Barcelona Maritime Museum

The rain started at midnight. Windows open, we couldn’t help but hear it—pouring—straight down. At noon we head for the Barcelona Maritime Museum, umbrellas in hand.

Lunch in the Museum Courtyard

It’s Spain, and timing is everything, especially when it comes to meals. Too early—nothing there. Too late—nothing there. It is a tiny bit before one, not quite lunchtime, but tapas and wine will do.  We head to the small restaurant located in the courtyard in front of the museum.  Settling on sharing a small—two-finger wide, nine-inch long—ham sandwich on a crispy baguette with chips and wine, we search for a dry spot outside. Perhaps I would hate this at home — just ham, just bread — not anything else. But here, in this place, at this time, it tastes wonderful.  The wine doesn’t hurt.

Ships and Models and Stories at the Barcelona Maritime Museum

The museum is packed with life-sized ships, model ships, stories. And babies eating rocks. I snap one picture, I watch, fascinated.

My attention drawn once again to the Maritime Museum displays, Michael tells me the models make his look like nothing. I disagree.

The building itself is worth the small entrance fee and more.  It is massive in scope. A place where war and merchant ships were built from the 13^th through the 18^th centuries—and then pushed into the sea.  Looking up, erasing the present, I can hear the hammers ring, the wood split, the cries, and shouts of the workmen—the chaos.

The Barcelona Maritime Museum makes me love the Spanish people. I want to give them all a collective hug.