Casa Batlló

I sit at the computer scrolling through my options.  Every major Barcelona attraction has a website.  All websites sell tickets online.  Most have a desired appointment time option. Some have add-ons; everything equals a 40,00 – 50,00€ splurge per attraction; some more than that.  I may have to take out a mortgage if we see everything there is to see here…and eat everything there is to eat. I choose Casa Batlló, knowing that a book cannot be judged by its cover and there is more to Gaudi’s “fish house” than the exterior, paying an extra 5,00€ a piece to make sure we wait in no lines at all. My smartphone tickets will work as an entry—no hard copy needed.

The metro drops us off barely a block away from our destination, and I smile to myself as we breeze past all of those people in line trying to purchase tickets. Phone tickets scanned, instructions received, headphones in place, we are set.

The first thing I discover is that I am pronouncing the name of this place all wrong. I’s are ē’s, e’s are a’s, and double l’s are y’s, and a’s can be ī’s. Sometimes t’s are silent.  Casa Băt-yō is Casa Bī-yō. I think I’ll give up.

A Thousand Words Are Not Enough

This house is a redo, the home of a rich Barcelona industrialist in 1904, transformed from a plain-Jane utilitarian building to a watery-fairy-tale fantasy—dragon bones and sea creatures with a vivid blue ocean encapsulated in the middle. The interior is a world of shades of blue. Glass. Tiles. Things broken. Walls that have been washed and outlined with muted colors are reminiscent of reptile skins.  Corners are non-existent; it is a circular universe that flows and undulates. The interior swirls around you. You are underwater, kicking to the top, gasping for air.

We climb eight stories to the roof and wander through a fantasy of chimneys, looking at the ordinary buildings beyond.

There is a doorway on the roof where many people enter but few leave. Michael and I look at each other — wondering.  We take the plunge and walk up a few more steps.