the Dali Museum which is, not surprisingly, very surreal. A fixation with penises makes me feel I’m back at the Phallological Museum in Iceland (we do seem to find these places!!).
After lunch we visit the Montjuic part of town, a mountainous park which was first landscaped for the 1929 International Exhibition. It fell into decline after that but was transformed for the 1992 Olympics. Basking in the afternoon sun we see the Olympic Stadium and notice outside there are Hollywood style foot imprints of famous Olympians. So we stand in Steve Redgrave’s feet and Michael Johnson’s and then I’m bemused as I keep seeing one athlete’s imprint repeated along the path:
“I wonder who Passeig de Fame was?” I ask.
“I think you’ll find that probably means “Walk of Fame”, hubby tells me, and shakes his head wearily.
As light starts to fade we make our way to the Palau National to get a good view of the Font Magica below. At 7pm the Magic Fountain sound and light show is set to begin. We can’t decide where to sit to watch this spectacle so join some others sitting rather precariously on an empty fountain wall high above the actual fountain which is going to perform for us. Thinking we’ve done well getting a good view we suddenly shriek as the water starts to fill up under our feet and seconds later water shoots up from the jets around us. We’re part of the damned show! Get down from the wall like lightning and stand securely behind it. Unfortunately although we have a fab view of the actual Font Magica doing its stuff, we’re too far away to really hear the music which goes with it. So only whisps of Nessun Dorma make their way up to us and poor old Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballe’s Barcelona finale is somewhat lost. It’s still really exciting to watch but hubby and son refuse to let me stay for the next showing as it’s getting chilly and their bellies are rumbling.
Back to the hotel to change and discover the lift is out of order and we’re on the 5th floor. So moan and grumble all the way up, get changed, trundle down again then laugh like a drain as hubby has forgotten his wallet and has to crawl all the way up again. Shame!