Museo de Arte Precolombino de Barcelona

On Saturday morning I decided to culture myself a little. Barcelona is a good place to do that, but I must confess I haven´t been making the most of the museums and galleries as much as I should have by now.
I went to the Museo Barbier-Mueller de Arte Precolombino de Barcelona, a museum of Pre-Colombian art. It´s a small museum in Born, a lovely, old, smelly, touristy part of the old city, across the alley from the Picasso museum, one of the most visited museums in Barcelona. Needless to say, the queue to see Picasso´s art was neverending; in fact, it was standing in that queue at 9 am in early January that I noticed the smaller museum next door with no queue whatsoever and decided that I should go there sometime.
I elbowed my way down the piss-smelling Calle Montcada, through the crowds of tourists waiting to see Picasso´s works, past the busker who was there in January as well, and past the Pakistani man with his 1 euro scarfs displayed elegantly on the ground and finally into the Museum of Pre-Colombian art, only to be greeted by a sour face that sold me my 3 euro-entrance. For a moment I wondered if she could be the reason the museum seemed so quiet, but then thought maybe she was just having a bad morning.
The next thing I was encountered with was a glass door to a room with a few statues, and before seeing the steps leading up to the main part of the museum, the thought that maybe the museum consisted of only those few exhibits crossed my mind. As well as noticing the stairs, I also realised that in my eagerness to go through the glass doors, I had walked right past an enormous sculpture of a man´s head. It was quite impressive, and gave me a little fright. Feeling a little sheepish, I decided to study the exhibition upstairs with the utmost care.
And I did. It was just me and the pottery. Me and the Costa Rican clay lantern. Me and the Mexican water jug in the bizarre and very detailed figure of a man and a woman having sex. It was just me and Pre-Colombian art in a mysteriosly lit room. It was great.
I left feeling like I had been on a first date, or at an important, secret meeting. Nobody had shared my encounter with the pots and grinding stones and statues with me. They had been there just for me and for me only. I even hurried my visit a little should anyone unexpectedly come in and spoil it. But nobody came. Nobody. I wondered if the sour faced woman at the ticket sales would notice and get worried if I stayed there for more than an hour.
I don´t know how long I stayed in the museum. It couldn´t have been more than half an hour. When I went past the ticket office, I thanked the sour face that had sold me the ticket. She glared at me, with the same cara de culo as before.
What a great start to the day.