Slept really well last night, probably thanks to the quadruple-size Irish Coffee I had as a nightcap in the hotel bar. Hubby had a huge malt whisky so he was comatose as soon as he hit the pillow. We’re obviously still in Iceland mode and can’t quite believe how cheap the alcohol is here, “Ooh it’s only 8 euros, let’s have another!”
So a day of sight-seeing today, though I’m struggling to actually get out of bed as it’s so comfy; they serve breakfast til midday so there’s no rush! Eventually stagger across the room, or rather slide about with my feet in the complimentary slippers, stand in the shower for an eternity and then wake everybody else up by turning the hair-dryer on. Must say it’s not exactly powerful so the whole procedure takes an age and annoys husband and son even more. Well at least it gets them out of bed.
Breakfast is heavenly. Loads of fruit, some weird little hot dogs, scrambled eggs and a huge array of pastries; I just don’t know where to begin. But I manage! Why is it that when it’s a buffet breakfast there is this overpowering urge to eat as much as possible and a feeling that you’ve somehow been cheated if you don’t try everything. And even worse, why do I always have to nick something to “do us for lunch”? A couple of plums are soon expertly palmed into my handbag!
Breakfast done and it’s already nearly midday. Well it was an early start yesterday so I think we deserve a lie-in. We plan to visit the Picasso Museum today and this is an easy stroll from the hotel, though when we get there the queue is snaking outside and we just can’t face standing for that long. So we wander round the corner and find a chocolate museum. Sounds far more attractive….sorry Pablo….and no queue either so we spend a happy hour looking at some amazing chocolate sculptures.
The rest of the day we do far too much the walking. Parc de Ciutadella looks a bit tired and I lose my bearings, constantly walking in the wrong direction. Hunger sets in sooner than we anticipate as the three of us have begun to snipe at each other so we head towards the port and find a cafe because no-one fancies my squashed plums. But there’s more walking, more whingeing (mainly from me, admittedly) and then there’s an urge for crisps but we can’t find a supermarket anywhere. All the beautiful sights of Barcelona; Gaudi’s magnificent Modernista architecture, the fabulous Palau de Musica Catalana, the stunning 13th century Cathedral: all completely ignored in the search for a packet of Pringles.
A long soak in the bath later before heading out for dinner and, here in Barcelona, we find an Italian and eat pizza! What philistines! Back to the bar for espressos and liqueurs whilst our son surfs the net on the hotel’s free computers. Just enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, the calming music, the inebriation setting in….and then it’s spoilt because one of the bar staff decides to do some vaccuuming. Talk about timing! Maria and her noo-noo shuffling about the place. “You’ll have to have a word with your mate Jose about this” sniffs hubby, before we admit defeat and make our merry way upstairs.