The guard laughed as he saw my eyebrows lift in surprise and my mouth form an “Ooooh!” when the thunder boomed. We had been discussing what to do next; the immediate patter of rain made our decision for us. We ducked into the museum just as the downpour began.

Only two floors and less than twenty rooms, the museum was manageable, not overwhelming as some museums are. We casually strolled from room to room, taking in the whimsical creations of Botero, his plump figurines interspersed between naturalezas muertas, still lifes. As we finished viewing each room of art, we walked along the pathway encircling the courtyard, occasionally sitting on a bench, watching the rain fall, and counting the time between lightning bolts and thunder claps.

Some rooms were full of statues – big statues, little statues, tall statues, short statues, but always fat statues. People reclining, Adam and Eve and apples, birds, hands – all so plump. They begged for touching; the guard had other ideas as we edged closer than necessary to the smooth stone. He made one exception – the giant hand at the entrance.

Resting in a big hand