Like the facades of a Mediterranean-style theme-park, Portmeirion’s bricolaged anachronisms are evidence of their architect’s nostalgia for that which never was. A utopia constructed over the course of half a century – over the Second World War and the Cold War, and a nuclear power station built the other side of the estuary – the village sheltered in its sandy grove. It was painted and pieced together using found fragments of ruins. Although more pastel-colour than casino, Portmeirion feels like a predecessor of Venturi’s Las Vegas, its decoration simultaneously hiding and highlighting its implausibility. And like a theme-park or a cinema, the village is a heterotopia, juxtaposing numerous incompatible architectural types and eras into its North-Walian location. Foucault describes the heterotopia as being both absolutely real and absolutely unreal. With its scrolls and columns, Portmeirion announces its folly to the tourists and the sea.