We woke up bright and early this morning. No. I lie. It was not bright. Early but dark at six o'clock. And quickly we rushed to catch the train for a day-trip to Figueres, famed for being the birth place of Salvador Dali, whose museum that we dashed to see.
The train ride from Barcelona took about two hours. I dozed mostly. Except for the half-an-hour or so when I laughed hysterically at B as he flicked his booger and it got stuck on the seat in front of us. Some people leave graffiti as tokens or etchings of their being at a place. Not B. He leaves boogers.
The Figueres Museum of Dali was founded by Dali himself and contained his works from each decade as well as his own private collection of other artists. As good as it was, it lacked the clear commentary of an audioguide, which we have found very useful elsewhere. I think B was disappointed that it didn't contain much of his more famous works, but I thought it was a good collection to see where his thoughts and roadmaps developed from and onto his major works.
|Inside the Dali Museum|
We were back in Barcelona by late afternoon. And given the disappointing lunch of pizza and paella in Figueres (microwave job, but the pizza did come with a cool hammer-like tool to cut up), B decided to search for somewhere decent for dinner. He stumbled upon an article in the New York Times that declared the close-by Cafe Viena to have the best sandwich ever. As my hero Liz Lemon once said, "all anyone really wants in life is to sit in peace and eat a sandwich." And that we did. The best sandwich ever was of course filled with the best jamon ever. An unassuming looking thing, cleverly disguising its tastiness in the shape of a simple baguette and ham.
|Poor pizza, cool gadget|
|The best sandwich ever|