Waiting rooms and waiting around.

In the last week I have spent a good deal of time hanging around in stations and airports. In the course of my grandparental duties (taking children to and collecting children from school), I pass frequently through Stalybridge railway station, where I also go once a month to a poetry group meeting. So in the last week, I was there on Monday, having collected the children, with the youngest grandchild protesting because there was not time for him to have a bacon sandwich in the station buffet. Then on Tuesday evening I was there for poetry and again on Thursday afternoon, meeting the eldest grandchild and waiting for my daughter to collect us so that we could go and celebrate the middle grandchild’s birthday. 

Stalybridge station buffet is a little gem: an old style pub with a number of separate rooms and a roaring fire in the main bar. It is decorated with old railway signs and photos of railway events of years past: a visit from the queen mother; the Diggle crash of 1923, mangled engine and overturned carriages. 

A sign on one corner warns of the perils of pickpockets and loose women. Why are those two lumped together? 

 In the evening they offer small sample glasses of various real ales so that enthusiasts can decide which they prefer. And the food is good too, not just the bacon sandwiches but a range of pies and desserts. The menu includes “smooth chocolate, fudge and dark ale cake”. Amazing! No wonder people go there for days out. On Thursday two old codgers, clearly regulars were reminiscing not just about visits to this old station but also about other stations they enjoy organising excursions to. 

Then yesterday we travelled to Vigo, involving the inevitable hanging around at Liverpool airport. Yes, RyanAir have reinstated their Liverpool to Oporto flights, making our travel much more straightforward. 

Having booked our flights for yesterday, we only later discovered that on a Saturday buses between Porto an Vigo run on a reduced schedule: two in the morning before we arrived and one at 8.45 pm (Portuguese time) in the evening, arriving at Vigo at about 11.30 pm (Spanish time). Consequently, we spent several hours reading our Kindles and sampling the delights of Porto airport. 

On arrival at the airport we decided on coffee and cakes. In Portuguese, airport Portuguese anyway, they call cakes “queques”, pronounced “cakes” as in English. Now, it is well known that the Portuguese have a special affinity with the English but such language acquisition seems a little extreme to me. However, two coffees and two “queques” for €6 seems to me to be much better value than you get in English airports. 
 
The cup of coffee in the photo is a “meia de leite”, basically a white coffee. The interesting thing is that this standard sized cup, about half the size of what the French call a “grand crème”, is described as “grande”. How nice to be able to get a decent sized cup of coffee (good coffee) without having to explain that you have no wish to drink half a litre at one sitting! 

For die-hard Starbucks-style-coffee aficionados there is also a Costa Coffee in the airport, transplanted direct from the UK by the looks of things, complete with flapjacks. Getting something more substantial to eat proved more difficult. Signs in the airport complex direct you to restaurants on the upper floor but I think that these are all beyond the security check-in gates, available for bona fide travellers only, not for hangers-about waiting for the elusive “bus Galiza”. In both cafes on the ground floor a range of sandwiches were available but nothing in the way of proper meals. So we settled once again for a “tosta mista”, a cheese and ham toastie with the toast mysteriously and messily buttered on the outside! Tasty enough but hardly constituting a meal. 

Spending the afternoon and early evening at the airport and arriving at our flat after midnight meant that we had no supplies in. This morning I managed to get bread and milk at the local “panadería” so breakfast was up to standard. 
 
But we have been “forced” to eat out for the main meal of the day. Life is hard!