Barcelona 4

A poker machine was in attract mode as I took breakfast. Spanish bars are noisy places. They are neighbourhood gathering places; all meals and drinks can be taken there.

Last day in Barcelona. Time to visit Monjuïc, where the Olympic stadium and Fundació Joan Miró are. Barcelona's metro system was excellent, carriages rolled in relative silence on rubber wheels, and all stations had maps of the exits and their relation to the area. I switched to bus 61 and soon was on Montjuïc. At various times in history, Montjuïc Castle has incarcerated and held executions of political prisoners of diverse persuasions.

I wasn't interested in the castle but enjoyed a walk in this green and peaceful park.

At the Fundació Joan Miró, a French pundit was holding forth to his tour group. There were many French visitors that day. I bumped into some Singaporean and Malaysian girls. In reply to whether they had included Madrid in their itinerary, they said oh the only thing to see there are bullfights. How stereotypes influence where we visit. I wondered if the Olympics had attracted them to Barcelona.

One unusual exhibit was a mercury fountain by Calder in tribute to the miners of Almadén. As mercury fumes are poisonous, the fountain is sealed behind glass. The unfortunate miners had no such protection.

The stadium was much smaller than I had thought. I read now that it had a capacity of 67007. I remembered the spectacular opening ceremony when the Paralympic archer Antonio Rebello shot a flaming arrow to light the cauldron. But later I learnt that he overshot the arrow, it's said, for the safety of the spectators, and the gas was lit by remote control by a technician.

This waterfall graces the front of the Palau Nacional. It houses the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya.

There is a good view over Barcelona from the steps. The next photo was taken from behind the fountain. From there I walked down, past the quiescent Font Màgica which you can just make out, to a dusty Plaça d'Espanya in the distance.

After the siesta I toyed with the idea of a splurge Catalan meal at El Glop, but it was not open that early. Recall the the Spanish dine late, normally from 2100 onwards. So I ended up at the Hong Kong restaurant. I struck up a conversation with one of the waiters. I gathered that Spanish citizenship required 10 years residence, property ownership, knowledge of Spanish and sponsorship by a local. Most Chinese in Spain were in the restaurant business. Their family had no plans to hop elsewhere. His sister, who was a waitress, was suspicious of me, perhaps she thought I was trying to interest her brother in nefarious deals. The jasmine tea came with a sachet of sugar; I guess the Spanish expect it.

After dinner I headed for the Sagrada Familía, which I had viewed in daylight the day before on the way to the flea market, hoping there might be floodlighting, but no such luck. The church is so imposing that it is impossible to capture a good shot of it from up close.

I was getting too comfortable in Barcelona. Time to move on to Valencia.