Back in Vigo.

It's something of a shock to the system to go from Delph, where we still needed to put the heating on most evenings and where the flowers in my garden are still being very slow in coming into full bloom, to Vigo, where the temperature yesterday soared to 28 degrees. Not that we are complaining; it's just rather an extreme change. 

We got up at some silly time yesterday morning. Our flight was leaving Manchester airport at 7.20 and so we needed to be there by six. Easyjet suggested arriving two hours before the departure time but as we never have hold luggage to check in, that seems a little over the top. Our daughter volunteered to drive us to the airport. This we accepted without compunction. We have been running around a lot looking after grandchildren while she has been doing her final placement for her degree in education and we had delayed our departure for that reason. Now she has successfully completed the placement and is on half-term holiday so we had no qualms about her getting up early to see the aged parents off. 

Our pilot congratulated himself for having arrived at Oporto twenty minutes ahead of schedule. All well and good, but by the time he had taxied along just about every runway at Oporto's Sa Carneiro airport any time advantage had been lost. In the airport we played the game of swapping from queue to queue at passport control. Unfortunately, just as when you change lanes on the motorway your lane immediately gets snarled up and all the others move much more quickly, so we found ourselves forever in the slowest moving queue. We were in no hurry though. The bus to Vigo was not due for another 40 minutes or so and, even then, it turned up late. 

And so finally we arrived at Vigo's dingy bus station. The only change there was that the escalators were actually working, for a wonder. As a rule they just serve as an awkwardly sized staircase. But the sun was shining and we had a chatty taxi driver take us to our flat, telling us about his visit, or perhaps visits, to Germany, a place he remembers as very cold, temperatures well below zero in November! I wonder where exactly he went! 

Our postbox was full of several months' worth of advertising, a vast collection of waste paper to get rid of. Standing out among this was a flier for someone who might be a witch doctor, declaring himself able to solve all your problems, especially concerning love, and would even do the job long distance. Among other things he promised to remove the evil eye - el mal de ojo. I was unaware that people still believed in such stuff. 

Sadder than this was the advert from a woman of Cuban and Spanish nationality, a responsible university graduate who could offer references if required. What kind of work was she seeking? Well, the list was endless: running errands, doing the shopping, walking the dog, cleaning, looking after hospitalised relatives, taking your children to the park or caring for them in her home while the parents went to weddings or other such events. Then there were the private classes she could offer: dramatic art and elocution, improving communication and expressive skills. In fact, with her experience in theatre, cinema and television, she would really offer to do anything at all. I felt a certain desperation coming through her advertisement and was almost sorry not to be able to offer her some task to complete for me. How many more people are there out there, putting fliers in people's letterboxes In brave attempt to make ends meet? 

By the time I went through this pile of junk mail, we had already done a range of things. Fist priority, after dumping the suitcases was to go and eat. Chipirones encebollados - baby squid in a wonderful mess of fried onions - was our treat for day one in Vigo, at the Cafeteria Rosalía down near the port. 

Then we had to visit two phone shops. The first was the Vodaphone shop to renew our mobile internet dongle, efficiently sorted by a young lady in their shop at one end of Príncipe. In one corner of the shop was an area called "Zona Applicadora", presumably where you buy Apps for your phone and are persuaded to spend more money. We were a little concerned that the Vodaphone shop we have usually gone to has closed down in the time we have been away. This is what happens when you absent yourself. 

We were more concerned, however, when we walked along Príncipe, heading to the Movistar shop to sort out Phil's Spanish mobile phone. Almost every time we come, his phone decides to have a little wobble. In this case, when he tried to use it, it asked him to call their customer service people. naturally, in the shop it worked perfectly and has done so since then! But, back to the Príncipe problem: there seem to be more empty shops and boarded up premises than there used to be. Also lots of these shops are badly daubed with graffiti. Príncipe is one of the main shopping streets, a street that folk like to stroll along and as a rule it's a pleasant walk, a reasonable tourist attraction - for tourists who like to shop anyway. But there is little point in the town decking it out with fine flower pots and the like if they do nothing about the graffiti, which really makes the place look scruffy. 

Well, that's another little rant out of the way. A quick visit to the Mercadona next door to the flats for a few essentials finished the afternoon off. We shall see what tomorrow brings!