Leaving Galicia.

We had a most impressive thunderstorm on Monday night, starting around midnight and, as far as I could fell continuing on and off until about five in the morning. The it closed with just about the biggest thunderclap I think I have ever heard. It began with a sort of creaking sound, as of giant fingers were poking into a hole in the fabric of the sky, and the progressing to a great tearing noise as if the giant hands were pulling the sky apart. The gods of Galicia were giving us a fine send-off!

On Tuesday morning, this morning, as we wanted to be on our way to the bus station in plenty of time, I went out to buy bread a little earlier than usual. When I reached my usual panadería-cafe she was only just opening. “The bread has not come yet!” she told me. Bother! I spotted a new-looking place across the road, all bright and shiny with mirrors all over the pla e. SomI decided to give it a try. I asked for my normal “barra artesana”, an ordinaary locally made loaf, nothing fancy. “We don’t call it that here”, said the assistant, “Other places do but here it’s ciabatta”. Okay! I refrained from telling her that ciabatta bread is something quite different and bought a loaf anyway. It cost me 15 cents more than my usual loaf! Not a bank-breaking amount but I rather felt I was payong for snobbiness. Especially as it came in a bag with a “recipe” printed on it: three bowls of kindness, a teaspoon of patience, a pinch of tenderness - that sort of thing! I doubt that I shall be returning there. The bread wasn’t as good anyway!

Then we scuttled round after breakfast, throwing out the few remaining perishables, locking windows, turning off the water, checking cor the umpteenth time that we had everything. I had a nightmare recently about getting almost to the airport and remembering that the passports were still under the bed! All seemed to be in order this time.

I have only once been without my passport at a checkpoint. I was going to Porto airport to see my daughter and her children onto the plane back to the UK. I had done the run from Vigo to Porto many rimes and never once had there been a check at the border. So when I remembered that my passport was in the flat I was not worried. Then at Valença police got on and asked to see documentation! The only photo ID I had with me was my Vigo library card. Fortunately it was not an errant, forgetful Englishwoman they were after. The policeman advised me to be more careful in future, and that was that!

My daughter, however, was almost catatonic with embarrassment!