The first time I happened upon Barcelona's most Naked and notorious resident, my more puritanical American sensibilities felt shocked. And because of his well-placed tatoos, mere illusions to articles of clothing, I almost didn't believe what I was seeing.

But there he was-- casually walking down Rambla without either a care in the world or a shred of clothing--the naked man of Barcelona.

"Gosh, you don't see that every day," I thought to myself.

But after a saw him again the next day in Port Vell, and again as a participant in a cycling event a week later in Eixample, I realized that city residents do see him --every last dangling bit-- if not every day, then at least every week.

Oh, I know you're curious, but this blog is only PG-rated. I wouldn't dare post a picture of him.

But for those of you not of faint heart, I dare you to see for yourself. With moderation set to off, Google the words "naked man Barcelona" and you will see post after post, picture after not-so-glorious picture.

Still, it's amazing how the mind adapts to it's surroundings and that which once shocked now barely registers. Just the other day I was with a guest giving a tour of Barcelona's most famous places when we came across the one sight my friend was not expecting. She let out a little shriek, while I kept walking without even so much as a glance. To me, he is now just any old naked guy, fellow resident, and a right of passage to every Barcelona newcomer.