The house - in Portlligat, just around the corner from Cadaqués - where Dalí lived for most of his life deserves a post of its own simply because of how normal it is. Yes, eggshells abound, as does a skeleton in the yard; then there's the Pirelli garden loveseat, not to mention this exuberant statue here. But overall, for a man who put up a careful public image of unbridled insanity, the house is surprisingly normal.
It's not particularly big, but has a rather labyrinthine feel to it. My favourite was the bedroom. The man apparently liked watching sunrises but was too lazy to get out of bed for it. And as anyone who shares my sleeping hours can attest, there is nothing more unpleasant than the early-morning sun shining directly into your eyes as you're snuggled up in your blankets. So Dalí conceived of this ingenious upward-sloping three-level room, that was really three rooms interconnected: the bedroom, at the very top, and at the lowest level a room with a window eastward and a couple of mirrors to reflect the rays of the rising sun upwards to the bedroom. A civilised sunrise for a sensitive artist.
But I didn't take any pictures inside the house, so if you can't picture in your mind the arrangement I'm talking of, tough shit.