I'd love to be terribly clever in this last dispatch from Barcelona, but my brian is fuddled, I'm tired and a littl tipsy, and so I'll be pedestrian about it all.
AM sunny warm and clear. After eye-opener orange juice, we split up til noon. Himself went to catch the funicular to Moutn Juiac, and I headed over to the Ramblas to finally get into the Catalan Cultural Center where I'd been eying the photo exhibit teasers. They were closed yesterday, but, they noted, they'[d be opened at 10AM today. I arrived at 10.5. "Sorry. We don't open til 11." Only an American, she implied, would take the word of a sign as to opening times.
Fortunatley, I had my Bus Turistico pass in hand and jumped on the blue line to whirl around the city and up the mountainside to the Botanical gardens, olympic stadium, etc. Met D, walk my feet to nubs in the National Catalan Art Museum and and and. You had to have been there.
Tonight we headed out to what turned out to be the most miraculous dinner in the universe. As we got off the train, a girl stumbled and pitched into David, and he, relexively stuck his hand in his front pocket where he carries his wallet only to run into- her exiting paw!!! Empty. Good for him. Of course, he was in his usual state of denial. Could have been a mistake. Right. everyone ends up with their hand in someone else's front pocket when they're jostled against them.
Now to sleep. Sorry for the truncated jounral... Off to madrid early tomorrow AM....
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