Sleeping on the upper bunk that squeaked with every turn didn’t do much towards giving me a decent night’s sleep. Nevertheless, I rallied at daybreak. Max, my German buddy, and I hoofed up a steep winding cobble stone road to a moorish castle above the city. The views of the city and Mediterranean were impressive. Are second stop was the Picasso Museum. With a little Fellini thrown in, the display of his work was extensive. His work is scattered all over the world but the museum has a collection of a couple hundred paints and sculptures of his work. Almost too much to absorb in a two hour visit. The guy was without a doubt a genius but some of his work just struck me as weird just for the sake of being weird. Perhaps, but he was a total rebel who rejected the status quo around him.
With the rain coming down again, Max and I ferreted out a nice outdoor cafe with a canopy. The lunch we had was leisurely and worthy of the Gods. Max being twenty-three and me sixty-eight, our outlooks on the world were remarkably parallel. His drive to achieve and yet, stay independent rang a familiar chime. We will stay in touch. Once back at the hostel we sighed off; he had a bus to catch to another town eastward. Me? I changed rooms, also to a lower bunk and crashed out for an hour. Sangria and dinner on the roof top of the hostel, during which I talked with six more kids, pretty much finished me off for the day. Tomorrow it will be another museum, castle and general siteseeing.
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