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Published: September 12th 2019
The ride Ricardo organised for us was perfect; on time, a nice clean Volvo SUV, and a complimentary bottle of water each. Ricardo had nothing good to say about Porto taxis, and booked us an Uber type of thing, and we left the fare on the bench.
It’s a shame the same can’t be said of the train. After a light breakfast at the station, we waited wth a growing crowd for the 412 to Vigo. This dirty, scratched old train pulled in, missing so much paint, I thought it was headed for the workshop. This was no fast train and was a little tight in the legroom department.
No one thought this could possibly be it, and the crowd stood still.
Asking around was pointless as there were many differing opinions, as is often the case in Spain. If there are 10 Spaniards in a room, you could get 11 or more opposite stories, all claiming to be facts. Eventually a passenger who asked an official told us , yes, this was it. We climbed aboard, bridging the 300mm gap between train and platform, and found our seats just inside the door. There was no luggage compartment,
so everything was in the rack above our heads. We were in a 4 seat configuration, and we faced a teenage girl and her mother, who was in a competition with her daughter to see who was the youngest. Señora Senior bopped along to music, flashed her jewel encrusted teeth, and talked loudly on the phone, while her daughter slept. There was two more hours of this.
As the train slowly made its way along the coast, north to Vigo, I noticed out of my eyes, mildly stinging from the diesel exhaust fumes permeating throughout our carriage, people wearing backpacks, walking in groups, or sometimes alone, along sandy paths or timber slatted boardwalks, making their way to Santiago de Compostela. Portugal is a starting point for one of the Camino routes and we saw people in Porto, people on our train, and now these stragglers reading maps, or sometimes just stopping to admire the journey they’re on. I can’t describe the envy I feel, but would never begrudge anyone that experience, even just once.
I thought it a 3 hour train ride, but one hour of that was the time difference between countries, so it was 2 hours
in the train. Because of my time ignorance, I thought we had an hour to go as we approached Vigo. We passed under an impressive bridge and followed the shoreline, passing extensive oyster farming, and constant gantries and docks for moving freight around.
I still hadn’t realised we had arrived, and the insignificant looking station the train pulled into, still had me wondering. I helped a nun with her luggage off the train and she assured me it was Vigo. Last time I disagreed with a nun was in Grade 6 at St Peters Primary School. It didn’t end well for one of us, and it wasn’t Sister Mary Williams. Never doubt a nun.
We left the train.
We were going to walk but the taxi rank was too inviting, so I approached the next guy in line. He had no idea where we were staying and had to ask another driver. . I tracked him with google maps, occasionally showing him the route. Suddenly we turned right and my little tracker left the route. Here we go, I thought. But I had it set for walking, and with the maze of one way roads, he had
Bar At The End Of Our Building
Some feedback suggests this get noisy at night. We’ll see. Some people like to complain. to divert.
We approached a lovely stone arch, familiar from the website pictures; we had arrived.
Our hosts spoke only Spanish to me, and as previous communication had involved English, I couldn’t work out why. We entered our room and I was presented with a large glossy book on The Wonders Of Galicia, and a note thankful for my help. Now I get it. The owner sent me a copy of a guide he had written in Spanish and was starting to translate it, so I translated it for myself, and sent him a copy; he must think I’m fluent in Spanish. Every time I told Ana, our host, that I only had a little spanish, she gave a knowing grin and shook her head, as though she knew better.
He obviously hasn’t used google translate; it took a few minutes. It is a nice book though, so we’ll perpetuate the myth.
Sue is in Heaven today. This apartment has a washing machine. Nothing makes her happier than cleaning clean things, doing laundry, and having the effort noticed. This was the first thing I noticed when we met nearly 40 years ago; she was the one.
The third part doesn’t always happen but I do help out where I can, by creating challenges for her; I’m the Oscar to her Felix, in this harmonious Odd Couple relationship.
This afternoon, before the laundry therapy, we bought an icecream and found this huge mall in the centre of town. Many well known chain stores lined both sides of this sealed off road but we couldn’t find the elusive supermarket.
We called back to our square, enjoyed a typical Galician meal of pimientos, pulpo, and calamari, washed down with coffee, before the short trek to our rooms. The street below us is livening up, and the noise is like a human hum, continuously buzzing around our balcony. It will only get louder once the bars get going. It will test the double glazing..
Shortly we’ll walk down to the waters edge to watch the sunset over the harbour.
Tomorrow, our only full day in Vigo, will need to be well planned so we’ll sort it out later.
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