Getting back to Vigo.

Because of the difficulty, not say impossibility, of finding direct flights from the North West of England to the North West of Spain at this time of year, we flew by to Vigo via Faro and then Porto. I doubt that we would have chosen such a strange route had it not been for the fact that some old friends had chosen to spend Christmas on the Algarve and this gave us an excuse to get together again.

So quite early on Saturday morning, before it started to snow again in the Manchester area, we made our escape. Just in time as it turned out for more snow has fallen since then and had we been travelling a day later we might not have made it. As it was we landed in a rather grey Faro.

Apparently this had been one of the worst Christmases, weatherwise, that the area had seen for a good few years. Maybe it was something to do with our friends having finally chosen to take advantage of a timeshare they set up years ago but never used, giving the chance to various offspring instead. And so we visited one of those artificially created “villages” which don’t appear on old maps, all holiday homes and “aparthotels”, a strange hybrid of apartment and hotel.

The place is surrounded by salt marshes and sand dunes, providing interesting walks and plenty of birds for any "twitchers" who holiday there. I had never visited the Algarve before and, I suspect, may never do so again, not in a British holiday enclave anyway.

Be that as it may, on the Saturday evening we set out to find a restaurant which had been recommended to our friends. Unfortunately the restaurant in question was closed so we took a tour of Almancil in the dark, playing “find a good place to eat”. We finished up at a place with the unprepossessing name of Senhor Frango, Mr Chicken. It may have had a rather offputting name but the food was good and the price reasonable. If ever I do go back that way, I would not say no to a return visit to O Senhor Frango.

As an aside, I would like to know why the Portuguese for chicken is frango when in other Latin based languages it is pollo, poulet or something very similar, giving us, of course, pullet in English. No prizes but I would appreciate some answers!

Sunday got lost somewhere waiting around, first at Faro airport (our friends dropped us off a good while before our departure time but with insufficient time to explore) and then in Porto. The usually convenient galizabus from Porto airport to Vigo runs a reduced service on a Sunday. Our plane arrived about 20 minutes too late for the 2.30 bus and the next one was not scheduled to depart until 7.45 in the evening. So we opted to catch it further along its route, in Porto town itself from the Avenida dos Aliados, just in front on the rather classy McDonalds. With our suitcases in tow, we caught the metro into town and managed to get a late lunch at a cheap and cheerful place we had been to on our last visit to Porto.

With our VERY limited Portuguese assisted by Spanish vocabulary and an understanding waiter, we ordered filete de pulpo. I have not eaten octopus that way before: filleted, coated in batter, fried and served up with rice and salad. Interesting and quite tasty but very different form pulpo a la gallega! It was a family-run place and the owner of the place and his waiters/sons/brothers held a noisy discussion about football (I think) as a backdrop to our meal. We were about to leave without dessert but were persuaded by the owner’s elderly and absolutely charming lady wife to try her fresh fruit salad. It was a delight. My father, in his day an expert at making fruit salads, would have totally approved. We left completely satisfied.

Strolling round Porto, as much as one can stroll with wheelie suitcases, we discovered that Christmas there, as in so many places nowadays, is not complete without an artificial ice rink. A long queue of young and sometimes not so young people waited their turn.

We did not have a go but went instead for a looooooong coffee in the rather elegant Cafe Guarany. This cafe-restaurant on Avenida dos Aliados, staffed with very formally dressed waiters and decorated quite incongruously with paintings of American Indians, used to be called the Cafe dos Musicos and still hosts musical evenings. There was a poster for next Saturday’s fado evening.

Eventually we caught our bus and travelled through the night back to Vigo.It turned out to be rather a colourful journey as the darkness was lit up from time to time by Christmas decorations. Just about every church between Porto and the Spanish border was festooned with lights, outlining the shape of the building. Most impressive, but we did wonder which enterprising person had the concession for putting up the lights. And so, here we are, back in Vigo in time for Reyes. The Christmas lights are still there for us and this year Principe is also decorated with constructions of what appear to be multiple poinsettias, giving a rather classy air to the place.