After my tipsy toddle through the waves last night and having a room all to myself, I had expected to sleep well. I didn’t. Even with the fan and the window open the room was too hot – and my hotel is right off one of the main squares where they seemed to party all night.

I don’t care: it’s not as though I had to get up in the morning.

I woke at 630. Nope! Rolled over and finally emerged from the covers at 830.

I did the usual morning things to wake up and smell better, but with one change to the routine: instead of putting my testosterone gel on my shoulders as is recommended, I rubbed it into my belly. I’d been walking around with bare shoulders wearing a vest, and what with that and sweating I was afraid of transfer.

Off to start exploring Tarragona!

I needed a few things: provisions so that I don’t eat out for every meal. And I also need a head shave and beard trim.

I found fresh bread pretty quickly. Cheese came in a plastic package from a supermarket.

I walked down the La Rambla Nueva. There was an antiques market run by antique people selling tart to tourists. Interesting, but I wasn’t tempted.

Then I walked around the city walls. From the outside, you can see the layers of history – Roman, medieval, renaissance, modern.

It actually predates the Romans having first been built by native Iberio-Celts, although there are signs of habitation in the environs that go back way into human prehistory.

The Greeks and Phoenicians (the same type of people as Trojans) traded here, but never settled.

Tarragona gets a lot of it’s fame from the Roman ruins – which was what brought me here: to indulge my love of ancient history!

The northern side of the city is sheltered and has a gorgeous park. About half the exterior walk is fully exposed to the sun though, however it is really worth the walk to see the windows and balconies poking through – and offering possibly the best views of the sea in the neighborhood!

I took so many photos. “Ooh! Interesting rock!”, before I settled for the second coffee of the day in the gardens near the amphitheatre.

Something that really bothers me is when people call theatres amphitheaters or vice versa. The trick is to remember that an amphitheater is two theatres both (amphi) joined together. Please don’t muddle them up, it’s like dragging fingernails down the blackboard of my mind.

As I arrived at the amphitheatre, a large group of school kids also arrived. I beat a retreat to the shade of a tree and took out El Hobbit. Five minutes after getting comfy, the kids, having only been allowed to be wowed by the remains from a distance came and joined me under the tree. They weren’t really much trouble, chirruping away to each other like hungry little birds.

They didn’t stay long, so I sashayed to the entrance booth. €5. Not bad at all. I’m the UK we charge more for less impressive piles of bricks.

It’s an impressive structure, clearly showing the tunnels under the arena where gladiators, animals, scenery, and prisons could be inserted into the show. The Romans liked their blood sports to be as entertaining as possible.

Romans were civilised in all manner of ways, but this is the darkest part of their civilisation – and let’s call it what it is: human sacrifice. And not to the gods, who thanks to Prometheus only got the fat and bones – humans got the flesh from animal sacrifice.

Many of the activities in the amphitheatre were blood sacrifices to the ancestors of the Romans. Funeral games were held whenever someone important died.

However, a gladiatorial fight to the death was rare: training then was expensive, so they weren’t wasted. Slaves and criminals however, quite an incendiary exception.

There’s a bit to see here. But in the backing midday heat, I didn’t quite appreciate that this structure was thoughtfully ensconced to the shady North of the city.

After the arena (which is also Spanish for sand), I sat under a shady olive tree in the park above, where I had some of the bread and cheese that I’d bought earlier. The bread was lovely, but the cheese was sweatier than I was. It didn’t stop me enjoying it.

While eating, a young, stunning and stylish east Asian woman passed before me, like a princess from the imperial court. She wore a light red and black dress and carried a parasol. You would think that the sun would be intimidated by her radiance and the princess was merely comfortable and not sweltering hot!

I felt a mess in my shorts and pink vest. I was, however, undoubtedly more comfortable.

I was in two minds whether to return to the hotel for a siesta, but passing the ancient Roman entrance to the city, I decided that I would see it today.

I’d watched a TV programme on Channel 4 presented by one Alice Roberts. She toured Roman remains in Italy, France, and Spain; Tarragona had been one stop on her way. I enjoyed the show – by which I mean I was able to concentrate on it and watched every episode. I’ve mentioned before that I just cannot watch TV on my own.

She really didn’t do Tarragona justice!

The circus (for chariot racing, called a hippodrome in Greek) retains some of its historic shape in the street layout. My hotel is actually built in the middle of the track!

From the city’s old front gate, you can see the seaward end of the spectator stand. What I hadn’t expected was to find seemingly miles of vaults under the city that had once supported the lateral seating. It’s not miles, but when you’re not expecting it, it is mind-blowing!

I love looking at ancient buildings, but also those built after them – last attention and you’ll see where the Roman buildings went: they were cheap quarries for the city’s subsequent generations!

After the circus, tower, and tunnels, I stopped for another coffee. I also had some ice-cream. Well, it was there.

Theni wandered some more, following the inside of the walls this time.

As I approached my hotel, thinking that I might have that siesta now, I saw a barber shop. Less than a minute away from where I’d started out in the morning!

I knocked on the door. Goodness knows why, and said that I needed my head shaved and beard trimmed.

A gorgeous fellow with the same dark brown curly hair and deep brown eyes as the chap from the first hostel did the honours, including a mint face mask and a head massage. Sadly he didn’t set fire to my ears but was my nostrils. He asked me where I was was, and I asked him the same; it seems that his Spanish eyes were actually Moroccan!