We loafed this morning and got out of bed for a 9.45 am hundred hours start. Another cloudless day, crisp and clear but by the time we emerged it was tee shirt temperature. We made for the station to check the time of trains tomorrow morning, as we expected to return to Tarragona tonight. Unfortunately the timings meant we would have to get up at 5am to be sure to make it to Barcelona in time for our flight to Amsterdam and a transfer to Leeds.

So the new plan was to walk up to Reus, our final destination this trip, and take a train to Barcelona this afternoon. A pity really because Tarragona was a lovely place, unless you were seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go. Thanks Paul.

And the Roman archeology is fabulous. This is the coliseum, nearly 2,000 years old.

Great place.

What a town! And a great bacon and egg breakfast with coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice on Main Street. We reluctantly departed.

The land is absolutely parched. Just dry riverbeds. This doesn’t augur well for the land that feeds Europe.

We decided to take the quickest, most direct route we could. Motorway walking.

When the hard shoulder disappeared and the area behind the crash barriers was unnavigable we decided to force a temporary gap in the fencing and escape to the other side before any coppers showed up. At times we ended up back on the motorway. At one point two motorways crossed and the only way we could carry on was to scale the fence under a bridge and emerge on a central reservation. But we made very good time. It was a fast alternative.

In the end it got too busy and we sneaked under the fence where there was a slight culvert. In to farmland where the local lads were harvesting parsley and vegetables.

We found a stretch where there were tunnels under the railway and two motorways, all intersecting. Luckily we chose the right tunnel. They can be a bit disorientating when they meander.

After another couple of miles we arrived at the entrance to Reus airport. For me this was the completion of an eight year trek across Spain from south to north. It has taken me 5 sections and 1,300 miles of wandering through mountains and following coastlines. It’s been rather delightful.

With Gary, we’ve covered 480 miles together, from the south of France down to Tarragona and inland, across the Ebro valley, to Zaragoza.

What will you do now? I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’.

Oh! OK.

Last word to Gaz.

We managed to find a restaurant that rang a taxi for us, which took us to the station, where we took a train to Barcelona, where we found a reasonably priced hotel. And the most incredible restaurant at a bargain price (in Barcelona!) which served up the best Asian cuisine either of us had ever etten!

Home to our sweethearts tomorrow.

Night night.

Thanks John (and Paul).

We had another great day’s walking today. Long and hard and it’s just the way it changes like the shoreline and the sea. But let’s not talk of love and chains.

We got up late, again. We didn’t set off until 9.45 am hundred hours. We’re not children of the morning. The morning was lovely.

After a long dap along the coast we found a place to eat bacon and eggs, with two coffees and two fresh orange juices each. How pleasant it is!

We strode with purpose and …… something else. Not sure what, but certainly with purpose. Maybe toilet roll. We had that in case of emergency. Yes, that’s it. We strode with purpose and toilet roll.

The Costa Dorada was beautiful.

After a while it dawned upon us that we were falling well behind our Tarragona target And pragmatism was necessary to save the day. And I’ve got tons of that. So has Gary.

We sat down, looked at the map, and decided to cut away from the coast to follow a direct road towards Tarragona. We would cut off down to the coast where the road joined a motorway, and then pick up the GR92 to finish the last 7 miles along coast path. In that way we would restrict the day’s walk to 19 miles.

The road walk didn’t merit any photos, but when we cut back down to the coast, through a pine forest, we saw some stunning vistas.

In the far distance we could see our destination. Tarragona!

The route through the woods wasn’t easy to follow. Even if it had been it would still have been a struggle, due to the fallen trees and other detritus covering the path. But in the late afternoon sun the woods were awesome. Then we arrived at the last beach, and managed to cover the two miles along it in 30 minutes. Looking back was right good.

By this time we were tired. Very tired. We’re not young, fit lads. But we keep going. Our advantage is that we’re tough and from Yorkshire.

We made it into the outskirts of Tarragona, but couldn’t make it further. The sun had set, it was getting colder and we were exhausted. Nowt wrong with that. Exhaustion is a virtue. Well… no it isn’t. It’s a state, or a condition. Whereas virtues are matters showing a high moral standard.

We pulled in to the first hotel we saw. The bar was open and Joe was the guy in charge. We loved him.

He said the hotel was closed, but his bar was open, so we took advantage. He recommended the Hostal next door, rang the owner and got her to come down to check us in. It was a Hostal cum restaurant cum supermarket. The owner, Beatrice, was lovely and had a daughter at boarding school in Bath. She took a shine to us and gave us a suite. How kind. We had a decent meal, between the aisles.

I had a bit of a tumble, a few days ago. Nothing worth recording at the time but the bruising is wearing off. The effects of treks.

It’s on my upper thigh for those watching in black and white.

Gary’s asleep now.

But if he wasn’t, then I’m sure he would join me in saying:

Night night.

For your information our final leg is Gary’s left one. All three others are knackered!

We had a really good day walking today. No disappointments, no surprises, great weather and beautiful coastline. We’re relaxed and making a good pace, covering 18 miles from sunrise to sunset.

Another early start with breakfast at 7.30 and off before 8.30. That’s an early start by the way. Sitges was an attractive town and it was nice to walk through it on a crisp and bright morning.

Last night Gary was feeling a bit under the weather.

But this morning he was up for the challenge.

Sitges is a classy place.

It was great yomping through it. Passing the Passed.

The road along the seafront eventually expired and we had to choose whether to go inland or stumble on the very rough cobbled shore. SHORE!!!

And it paid off. We cut a big corner and ended up alongside the main Mediterranean coastal railway line. But at least we’d found the Polish flag way-markings for the GR92 again.

The track meandered on and off the side of the rail-line. Down towards the sea and then back to the iron horses. Which passed us frequently at high speed and hooting their hooters! Hoot hoot! A bit like that.

The coast was lovely.

It got tight at places between rail and sea, until at one stage we looked at each other in a little disbelief at the size of the drop if we slipped. But we made it without incident.

As the day wore on we found ourselves on a very long promenade stretch, covering maybe ten miles. This was a blessing as it was by now very warm and we needed an open stretch to allow the minimal breeze to flow up our shorts. Ooer missus!

The worst thing about Catalonia is the graffiti, even on historic buildings. Absolute disrespect for humanity. Gary and I would put them down for life to deter others.

A metal bull sculpture graced the seafront, below a flying saucer.

The views were great.

It was so uplifting after previously grim days. We found a cheap hotel, checked in and walked miles in the dusk light to find a really great, value restaurant. Steaks all round!

Tomorrow is our penultimate perambulation.

Night night.

Thanks again Bob. Although we might thank Lord Randal. Dylan’s song structure was based on a Scottish Borders folk ballad from the 1600s, where Lord Randal comes home from visiting his lover and his mother asks him ‘Where have ye been all the day, my own dear darling boy?
Where have ye been all the day, my own dear comfort and joy?’

Lord Randal has been visiting his lover. But Bob (can I call you Bob?) turned it into an observation of nastiness in the world. And he protested against it. Sadly, Lord Randal had been poisoned by his lover. The ballad doesn’t reveal why.

We were reluctant to get out of bed. Well, out of our respective beds, to clarify matters. I washed my dirty clothes last night and they had dried on the radiator. Gary has brought a lot of clothes and doesn’t need to wash them.

We set off in the sun, walking down to the marina en route towards Tarragona. It was a cold wind but the marina was sheltered against a hillside and it kept the heat of the sun.

We ended up on a beach that we couldn’t exit from, so we had to turn around and retreat a few hundred metres, before climbing up the hill.

This is a playground for the rich, and me and Gaz. The problem is that there are very few paths, a lot of very steep cliffs and the land between the paths is covered with very sharp gorse bushes. The only realistic route for this section is to follow the coast road, but that is very narrow, made by blasting into the hillside, and it winds around the coast. The difficulty is that it winds a lot and it is frequented by big HGVs. As they turn around a corner they can crush poor Lord Randal against the rock face. Or push him over the wall and down a sheer drop to the sea. The poor bugger’s already been poisoned by his lover. Don’t let it happen!

So we crossed over the coast road and climbed up the mountain behind it.

We wended our way westwards. Well, south actually but alliteration is my game, and Desmond Decker is my name. Oh, I’m so funny!

This was a Nativity scene left high on the path!

After a decent 5 mile slog we began to drop down towards Garraf, a tidy little marina town.

Then we got stuck. The cliffs dropped vertically to the sea and the gorse got thicker. We had to go along the narrow coastal road. It worried us but we covered 5 miles and were then desperate for space and safety. After three quarters of an hour of searching in dense woodland for the GR92, which had dropped down towards the coast, we actually found it. It sounds simple, looking for a footpath, but the vegetation is so thick that it’s a struggle. And then we’re there.

The GR92 doesn’t go around mountains. It goes up and over them. For another three hours.

We were far short of our target of Vilanouva, but the walk had been stressful and quite ridiculously meandering uphill and down dale. My lungs were packing in and Gary’s hip was well out of pain relief.

We’re not tip top today (alliteration). Maybe we pushed it yesterday. Sitges appeared way down in the valley. Six hours but only 15 miles covered.

The path was rough, and then we made it to a road, which hair-pinned down to Sitges. We’d had enough. We’re done for the day.

I booked the Hotel Port Sitges and we rocked up in the marina.

Just as the sun was setting.

A good meal and an early night.

Night night.

Thanks Bob. Twenty three miles of pain in Spain today. We got up at 6.45 am hundred hours and set off in the dark. Bitterly cold too first thing. It was an urban Odyssey today from Badalona, through the centre of Barcelona, out past the airport and down the coast to Castelldelfels. Strange apartment block in Barcelona.

I’m not a big fan of the place but it’s ok. Not the best city in the world, or in Spain. Cadiz, Seville, Malaga, San Sebastián and Madrid comfortably eclipse it, but then they are exceptional. Some impressive corners here though.

And seen from the other side.

We’re a bit broken. But we’ve both got the capacity to keep going when we’re exhausted. It’s what we do, even though we’re old bastards. Urban walking really hurts your soles. I’ve ditched me boots and switched to me Salomon walking shoes. Comfier on hard surfaces but you need to get a UK size bigger than your actual feet. I’m 8.5 but I need a 9.5 Salomon.

I’ve never seen as many coppers as there were in Barcelona this morning. Closing roads and warding off traffic. We thought it must be some Palestinian protest but it turned out to be a marathon speed walk.

Some impressive buildings and landmarks here as well.

The only feasible route out of the city was walking alongside a motorway, as we had done first thing when the traffic was light. As we got closer to the airport the hard shoulder disappeared and we had to follow an exit route into an industrial area. It was difficult to navigate as it was attached to the seaport and the airport and most roads ended at factory or warehouse gates.

After several hours circumnavigating the airport we ended up on a direct road to Castelldelfels. Having walked underneath a motorway and exiting through a hole in a barbed wire fence. It isn’t always mountains and waterfalls.

This was farmland now, with leeks being a prized crop as well as artichokes, which we’re developing on the plants.

And there was a big plant by the side of the road. A weed.

After 9 hours of walking we made it finally to Castelldelfels. And into a seafront restaurant. Gary had some cannelloni and I rewarded myself with a rib eye steak. Fab. But as my teeth are mostly not really my teeth it took the best part of 45 minutes to eat it.

Then we found a hotel as the sun went down.

Nice place and we’ll sleep long and deeply tonight.

Night night.

Thanks Leonard. He took music to a spiritual level that lad. Me and Maggs saw him in Leeds at the arena when he was 79. He captivated the entire arena for two and a half hours. Everybody came out smiling. Pure joy by a master at the peak of his powers, but close to the end. So glad we saw him again. I wept at his passing. Still miss him, but I can play his music without bursting into tears now.

Don’t know what state I’ll be in when Dylan goes. I’m still suffering from John Lennon’s murder. I hope Chapman rots in jail. Please David, bury your hatchet after all these years. I will, in his head if ever I was introduced to him.

Breakfast in the hotel was good and we got a taxi back to Vilassar. The sun had returned and we walked in our tee shirts along the coast path. I’ve got quite a debilitating chest infection and as soon as we hit a slight incline I’m knackered. I can’t get enough oxygen. It’s like a fist squeezing my lungs. I’m nearly 70 you know.

Is my head on upside down?

I’m proud to be British. We have to be generous and kind to the people we meet on our treks so that they realise that:

A) Wearing a Union Jack shirt doesn’t mean you’re a racist

B) Brits may not wholly support unelected European political structures but we are still European and love European countries

C) We appreciate consideration and kindness

Catalonia was the core for the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War, nearly ninety years ago. They built these machine gun nests in case the Nationalists came in by sea. It’s sad that the graffiti idiots don’t respect their memory.

The Fascists won the war and Franco ruled with an iron fist for over 30 years. Unelected and disgracefully malevolent.

I’ve got strong views today. Hooray!

Then Barcelona appeared over the beautiful horizon. Thanks Freddie.

It was deceptively distant. But we grafted, despite Gary having hip pain and me wheezing like a steam train we made it to Badalona, just this side of Barca. See what I did there? I called it Barca, like a local. Anyway I prefer Madrid. Barcelona is a bit up itself. Madrid is relaxed about what anyone thinks about it.

This photo is my favourite view of the sea. From inside a fish restaurant!

Here we go again.

Finding somewhere to stay is problematic. But we manage. We now have only five days of walking to cover the remaining 65 miles. It should be ok but we’ll see. Dearest readers, thanks for accommodating my dated opinions.

Night night.

Thanks Ian. We have resurrected this trip from the depths of stupidity. Sleeping in and missing a day’s walking. Idiots. But we’re going to make it up over the next few days. The weather has been very much in our favour, but today is overcast, cold and wet. In Zaragoza, where me and Gary walked to 6 years ago, the temperature is minus 13c. There is two foot of snow. We’re lucky here on the coast that it’s just cold and wet!

It is a flat walk along the coastal path with the sea on one side of us and the rail track on the other. Nothing of any note to photo. We ended up in Vilassa de Mar and couldn’t find anywhere to stay. So we took a taxi back to Mataró, which we’d walked through earlier in the day, and got a decent hotel at a decent price. The rain lessened and we set out on the town looking for dindins. The place comes alive at night.

A really nice town. And we had a goat cheese flan each in a small cafe. The owners were lovely, and highly amused that we raved about their pies and hugged the local punters.

We were directed by them to a fish restaurant, but we were a bit too early. So we wandered a bit more and found an Arroceria (Rice restaurant) that was opening in 15 minutes. The waiter bunged us to a table and brought out a bottle of the best Cava in Spain, according to google. Then we ordered seafood paella blackened with squids’ ink. Heaven. And it was ridiculously cheap. We ate like kings for less than forty quid.

Back to the hotel and totally immune to Gary’s cataclysmic snoring skills.

Night night.

Thanks Morrissey.

We woke early and had breakfast in the hotel at 8.30 (am. if you were wondering). The taxi driver from last night wasn’t free until 10am so we walked in to town and looked for a bank to exchange some sterling for euros. No chance.

We rang the taxi to tell him where we were. He said he was in Barcelona and not available, and then switched his phone off. A bit concerned, in view of the fact we needed to get back to Vallgorguina and walk 20 miles to the nearest hotel, we went to the local station and checked the bus timetable. It said the next bus was at 11am. Holy poo poo.

We started ringing taxis and nobody answered. In the end we waited at the station for the 11am bus until 11.45. And it still hadn’t showed up. Oh no! We legged it to the nearest cafe and asked them to ring for a taxi. The landlady looked gone out and none of the customers came up with anything helpful. One bloke gave us a phone number. It was the number for the taxi that had let us down earlier!

There was a hospital up a hill and we made our way up there, hoping that we’d get a taxi. Bugger all. Walking back down towards the station it was now approaching 1pm and we spotted a parked taxi. Whilst we were walking around it another turned up and we flagged it down.

Surely now, after hours wasted and thinking we were never going to escape from this place, we’d get away. He said he was busy but he would call a friend. The friend wasn’t free. In the end he phoned another friend who turned up reasonably quickly and drove us to Vallgorguina. At last!

We were far too late to make it through the mountains. There was a hotel which was expensive but not too far away, from which we could make an early start. We rang and it was fully booked! Jesus H Christ!

We went to the bar that we’d been in the previous night, sat down and looked at the map. Our only chance of progressing today was to cut down across the mountains to the coast. Only about 7 miles but it had a hotel where we could stay. We would have to make up the distance towards Reus, our final destination, over the next few days. So we strapped on our rucksacks and set off finally at 2.30pm hundred hours.

Up, up and up into the mountains.

Finally free.

How lovely the hills.

And then over the top and down to the coast.

We found a nice hotel at a reasonable price and I fell asleep instantly. Waking up at 7.30pm Gaz had gone for refreshment and I headed down to the port in the dark. This place took the day’s catch straight into the kitchen.

Oh my God. The seafood was so fresh. Amazing.

Then I contacted Gaz, joined him in the bar he was frequenting and we chewed the fat of the day before retiring.

It started so badly, but ended as well as we could make it. Life’s a gas. Thanks Marc.

Night night.

We woke late again, forgetting to set an alarm. Rushing round the place, stuffing our worldly goods into rucksacks and legging it to the train station. At the Tordera end we chose the first bar and rattled down bread and omelettes with two large cups of coffee.

Then we struck up for the mountains, not realising how tough this section was going to be. As soon as we hit a slope we began to suffer. Two days of gallivanting and a lack of underlying fitness, despite gym sessions and dietary propriety, sunk us into a painful depth. And it only got deeper as we climbed higher.

The weather was warm, the sweat was wet and the path hurt us.

OK you theatrical old fart – stop the melodramatic nonsense. The sweat was feckin wet! Who do you think you are?

Well, I think I’m a really great bloke. Most of my friend do as well.

Most of my friend?

Yep. I’ve only got one and it’s Gary.

God help you. He’s a prat!

He might be a prat but he’s my prat.

You’re right. He’s a prat.

But! If Gary hadn’t bought a bottle of water last night we would have been seriously damaged. It was warm, it was still and we were getting more and more dehydrated. How could I be so foolish not to bring water?

These are cork trees. Evergreen Cork Oak trees which have their bark cut off for corks, and the interior of cricket balls. Corks sounds like the favourite for me!

We were becoming less and less hydrated and were solely focused on when we could next have a small swig of water. And it was a long, long route. Over 20 miles as it turned out, and a lot of it uphill.

When the path turned uphill we were seriously struggling. When it went down we were ok. And there was nothing for 20 miles. No shops, no nothing.

If Gaz hadn’t got that water, as I previously stated, we wouldn’t have made it. Then, in the distance, we saw houses.

And when we really started to struggle on an uphill mountain path, with just a drop left in our water bottle and 10 miles from the nearest building, we miraculously came upon a spring. A mountain spring that Gary managed to get some water in our bottle from. And I was so gone that I didn’t take a photo! Fresh mountain water, dribbling into our bottle. Get in! It tasted so sweet, but it took ages to get a mouthful out of the spring. However, from being knackered we became half human again.

We hadn’t seen anyone for hours. This is a remote place. Then bizarrely I saw a person ahead of us on the path. When you’re exhausted, and half aware of the world, it is weird to see a bloke in a long black gown. He disappeared round a corner of the hillside, but both Gary and I had seen him. We lost sight of him and then began to wonder if he was a spirit. He heard us and stood still, speaking in a strange, soft voice. We didn’t understand him. But we passed him and he disappeared. Into the forest. The track is carved out of the mountain. You can’t walk above it or below it. But he disappeared.

It was warm and dry, and the sky was blue, but out of the blue we got rain. Strangely raining with the sun shining through. No clouds. Where is it coming from?

It might be remote but despite a very hard and difficult trek the views are stunning.

We were concerned that it was going to get dark before we arrived at Vallgorguina, our next stop (or so we thought). The sun sank, and we were seriously sinking too. It’s difficult to explain it, but this was the worst we have ever felt on a trek. When every muscle in your body is buggered and your lungs are dysfunctional.

We could have spent the night in here, with the rest of the Hobbits, but it was a bit too scary. Nobody was around if we were attacked by the Orcs.

After what seemed like a million years the path started to drop down. That doesn’t make it too easy on your legs but it’s easier on your breathing when you’re completely and utterly buggered.

After another two hours of descent we hit Vallgorguina. There was a local bar open where the locals confirmed that there was no accommodation open in the village. The landlady ordered a taxi to the nearest town with a hotel. We waited outside in the cold wind and it didn’t arrive.

Going back in to the bar a young lad took up our cause and got a taxi for us to Sant Celloni; the nearest town. And arriving on spec we got a room, at about 8pm, at a small hotel. Thank Christ!

Today was tough, really tough. We had a good meal locally but I couldn’t sleep. The exertion had really done for me. But the worst was yet to come.

Night night.

Well, wounded shoulder actually, and this walk puts that whole painful episode to bed.

We woke late, a suitable hour for two old farts – 8.30. We took a bus to Lloret and had a decent breakfast. Hooray!

I found an abandoned rucksack and held it up to the staff. Then a bloke came out of the toilet and said it was his and what was I doing with it.

His attitude reflected his hat.

From the cafe we took a northwards route up to a turn off in the mountains. Cutting across country the paths were remote, silent and peaceful. We both felt so much at ease with the environment, and the weather was very favourable. Cool enough for a decent pace and warm enough to be comfortable. It was liberating and we were back home in a way.

There are strange buildings up here in the middle of nowhere. A monastery which is over a thousand years old. With an old bastard bottom left.

We both felt great. But you do when you’re trekkin! We came across a palm tree farm.

We made it over the mountains, and our chosen path – the GR92 – is just brilliantly way-marked in this area. It wasn’t so good last year further north and we got a bit lost a couple of times, but here you don’t need maps that much. We dropped down to the plain leading up to Tordera and had a glimpse of the mountains that we were aiming for in subsequent days.

Just 12 miles today, a modest stroll. Then we headed to the train station in Tordera and went back to Blanes. And then it all went a little strange.

Needless to say we drank too much and didn’t wake up until it was far too late to walk from Tordera to Vallgorguina. So we spent an extra day in Blanes. And lovely it was too. This is Gary. A living, breathing humanoid under blankets and sheets.

And this is Gary enjoying snails. He loves em that boy!

Quite an elegant place old Blanes. We liked it.

This bloke is singing the Blades’ Greasy Chip Butty song. We all hold our arms up like that when we sing it.

And then the earliest of nights. I got to bed at 7pm. Ready for a twenty odd mile yomp the next morning.

Night night dear Reader.