A rebel without a clue.

Went to the promenade and I am left wondering how many ice cream, souvenir, discount shoe and restaurants (where someone stands forcing you in) there ever needs to be? Hundreds. In a universe as amazing and as complicated as this humanity really is so simple: give him a lolly and he'll be so so happy. Truthfully, I found myself walking at that promenading speed and shouted at myself. Leaving the pointlessness I crossed over the Ramblas and park which separates Cambrils from L'Horta de Santa Maria. Much like a warning of Dragons: there be Germans beyond the dross of commerciality. So I sat down for a beer - pitiful Estrella Damm (it's Alsatian you know) - and touched base with Nuremberger, Hamburger, and his hund(Nina), then working my way back towards this Fonda I crossed back into Nanaland, but where the locals hung out: Passeig de Francesc Marciá and ate a €5 artisanal pizza(minus the cheese) and a final beer. It's another day. I've located a café next to where I ...

Another half day waiting to sleep and then move along. The afternoons are killers. And I was almost exterminated by the gastrointestinal restaurant next door to the Fonda: €30 for an Entrecot. As I'd paid €14 a few days back for the same item I kept looking around Cambrils. A very nondescript establishment Bar Eixample for a grilled Sea Bass. Reminiscent of the one I grilled back at Pucelli's in Padstow: possibly the least Italian of all the various mock Italian restaurants in that mockery of a Cornish fishing village... The chef was Armenian and he advised me where to get good Lavash: if only there was Armenian food here? But Catalonia isn't England with it's unlimited culinary affair? The Sea Bass wasn't completely fresh. Do I walk because I am bored? The same question could be asked of every narcissistic act I am aware of or oblivious of... From awakening until returning to slumber there is a great nothing to be filled. Of course it is too warm this afternoon to ...

So I hitched, at the junction I was walking towards a few days ago from L'Ampolla (on the first scorching afternoon of this heatwave), to catch the train back to Cambrils to eat a hearty breakfast. Whenever I go in a car, after a long walk, the wonder of the distances we go in such short a time... We're in such a hurry. In the blink of an eye I am on the platform in L'Ampolla with a café Largo. *** Back where this chaotic few days began - breakfast of champions at Sol y Sombra . Traveling by train... In thirty minutes what took four days is over. On the platform I just met a wonderful woman from around Gdansk (Anya) who was graceful enough to spend that time with me and also in the carriage: the journey was over too quickly. For a few moments I was not so lonely as I was on the Camino del Ebro - as the sun was cutting me down. She was visiting a 'friend' (with benefits?) and was heading to Barcelona for a the day. Time for a second bite of the cherry here on the pla...

30 kilometres by 1300. That's too much without any shade, for the last 10, back alongside the Canal. There is no more tedious Camí...but I am back in the Mercat Municipal to compensate with Boquerones Fritas, vino and pan. Six hours of this life. There and back again... It's a wonderful wonderful life... This morning I thought of going to La Rapita on the morrow... But the best breakfast I had so far was in Cambrils... *** I am lonely. No amount of meaning hidden beneath words can cover up this truth. There is nothing and no one (but God, the universe and everything) that helps here. After another pointless walk on my own, sweating and swearing, starring at the horizon and wondering why this activity and what do I do this for all I want now is to touch down in a place I feel closer to: home... Back northwards in the morning... *** Glenn suggested that if nothing presents itself as a solution to sleep on it. I slept on it, but I still am not sure which direction to head. The fur...

Just met a guy who rescues dogs who are in need. His father was blown up by ETA when he was only 4 so he and his mother left the province never to return. The man was also afraid of explosions... The special dog was a 7 year old guardian livestock breed with six toes on its feet. Apparently it was rescued because it was beaten. The previous owner is hanging from a meat hook in his groin, in a long forgotten abattoir, somewhere north of Deltebre. He'd found a puppy girl abandoned and that was his other companion. Why do humans do it? I wish I could fathom our cruelty to nature, animals, those we've domesticated and ourselves... I couldn't kill a fish! I struggle when I see insects slowly running out of energy in a sweltering greenhouse. We're present and absent from the death of so many: like me and my reaction to bed bugs. There just trying to raise a family too... Came back, ate the left overs with bread and had a glass of vino accompanied by a couple of yogurt Madelei...

Home made vegetable paella. Finally went and bought the ingredients for self catering. I had to visit the Mecadona and not the Mercat Municipal, as I can't find a Caja Rural Bank ATM anywhere here, so am not being charged by the various other Spanish Banks. The gentleman from yesterday's botifarra vendor suggested there is one near the Iglesia. But I looked and found none...Sorely needed crusty bread and a dry white wine. I think I will go and locate them both for a continuation tonight. *** Dias visited and now have a rice pudding simmering away. Really I shouldn't have to buy anymore ingredients, and will need to leave some here when I vacant early on Thursday morning, and then head back up north towards Tarragona for one evening. The temperature is increasing again, but no suggestion of 38 as it was saying yesterday... But 33 is still a lot hotter than I expected at this stage in June. Reminds me of Broome back in 1999 and 2001. It was a wonderful town, but hot behind th...

It's quite odd to be sat on this balcony, with mosquitoes doing their work, and not to be rushing off anywhere! Last night, in the muggy room, I was awakened by the incessant explosions on the Delta: and now I know what the experience of shell shock could be: unable to sleep with these explosions going off every few moments. And a primary fear of loss of life with the incoming shrapnel. But here I am. No hangover. I put away quite a lot of wine with lunch: the fantastic bottifara and beans (which was too much for one person) and so much meat for me! The Italian Espresso stove top is ideal to re-tune to the explosions and wonder about the universe... An episode of In Our Time on BBC sounds is The Death of Stars . Now I must find a way of chilling out for 5ish days, until I go back to Reus for an afternoon flight on Friday, right here, alone with the comings and goings of life in a Catalan agricultural/tourist town. Last night I tried to step back from listening to music which was pl...