The weather witch's mother asked why I was up early yesterday - ¿Por qué madrugas tanto? Isn't it good to be able to put the idea of being up early or getting up early into one word: madrugar. Which, incidentally, can also be used for to stay up late into the small hours. Two o'clock in the morning is "las dos de la madrugada", never "de la mañana" since two o'clock patently is not yet morning.
So, I was up and about and down to the breadshop in the dark so that I could get to the bus station for the nine o' clock bus to Portugal. It's a little crazy to arrive at the airport at 9.45 (Portuguese time - 10.45 Spanish time) when the plane does not leave until 12.20 but the next one would not get there until fifteen minutes after the plane left. So it goes.
A mildly annoying bus ride in the end. A family moved in behind me at Valença, with a whinging small girl. The parents spoke to each other and mostly to the son in Portuguese but the little girl only spoke to them in French, perfectly accented French. The mother, in contrast, spoke French with a Portuguese accent. Odd! And the small girl managed to have ear-ache, a head-ache and back-ache in the course of the journey. I suspect this may have been an attention-seeking ploy as she got very cross with her mother for not listening to her at one point. Good job I had my iPod so that Springsteen could go some way to blotting out the whining.
Coffee and an almond cake (un queique de almendoa) for €3.35 in the airport. Someone should tell British airports how to price their snacks! And then a couple of hours hanging around.
It's very strange to go from a tiny, although seemingly growing, airport like Porto's Sa Carneiro to London Gatwick. You arrive, get off the plane and walk miles and miles to passport control. Because there is improvement work going on at the airport, notices advise you to use the loos on this side of the passport control as there are very limited facilities beyond that point. So you follow their advice and then wait in the queue for ten minutes. Thank goodness you didn't accept the offer at Porto airport to have your bag put in the hold for free. Eventually, you get through passport control, walk rather further to find the exit and then several miles more to get to the shuttle to South Terminal where the railway station is. Phew! What a palaver!
Having negotiated all that and being aware of the time going past, when I finally reached the railway station I didn't bother being independent-minded about what they call my "onward journey". No, I just went straight to Information, smiled sweetly at the chap behind the counter and told him I wanted to go to London Bridge station. So he helped me buy my ticket from the automatic machine and pointed me in the direction of the right platform for the train that was due to leave in four minutes time. Left to my own devices, I would probably have missed it.
After that, dealing with the underground system was a doddle. Eventually I reached my son's house. Door to door - I left the flat in Vigo not long before 8.30 am Spanish time and arrived at my son's house in Chesham not long before 5.00 pm.
There was a lot of sitting around involved in yesterday's travel.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Anthea,
ReplyDeleteIsn't it remarkable? Door to door through three countries in fewer than 8.5 miles. I was reminiscing with Google maps yesterday. My first holiday in Spain was in 1960. My mother decided to book the family into the Hotel Sitges Park with a company called Sea Spain. The journey would be by trains, so we departed from Pinner station at 8-30 am on a Saturday. Victoria to Folkestone, ferry to Calais, train to Gare du Nord, taxi to Gare d'Austerlitz & a meal of chicken & chips in a small restaurant before the train departed at 8-00 pm.
My brother, mother & I found the couchettes were quite comfortable although the old man did his best to fault them. It was wonderful to wake & see the Med sparking in the sunshine. The train passed under the Pyrenees from Cerbère to Port Bou where we transferred to an ancient Spanish train, It was wonderful; like something out of the Wild West, No glass in the windows, just wood slatted blinds & clean antimacassars on the overstuffed seats. We left Port Bou at 8-00 am & jogged along at 25 mph to arrive in Barcelona at 2-00 pm. An electric train got us to Sitges in 40 minutes & we were in the hotel by 3-00 pm. I cherish those memories. I made the same journey three years later with a girlfriend who did not face the train journeys with equanimity. Lucky I found out!
I use Google maps to retrace my steps all over the globe. By the time I was ten, I had already lived four years in NZ & we had returned to the UK after my father's overseas posting was completed. I enjoy finding places I went to at some stage in my life & look at the changes since.
Regards,
Perry
Hours, not miles.
ReplyDeleteMy first visit to Spain as a student was similar. Train from Wigan to London. Boat train, with couchette, from London to Paris. Train from Paris to Port Bou, where the train line into Spain changed gauge. Train to Alicante. and then train with wooden seats from Alicante to Murcia. it took about three days!!!
ReplyDeleteA nice travel story indeed. It reminds us our old travel experience. I am sure people would also like to read this nice travel story.
ReplyDeleteairport parking Luton