Pictures in the Park and other places.

Yesterday, another day of wall-to-wall blue sky and sunshine despite the gloomy prognostications of the weathermen, we took some friends to the Castrelos Park.

Only a few weeks ago the wisteria was everywhere and every bush or tree with the capacity to do so was in full bloom and the park was a riot of colour.

Yesterday, however, the park was almost uniformally a rich, lush green with only an occasional splash of colour amongst the box hedge in the French garden.

The rose garden, though, was filled with blooms of various shades of pink: a delight.


We came across a small girl having her First Communion photos taken. I was aware that the park often served as a romantic setting for wedding pictures but I had not imagined that happening for a First Communion. I suppose I should have expected it as the many bridalwear shops in the city also display a range of First Communion outfits, both male and female.

The cynic in me raised her head and wondered what happened to the long white dress after the event. Surely the fine organza is too expensive to go into the dressing-up box. So, does it moulder in the wardrobe like many an expensive wedding dress? Are the dresses hired for the day? If you have several daughters, can the same dress be recycled? Or will the younger sisters protest? Is a dress handed down through the generations like some christening gowns or great-grandma's silk wedding dress? So many questions!

On our way out of the park we found ourselves engulfed by a noisily chattering school party, like a crowd of starlings, all talking at once. They swarmed in, took some photos and ran around on the grass but they only stayed about five minutes for as we went past the pazo, they were already on their way back to their bus.

Heading homewards, we went through Plaza de America where stalls had been erected on the pavement, fund-raising or consciousness- raising. On closer inspection, it turned out to be Oxfam: the British high street charity shop in canvas pagodas on a Vigo square.

In the evening, we dined out at the Rias Baixas II, the seafood restaurant on Rua Argentina (almost all of South America can be found in Vigo). Our friends did what everyone should do at least once in Galicia; they ate their way through a parrillada de marisco, cracking crab claws and munching mussels and other shellfish until we thought they might turn into crustaceans and scuttle off to the seabed.


The restaurant is decorated with football scarves from numerous teams. We swopped opinions about the relative chances of Barcelona and Manchester United and then admired the placing of the United scarf sent to the restaurant by another friend earlier this year.

Finally, full of fishy delicacies, we strolled along the Plaza de Compostela, under the chestnut trees, heading for home - just as groups of young people were setting out in the opposite direction, ready for a night out while we old fogies were ready for bed!