I sleep surprisingly well – probably something to do with the fact that I’ve been doing a lot of walking over the last 6 days and my food intake has been remarkably low. The day starts pretty well and I manage to negotiate the shower without touching anything except me and I head out before 08:00. It’s 18 degrees but feels much hotter. I’ve had a long debate (partially with myself, partially with people online) about what to do today. A popular choice seems to be to head to Montserrat, which is apparently amazing. Instead, I’ve decided to head for the Castell de Montjuic – which most people don’t seem to have heard of. My early morning wander down Las Ramblas is quiet and tranquil – except for the couple having an impressively loud screaming match in the middle of the road. (For those in the profession, I would rate this as a medium risk domestic). Apart from them, the only people out and about are the police who are sorting out the rough sleepers.

I head down to the Columbus statue that apparently has him pointing towards the New World. Technically, they’re correct, but only because the world is an oblate spheroid which means he’s considering a seriously long journey. Seeing as he thought he had found India, it might be appropriate anyway.

Given the increasing heat, it’s clearly a good idea to keep away from the cooling effect of the sea front, so I walk along Avinguda del Paral·lel. From there, I’m going to take the funicular railway up the hill. Montjuic Castle doesn’t open until 10:00 so I have a leisurely stroll and pop into a cafe for breakfast. This seems more popular than the dire little place yesterday – there are two police officers inside, so they either have a lot of trouble here, or the food is reasonable. Breakfast turns out to be coffee and a croissant – still not exactly Spanish but a real improvement on yesterday.

I’m wondering just how hot it’s going to get, and make sure that the suntan lotion is liberally applied. The heat is not helped by my Berlin baseball cap which seems to have some kind of heating element inside it. It’s soaked with sweat already – lovely subject, eh? – but if I put it on backwards, it seems to be slightly better. I consider taking it off altogether, but that would be decidedly unwise, and resign myself to looking like an idiot.

Montjuic Castle is accessible by the funicular and then a cable car. The funicular opens at 09:00, so I’m sat there with 10 minutes to go. There will be another delay at the half way point, as the cable car doesn’t start running until 10:00. A sensible person would probably have started later in the day, but as these blogs will have shown, I’m not the most sensible person in the world. Also, I’d have had to spend even more time in the shithole.

I’m expecting great views over Barcelona from the funicular, so have my phone ready to snap some pictures. I am, of course, foiled as it runs most of its’ length underground. However, there is a great view from the little park at the top, with views across the city to Mount Tibidabo (which still makes me chuckle).

I’ve pre-booked my cable car tickets, and have to wait 45 minutes or so for it. It’s so quiet here compared to the rest of the city and it’s nice to have a break from the constant noise. The amount of mopeds, bikes and e-scooters tearing around the city is insane. I read somewhere that Barcelona has the highest per capita ownership of motorcycle of any city in Europe. I don’t find that hard to believe. It is also the proud owner of the largest number of pretentious buildings in the world! (source: me). Oh, just a word on road crossing etiquette in Barcelona – bizarrely it seems to work better than in Berlin and if you go along with the lights you have a reasonable chance of making it across the road in one piece.

The cable car station is right beside the pool that was used for the diving events in the 1992 Olympics. I remember the fantastic shots that were taken of the divers with the city far below them.

As I’ve got some time, I thought it might be nice to grab some photos from the same location. Clearly a lot of people have the same idea as the terrace overlooking the pool is now occupied by a restaurant and a cafe, both of which are shut. I’ll think about this again on the way down (but they’re still closed when I come back).

I’m at the head of the queue for the cable car (no surprise there) and manage to snag a car to myself. As we head higher up the hill, the whole area opens up beneath us and I take the traditional shots that everyone takes from a cable car, including one of the rather bizarre instructions on what you should not do in the cable car and a pretentious one down the line of empty cars (which I’m quite proud of).

Castell de Montjuic is fantastic to wander around and, in places, is absolutely beautiful. It dates back to 1640 and has the distinction of having been used to bombard Barcelona on at least one occasion! If you do ever visit here, there is a waring attached: there is VERY little shade!

From the outside, there are spectacular views across the city and somewhat less spectacular views across the port, which is huge. Outside the main port, the seafront is dominated by the vast bulks of cruise ships which blend into the environment with the same discomfort that a Conservative MP displays at a homeless shelter.

It’s bakingly hot up here and I’m starting to re-think my original plan of walking down. I start off by walking around the battlements.

The walk becomes a bit of a nature ramble as there’s no one else walking around this part. As a result, I surprise a snake and a tiny little lizard. I then find some ants the size of my thumbnail and a spider with a remarkably bright green back. Typically, they all disappear as soon as I get the phone out, so here’s a picture with a slightly more complacent dove.

I finish with another view over the unpleasant docks and then head into the parade ground. The colonnade here is about 10 degrees cooler than outside.

The colonnade is lined with numbered doors, all of which are shut. I eventually find one which is open and has a truly startling and very clever piece of art inside. I then make the mistake of starting to read the pretentious twaddle used to describe it – sometimes, people should just let art speak for itself.

The time has finally come to brave the terrace. This is the top of the castle and is eye-wateringly bright in the sun. There’s not much here, but it’s well worth looking around.

It’s got an example of a sundial on the side of a tower – or rather, two sundials because each one only works for half the day. Oh, yes and this was one of the trig points used to calculate the metre.

I really, really preferred this to La Pedrera – it is probably the highlight of my visit.

But now I have to go back down into the city. It’s is possible to walk back down – a long winding road that goes past the old Olympic stadium and finishes at Pablos Espanol. Despite the heat, I still decide to do this, so I take the cable car back down to the funicular station and head off.

On the way down, I find the Jardin des Escultures, and we have to ask ourselves the time-honoured question: “Yes. But is it art?”

In an attempt to answer the question, I present you with my own piece of art. As we are in the capital of Catalonia, I have taken it’s title from the Catalan. Here it is together with an explanation for the piece which should (preferably) be read aloud by Ardal O’Hanlon. Ladies and gentlemen, I present for your consideration Solitud.

In Solitud, the artist has chosen to explore the link between nature and the commercial environment, the emptiness of existence juxtaposed with the irrationality of life and the complex elemental underpinning of the universe. The hat, a symbol of post-war American arrogation, is alone. Without it’s purpose, it is empty, bereft. It is half open, indicating use and now, perhaps, abandonment. Composed of entirely synthetic fibres, it lies amidst the detritus of nature – stone, hewed and hacked by man’s machinations; pine needles, dead and carelessly strewn. Yet in the background, green verdant leaves show us that life goes on and the community sought by the author is at hand, though also out of reach. The hat is a fox – but why? Foxes signify playfulness and mischievousness, but here the artist uses the fox to represent independence and protection. For the hat is alone, crumpled and apparently cast harshly aside. But the sweat on it indicates it has been used and opens us up to the hope that it will be used again.

The walk down is a very pleasant one, along wide pavements that are used by (believe it or not, in this heat) joggers. (Actually, most of them look like the serious types that want to be called runners). The Olympic stadium is suitably impressive and triggers more memories of seeing it on TV.

Opposite it is a sculpture that was donated by Korea, and further down the hill a quite impressive bell tower, which starts tolling just as I wander by.

At the bottom of the hill (and it’s taken me the best part of an hour to get here) is a very nice little park and the Pablo Espanol.

The Pablo Espanol is a very odd place. It was constructed for the Barcelona International Exposition of 1929 and is described as an “open air architectural museum”. It has four areas that are styled to represent the different styles of building and architecture found around Spain. It doesn’t feel like a museum – it feels more like something designed for tourists – and the prices are accordingly high. However, this is the first time that I’ve actually felt that I was in Spain. It is characterful and I have a really good wander around.

But in the end, this place is just about taking your money and some of it just jars with me.

Does it jar, or does it Jar-Jar?

I was planning to eat here, but the prices are clearly inflated. So, I decide to head back across the city to Artespanol Paella & Tapas. On the way to the metro, I stop to look at the Montjuic Fountains.

They do a light show here every evening – but given my concerns about personal safety, there’s no way I’m heading over here after dark! With a wistful look back, I head for the metro and soon find myself walking into Artespanol. The waiter recognises me and hustles me straight to a table. I stumble my way through the menu, refusing to use the English version – my attempt to pronounce ajillo causes much hilarity at the next table. But at least I tried!! I feel much better when three American ladies sit down on the other side of me. They cause far more trouble (“I’m allergic to milk, eggs and dairy. My friend can only eat off plates that were cast on the waning moon, and my other friend must sit facing Jupiter.”) When they order, they don’t attempt the Spanish and talk to the waiter about “number 76” so I feel better for trying. They get a lot less annoying when their food arrives and, like me, resort to yummy noises instead. I decide to take a tapas approach today (not easy when there’s just one of you!).

I ended up selecting: champinones al ajillo, pimientos de padrón, calamares a la andaluza negritos and croquetas de bacalao. With sangria, naturally. It is all insanely good.

I finish my day by taking a long, slow walk back to the hotel through the Barcelona streets, stopping briefly to admire a typical Catalan establishment.

I have an 07:00 start tomorrow, so I’m going to barricade the door and spend one final night in the shithole. Tomorrow I head for Paris and I have to start worrying about my finances again.