After breakfast I hopped on to the subway for Drassanes station. I wasn't expecting much interesting since today was Sunday, but lo, Las Ramblas was hopping. Las Ramblas is a series of tree lined streets that especially caters to tourists. It starts near the harbor and heads to city center. I wandered along the streets and eventually took an arty shot or two.
Eventually I wore myself out and went back to the hotel, where I slept for five-six hours. I would be ashamed, but my purpose in Barcelona is not to maximize my cultural experience. It's to give me a nice break-time between the US and Russia. When I woke up, I decided to go see the magic fountain show. I got to Plaça d'Espanya, which turned out to be an enormous and beautiful roundabout:
I decided to view the show from the top of the arena, which has a glass elevator that goes up its side:
From the top of the arena you can see the beautiful building of the Barcelona Art Museum:
The fountain show is a water/light/music event that is orchestrated not from the topmost set of fountains but from the lower circle. As the evening goes on, the lights of the smaller fountains towards the arena (my vantage point) come on.
After the show was over, I wandered around the arena. Wonderful city views, including a view of this huge dog park:
Eventually I imposed upon a Spaniardess to take my photo.
A few minutes after this a beautiful blond woman approached me and asked me to take her picture. I recognized her accent immediately. She was Russian. Something about my dominating mastery of the Russian language attracts Russian women to me like alcoholics to vodka. It is a curse, but somehow I bear it with masterful grace. I took her picture and said goodbye. Her face echoed an exquisite despair at the loss of me. (Okay, maybe that last sentence has nothing to do with reality...)
I wandered the streets, and as it was getting toward midnight I stopped off at Restuarante Xacobeo. Famished, I ordered the veal ribs on the advice of the waiter:
Mind you, I hadn't eaten since breakfast, but that veal portion smothered in cream-veal gravy overwhelmed me. The tomatoes may look burnt, but they were actually blackened first with a pepper coating that would have made a Cajun happy. The steak fries were marvelous when dipped in the veal gravy sauce. I was ashamed to leave the veal one third uneaten.
Now it's bedtime. Tomorrow I hope to meet with an acquaintance for some real touristing.