After breakfast and the escapade of finding Sam’s black cardigan we set out with picnic in tow, towards Port Lligat and Casa Dali–you need to book ahead, and our hotel receptionist grudgingly did so for us. An hour early, we trekked along the coastline until we could go no further, a rocky outcrop blocking our path. Beneath us lay a beautiful secluded little cove, with a bit of sand and perfect paddling water.
The one time I didn’t have swimming shorts or suitable shoes we wanted to swim, and in my attempt to paddle I slipped on the mossy rock falling flat on my bum and soaking both shorts and underwear. Phone and wallet survived, miraculously untouched. “The rocks are slippy”, Sam warned, clothes already sopping. As I dried off, we dangled our toes in the cool sea and watched boats head out with their diving parties.
Back at Dali’s house, ticket in hand, we explored the crazy yet ingenious rooms that the surrealist once lived in. A polar bear with rifle greats you at the entrance, stuffed swans fly above the dining area and everything is not quite normal. Little cages poke out from the wall–no longer chirping with locusts, whilst mirrors cleverly manipulate the light. The workshop houses unfinished pieces, and the red oboe room has perfect acoustics. Gala’s collection of photos and magazines still cover a cupboard-ed room, whilst their separate beds lie made in the bedroom. As crazy and outlandish as this famous house is, it’s real, there are no placards explaining things; attention has been paid to keep this place as close to how it was as possible.
Outside the weirdness continues, as we explore the areas where Dali entertained his guests. An outdoor dining area complete with rhino head, a giant egg on a room with cemented and broken piano, a tyre themed swimming pool with reclining Michelin men, and an old telephone box in the corner. Through the strangeness, titbits of his genius appear, and we grasp a fraction of his overwhelming fascination in everything.
Picnic time! At the top of the hill, we sliced our saucisson, smeared president cheese over baguette and covered our fingers in melted chocolate from dip pots.
That evening our food was all the more dignified, going back to Cadaqués and the recommended Casa Nun. A tiny two storey restaurant, we sat at the top, with a private open window looking onto the bay. Cadaqués’ sublime night-time soundscape set the atmosphere for our meal. We savoured the fresh black olives and De Casta Rose wine; ceiling fan spinning above us and cute 25th anniversary painting on the wall behind.
The mango and tuna carpaccio peculiarly worked wonderfully, and the salty fresh sardines were of course delicious. My duck breast and pear was perfect, both meaty, tender and sweet, I’m salivating at the thought of eating it again. Sam’s grilled squid came with tentacles et al, we made sure beforehand. And chocolate cheesecake is always a pleasure.
Live music began to play outside, acoustic guitar, wafting through the window, we listened, and gazed at the bay. So carefree and gorgeous.