The beach, the beach, the beach - with a little culture in between!!!!

After my difficulties in getting out to the Islas Cíes with my visitor in the early part of last week, we finally made it out there on Wednesday, although not quite as early as she would have liked. I think that my friend takes this holidaying business VERY seriously indeed! The earliest boat with available places left at 1.00 pm meaning that faced with a choice of returning at 6.00pm or 8.00 pm Heidy opted for the later boat.

This was no bad thing as it gave us chance to explore other aspects of the island as well as the beautiful beaches. So, having sailed over on a packed boat (although we did arrive early enough to get a seat on the top deck) we had a quick lunch and set off up the path to the Alto del Príncipe, one of the highest spots on the island.

Strange as it may seem, a long hike proved to be the ideal activity for the hot afternoon. The path led up through trees which provided enough shade to keep walkers cool and we did make fairly frequent stops for a rest and a drink of cold water – putting a bottle of water in the freezer overnight and taking it with us provided a source of cold water on a hot day as the ice gradually melted! (Every blogger should provide handy hints along the way!)

During one of our halts we were asked how far it was to the top. We answered that we were not sure but that we were resting. When we set off again we passed a couple of children who had been with the group who spoke to us earlier. With the confident politeness that Spanish children can sometimes show they asked us ¿Habéis descansado bien? and went on to tell us that we only had about ten minutes more walking to do to reach the top.

The view from the top is certainly worth the climb. Everyone and their grandmothers seemed to be up there with cameras at the ready. The walk from the shore there and back takes about an hour and a half, depending of course on how fast you walk and how frequently you stop and rest.

We still found time to go for a swim before heading back to Vigo once more on the boat. The water was fine and the sun not too fierce by that time. There is something special about a beach in the early evening and the beach on the Islas Cíes certainly did not let us down.

On the following day we decided to forego the pleasures of the beach as we had a date with culture in the evening. Mr Leonard Cohen was performing in the Castrelos Park auditorium and we intended to get good seats. Gates were opening at 8.30 and off we went, Heidy, Phil and I, to join the queue.

This was a much more manageable (and well-managed) queue than the one we had stood in with other friends in Santiago de Compostela but it still went on for some distance. This was not surprising as apparently some 20 000 people (even more according to some sources) found places to sit and listen to the concert.

Those of us who had paid our very reasonable 18 euros had seats within the inner circle of the auditorium but many more sat on the stone steps of the outer area. And Mr Cohen gave very good value too, playing for a solid three hours: not bad for a man who will be 75 next month!

There was inevitably a standing ovation for Halleluyah, which seems to have become the best known of his songs, but I preferred Take this waltz, his tribute to the Spanish poet García Lorca. There were so many songs though that it is impossible to play the which-was-the best-song-of-the-evening game. It was quite simply a magical concert in a wonderful setting.

I did wonder how much of the meaning of his lyrics was understood by this Spanish audience but his following here seems to be strong. In the queue I met a friend from one of my book clubs. She had come all the way form Ourense specially to see the concert. Many more must have done a similar journey as we found out later that there had been huge traffic problems as people tried to get to the concert venue and again on leaving. We had no problems of that kind as we strolled home gently at around 1.30, stopping for a beer on our way, planning a bit of a lie-in for the next morning.

That little luxury was not to be; the reformas on floor five started up again at about 8.15 and there was no staying in bed with that racket going on. They must have known it was going to be another hot day and wanted to get started before the heat did!

Nothing daunted, however, my friend was ready for another day on the beach. This was, after all, her last day in Vigo and she planned to make the best of it. This time, we caught a bus down to Samil beach where we took one look at the very crowded main beach and settled for one of the smaller beaches.

Once again the water was delightfully refreshing but I was not quite as intrepid as my persistent friend. While I had reached the point of sitting under the sun umbrella avoiding the sun’s rays, she was back in the water again and again and then stretched out like a lizard in the sun.

Finally, though, I pulled her, not quite kicking and screaming, away from the sand. Home, a shower and then down to La Porchaba bar for some very good chipirrones a la plancha and a glass of Albariño wine was the order of business. The next morning we were off for Portugal for a look round Oporto before she got on a plane on Sunday morning and back to the UK. Not everyone has the good fortune to be here for a longer stay!

In my capacity as amateur tourist guide to such of our friends and relations who choose to come and visit us, I set out today to take my friend Heidy to the Islas Cíes. She has been following this blog and has seen the extra photos on Facebook and already knew that she wanted to go to the islands before ever she arrived in Vigo.

Imagine our disappointment then when we joined the queue only to discover one of the company’s employees marching up and down telling people that “Todos los barcos para hoy están completos”. With no boat places available we had to rethink our plans. There we were with towels and swimsuits, sun cream and reading material. We were in beach mode and, what’s more, boat trip mode. But first we had to ascertain whether tickets would be available for tomorrow and could we buy them now. Yes, fine, so we stayed in the queue and purchased our tickets – committed now, all we need to do is get to the boat on time. Then we joined a much shorter queue and bought tickets for Moaña and some 15 minutes later were in a boat heading across the estuary.

It was cool and breezy on the boat but baking hot as we walked through the town, stopping for refreshments on the way to the beach at the Meira district of Moaña. Less spectacular than the beach at the Islas Cíes, it would have to do for today.

Just behind the far end of the beach is a small wooded area, perfect for cooling off after a hot walk and before heading down to the beach. The Spanish ability to organise tasteful picnics was again in evidence: there were the tablecloths once more!. In the trees were a number of noisy birds which looked and sounded for all the world like budgerigars or small parrokeets – anyone lost any pets lately?!

Cooled off, changed into our swimsuits, slathered with high factor sun cream we set off for the beach. The tide was far out and all along the tide line were people, mostly women, bent over raking the sand, collecting shellfish and putting them in buckets. We were relaxing; these people were hard at work and back-breaking work it looked too! At that stage of the day, there were definitely more workers than tourists on the beach.

We splashed out into the water, through extensive shallows until we came to water deep enough to swim in. The shallows were already warming. The deeper water was cool. Fish were everywhere. The tide was on the way in so we left the water after a while to move our belongings to “higher ground”, i.e. further up the beach. By now the shallows were bathtub wallowing warm. The cockle pickers (or whichever shellfish they were collecting) were leaving the beach, one with his bucket balanced perfectly on his head.

Three times we repeated that sequence of moves: wade out to sea, swim around in circles for a while like the dormouse in Alice in Wonderland, paddle back to shore and move our stuff. Out in the water and lower down the beach it was pleasantly and bearably hot, not burning down as it had on the road through town. On the last occasion of moving our belongings we confirmed that it was definitely hotter the higher up the beach you went. It was time to up-sticks and head for the trees, surprised to discover that it was almost five o’ clock.

So we washed the sand off at the shower at the start of the boardwalk, changed out of our swimsuits and packed up to leave. We agreed that our unplanned trip to Moaña had been a great success and we would cheerfully recommend Meira beach. Others clearly agreed with us for as we left people were arriving in droves. The beach which has been almost empty was now filling up. Had we started a trend?

We caught the six o’ clock boat back and stopped for a drink in the Café Maracaibo on the Plaza de Compostela. There I found a familiar sight. The “Torres de la Alhambra” sculptures which I had last seen in Santiago de Compostela just over a week ago had followed me to Vigo. I knew the place was irresistible – there’s the proof!

Parking problems in Portugal or how we nearly lost the car!

On Thursday my friends and I set off on another day’s hard sight-seeing. It’s a serious business being a tourist. You need to work at it consistently. This time our plan was to visit Tui, have a look round and then cross the bridge over the Miño into Valença on the Portuguese side of the river. When we got to Tui, however, it was market day and there was not a parking spot to be had so we decided to do the trip in reverse order and went to Valença first.

We admired the fortifications. There are lots of them. We admired them a lot. And we looked closely at the cannons. At the tourist office my friend asked the age of the fortifications and was given a leaflet in English so nearly incomprehensible that I went back in and asked for one in Spanish.

Now, I spoke Spanish and the poor tourist office chappie was bewildered. “¿La otra señora es inglesa?” he asked me. I reassured him that she was indeed English and went on my way. A good game this: confuse a tourist office man. A bit unfair as it was not his fault, I suppose, that the English in the leaflet was so poor.

Mind you the Spanish one was not a great deal better but I really couldn’t go back and ask for one in Portuguese. In any case, although I can read the language, my spoken Portuguese is almost non-existent so I couldn’t continue with my game. The English leaflet talks about the perimeter walls, telling us that “the fortress saw the first ones edified by the 13th century” and that the whole fortification is “awaiting the cultural heritage of humanity classification”. (The Torre Hércules in La Coruña has just got that.) It goes on to recommend eating “fuming plates of lamprey” but does not specify whether it is the plates or the lamprey that have to be angry.

Meanwhile the Spanish leaflet gives a completely different set of information and could have been written by a child borrowing incomprehensible bits from an encyclopaedia combined with oddments that look strangely like English badly translated into Spanish. What is clearly meant to be a description of shaking hands in the middle of a bridge is referred to as a “temblor de manos”, more of a “trembling” or “quaking” of hands – an earth shattering handshake perhaps. Once more I am left wondering just WHO does the translating for tourist boards.

Having comprehensively “done” the walls, we went in search of refreshment and found a café on the square. Once more we spoke a mixture of English and Spanish, only to discover that our waiter was Russian. What was a Russian doing waiting on in a café in Portugal, we wondered and asked him. The answer: he has been out of Russia for ten years now, working in different countries, picking up a bit of language in each as he goes along. He has worked in France, Germany, Italy, Spain and now Portugal. He would like to go to England but not America – too far!


So we went round the town, through the narrow streets, looked at the tiled walls of the old buildings and marvelled at how many churches could be fitted into such a small place.

Then, as we approached the gateway leading to the car park, we saw a truck next to our car, getting ready to tow it away.

Ironically, we had debated hard (well, relatively) about parking it there. When we arrived we had parked on a patch of waste ground but then saw signs to the car park and thought it would be more secure in an official parking place. (Hmmmmmm!!) The only remaining space was almost opposite one of the gates into the town but three other cars were parked in that place AND there were no road markings or other indications that it was not allowed so we left our car there. MISTAKE!!


Hindsight, that wonderful faculty, told us that it was actually a space that gave fire engines access to the town gate. Obvious once you knew that but, in our defence, there was no real indication to that effect AND others parked there before us. Anyway, we raced down the slope and I explained that we were about to leave and please, please, please could they NOT tow the car away.

I fully expected to get an “I’ve started so I’ll finish” response, involving having to collect the car from a pound somewhere miles away. At the very least, I felt sure we they would slap a hefty fine on us. But no, if we were leaving at once, we could take the car and go. This we did and the tow-truck men set about attaching their machinery to the car parked immediately behind ours, also in a wrong (unmarked) place.

Our relief was palpable. The conversation was rife with what-ifs. We scuttled out of town, across the Gustave Eiffel inspired bridge and out of the country.

Back in Spain we HAD to stop for home-made ice-cream on the main street in Tui, just by the bandstand on the edge of the old quarter, across the way from the Police Station. A large brandy might have been more appropriate but our driver had already been fined near Leon for not stopping completely at a STOP sign and she really did not want any more brushes with authority.

So we lived to tell the tale of our adventure in Portugal. That evening we had an excellent farewell meal in the Rías Baixas II restaurant here in Vigo, where they made a great fuss of us and discussed the merits of English football teams as they always do when we go there. And then on Friday morning our friends set off bright and early (OK, mid morning) for France, with only one false start for a forgotten bag of books.

Out to the islands ... again ... and rather later than intended

You really can’t come to Vigo without going to the Islas Cíes. So, on Wednesday, that’s what I organised for visiting friends to do. We had sort of planned to catch the 11 o’clock boat with the 11.45 one as fall-back if we lingered too long over breakfast or if my en route visit to the library took too long.

I had a book to return and one to collect. I had finally managed to reserve a copy of El Juego de Angel by Carlos Ruiz Zafón – writer of La Sombra del Viento, called Shadow of the Wind in its English translation. I half thought I might read some of it on the beach but in the event I was unable to collect it. The library here does not fine you if you have an item overdue, it “punishes” you, sometimes by refusing to let you take books out for a fortnight or, as in this case, not letting you have your reserved book because you have forgotten to return a DVD.

I don’t know about forgetting to return it; I had completely forgotten I had it! And I’d not even watched it! That’s what you get for gallivanting off to Santiago de Compostela! So I had to promise faithfully to return it the following day or I would not receive my book. Suddenly I felt about twelve, and a naughty twelve at that.

Anyway, when we got down to the harbour and tried to buy our tickets, for the 11.45 boat by now after all that fussing, we discovered that it was fully booked. The next one was at one o’clock. Thoughts about best laid plans came to mind. I should have realised that the boats would get booked up early. We could, of course, have booked the night before but then what if it had been raining? We might not have wanted to go in the rain! Oh, life is full of hard choices and their consequences!!!

So we bought our tickets for the later boat and went to have another coffee. Besides, this gave me time to go to the second-hand book fair in the Plaza de Compostela and choose a book to read in the absence of my chosen novel. I paid 3 euros, much better than the 23 I could have paid in a book shop. And the sun was coming out properly after a decidedly cloudy start. Being delayed is not all bad!

If you want a good seat on the boat you need to get on in the very first batch of people (rather like a budget airline flight) so eventually we joined a growing queue. After all, we had done three hours in a queue for Springsteen on Sunday evening so 50 minutes would be a piece of cake. Then we discovered that most of the people in this queue were for a 12.30 boat. How come? Why? No-one mentioned a 12.30 boat to us. We felt cheated until we realised that this was a different company selling tickets in a different place. So together with a small number of equally confused people we found ourselves at the start of the queue for our boat and when it came were able to sit up on the top deck where there are excellent views.

The last time I went to the islands at the end of May there were relatively few people visiting. This time there seemed to be hoards, not quite as many in the queue for the Boss but a good number were moving along the path to the campsite. So we followed and then overtook the crowd as we did not have to carry tents and other equipment, going past the lagoon with its many fish and watching the Atlantic crashing in on the rocks on the far side of the island.

On our way we passed very organised and civilised picnickers: table cloths on the wooden tables, proper glasses for their wine and everything! Most sophisticated! Some people really KNOW how to picnic. This reminded us that it was lunchtime and so we stopped for ensalada mixta at the restaurant of the very packed campsite.

At the entrance to the campsite there is a notice warning campers not to leave food outside their tents because of the sea gulls. In the restaurant we saw a young couple put their trays of food down on a table at the front of the terrace, open to the beach. As they turned to move their bags a gull flew under the awning and landed on the table. Fortunately another diner saw it and chased it off before it could tuck in to their lunch. Later as we and that same young couple left, a gull, possibly the same one on the lookout, flew in to finish off the leftovers only to be chased off again by a vigilant waitress.

Then it was down to the beach for some proper summer holiday stuff: some serious sunbathing that turned into snoring in one case and a bit of a swim. The water was still cold as you went in but once the initial shock wore off it was beautiful – clear and cool. Floating there, completely relaxed – surely one form of heaven! Blue sky, sunshine, clean sand stretching away, the greenery of the island behind: what more could you ask for?

Eventually it was time to go back to Vigo, rather grim and industrial looking by comparison. Even the sky was greyer. But, showered and free of beach sand, we walked down to La Porchaba on Rosalía de Castro for a glass of Rioja and some tapas. A friendly waitress, prepared to go the extra mile to provide good service, was all we needed to finish the day off perfectly.

Gambas gabardina, setas con jamón, croquetas, chipirrones a la plancha – yet another form of heaven!

Out and about in the pilgrims’ city

Having got the excitement of Mr Springsteen out of our system, we were at liberty to show our friends the other delights of Santiago de Compostela. It is one of our favourite places; all narrow streets, beautiful squares and magnificent building – in the old quarter that is. It’s just rather a shame that the climate is so awful for much of the year. We were indeed lucky to have fine weather for the few days we were there.

Of course, we had to show them the cathedral and the Plaza do Obradoiro. This square never fails to please me. It must be all the pilgrims who have passed through it but it always seems to be a kind of universal meeting place for all kinds of people, of all ages and nationalities. You see bikes parked there, Girl Guide troupes from Italy, circles of young people picnicking and, on Monday, a woman using her rucksack as a headrest while she spread her arms and was either sleeping or meditating.

Whereas Vigo has had a plague of pig statues and I have seen the Cow Parade in Manchester and Florence (but not the banana-art work in Liverpool), Santiago de Compostela has been infested with strange abstract statues, all on the theme of towers. Done by a sculpture group called Las Torres de la Alhambra, the statues are all over the place: in the historic centre, near the police station and above all along one of the paths of the Alameda, a pleasant park area, ideal for a stroll in the early evening.

On of the best things about Santiago de Compostela is that all the casco viejo is pedestrianised. This makes it a truly pleasant place for sight seeing without traffic, rather like Venice but without the risk of falling into a canal. As a result, people sit and chat on the steps of squares and children can run around freely with minimum supervision.

As we took refreshment in Plaza Quintana one afternoon, I saw one group playing what looked a lot like the game my friends and I used to call Magic Mirror: one child stands facing the wall while the others creep up on him; when the “magic mirror” turns, the rest must freeze as any perceived movement sends you back to the start. Ah, happy days!

Eating facilities are another big plus factor. On Sunday we ate at lunchtime at Casa Manolo, a cheap and cheerful restaurant which offers excellent deals for pilgrims of all kinds. You give the waiter you name, tell him how many people are in your party and wait on the seats provided outside for that purpose. Eventually he comes and calls your name and you go to eat. On the hottest days, they even provide sun umbrellas.

Another eating option, of course, is tapas on Calle Franco, a street that must have the greatest concentration of bars possible on one street anywhere. Having tried a range of tapas, we finished one evening in El Patio, an old favourite of mine. There my friend chose an interesting item: frutas secas con queso. This looked a little like muesli but was whisked away into the microwave, melting the cheese and bringing out the spicy flavour of the dried fruits – a most unusual combination but good.

There we had one of THOSE Spanish moments where you get to hear someone’s life story in a potted version. A group of men asked us to take their photo. We got talking, asking if they came from Santiago de Compostela. It turned out that they all now worked in different places in Galicia but had studied in Santiago de Compostela from 1968 to 1975. At that time, El Patio had been their student bar. Returning from late afternoon or evening classes they went to El Patio to eat and drink most nights. They still returned at regular intervals to their old stamping ground for a reunion. Thirty odd years on the same bar is still there. What memories it must have. What changes it must have seen. What stories it could tell. Oh, the nostalgia!!!!

El concierto: sobresaliente; la organización: suspenso!

Well, we set off on our “pilgrimage” to Santiago on Sunday. Navigating Vigo’s one-way system was fun but soon we were on the highway and off to the city of Saint James. There we checked into our hotel, glad to have booked in advance several weeks ago as the phone at reception rang several times as we stood there. No, they had no free rooms. Yes, there was a possibility of some becoming available later if there were cancellations. No, the hotel did not have a waiting list. Yes, they understood the problem but .....

We found out about transport to the Monte do Gozo auditorium at the tourist office and after lunch got ourselves organised to catch one of the Especial Concierto buses from the city centre. Once there we had a trek up the hill with about a million other people – well, all right, tens of thousands more like but a lot of people. (At the same time, apparently, even more people were marching through the centre of Vigo. The newspaper El Faro de Vigo on Monday morning reported some 300 000 faithful marching to show their devotion to El Cristo de la Victoria in what was described as one of the greatest demonstrations of Christian faith in recent years.)

We had been impressed with the transport arrangements but at that point all organisation seemed to break down. There were a number of queues to get into the venue. A friendly policewoman recommended we should go further up the hill to entrance three. Loads of people were at entrance one, she told us, and the queues should be shorter at the other entrances so we should get in sooner. She may have been right but with people joining queues at random points along the way what system there was soon fell apart even further.

The mostly Spanish crowd accepted all this with equanimity and good humour. Makeshift stalls along the way sold water, drinks of all kinds, sandwiches, churros and the inevitable packs of doughnuts. Impromptu picnics took place at the roadside. It was not until well after the promised gate-opening time of 8.00 that people began to whistle and protest and even then it was very good-natured. The weather helped: cool, occasionally breezy but above all dry.

Some people had been there since 4.00 on the promise that the first 1000 people would be allowed in at 6.30. Fat chance! We had arrived at around 6.30 and finally somewhere after 9.00 we started to move and slowly, slowly advanced until we went through a gate, across a field and eventually through a mud patch to have our tickets checked in a most desultory fashion. I heard complaints later about people getting in on photocopied tickets!

Once inside, in the fading light we tried to make our way through the crowd to a space that we could see where we hoped to get a decent view. There was no evidence of any kind of stewards to direct people and do some kind of crowd control. The terrain sloped steeply; people were pushing; people were frustrated; the situation was downright dangerous.

At last we reached our objective, a fairly high point opposite the stage, tiny in the distance, midway between the huge screens and where the sound balance was probably going to be right and where it was not too crowded. It turned out to be perfect. Once the band came on stage, it took no more than a few bars to make us forget the frustrations of getting in.

The concert opened with the E Street Band’s accordionist playing a Gallego song O Ranxeiro. We were among the few who did not know the words but the crowd went wild and sang their hearts out. Mr Springsteen is a canny showman who does his research. In Bilbao he opened with an old Bilbao song, De Santurce a Bilbao. In Glasgow it was a good Scottish ballad. Not for nothing do they call him The Boss. When O Xefe greeted the Santiago audience with Boas Noites, he won the gallego hearts all over again.

There then followed a good three and a bit hours of music and enthusiastic response. We danced and waved with the best. Numbers from his latest album Working on a Dream were intermingled with older favourites often in response to request from the crowd. As the night wore on, Bruce became more rather than less energetic, if that is possible.

Two small girls have stories to dine out on for the rest of their lives. One got to sing solo to “Waiting for a sunny day”. Instead of the crowd, that one little girl sang alone, a little hesitant but still there. Big cheers from the audience! Later, another was chosen to repeat Courtney Cox’s Dancing in the Dark spot, up on stage, dancing with Bruce. A whole lot of showmanship but still magical.

All good things have to come to an end. We sang our way through Twist and Shout, which almost turned into La Bamba. Born in the USA was finished. The stage lights went out at last and the floodlights came on. The band disappeared and the roadies set about dismantling things.

38 000 people had to get back to Santiago city centre. We walked for what seemed like miles through a dark field and out onto the road. A fleet of Especial Concierto buses was waiting. We were impressed ... and then they seemed to set off leaving most of the crowd to wait for ages and ages and ages until they returned again and again and again, shuttling people away.

This was fine except that the buses were loading from another queue as well as from ours. And once again people joined the queue at random points, many at the beginning instead of the end. Many people set off walking but it seemed to us a risky enterprise in the unfamiliar outlying districts of a city we did not know that well.

Many buses later, we managed to get on one, packed like sardines while the one in front of ours was half empty. But by then we were past caring and so was everyone else. Anyway, most people were still talking music. Really we just wanted to get back to the centre and see if we could find some food and drink. A good fish and chip shop was what we needed.

By now it was 3.00 am and we were not hopeful. Even for Spain this was late for Sunday night-Monday morning. However, so many people had the same idea that a couple of places were still serving. And so we ended up at the Alameda Cafe eating huevos fritos con chorizo washed down with cold beer in a room almost certainly full of Springsteen fans. And finally back to the hotel and bed.

On Monday morning we all got up late and had breakfast in the city centre, keeping an eye out for Bruce and the E Street Band or any other celebrities. None showed, although there were lots of Springsteen tee-shirts around.

Scanning the papers, I found that most agreed with us: this had been a masterpiece of Spanish disorganisation. By Tuesday, some 150 people had made denuncios, many wanting their money back as they had watched the concert from the hill behind the venue or crushed up against the toilet block. One paper assessed it along the lines of Spanish school reports - Concierto sobresaliente (outstanding) organización suspenso (failed)!

Mind you, I suspect we all might do it again!

A Santiago voy, caminando ....

Back in the day, when I was a schoolgirl just beginning to learn Spanish, I had to memorise a little rhyme which went like this:

A Santiago voy, caminando,
Y con mi paragüitas
Por si la lluvia está mojando.

(I’m off to Santiago, along the road,
And with my little brolly
Just in case the rain is making me wet.)

And now I am once again off to Santiago de Compostela, not on the camino, but to see Bruce Springsteen. Some friends of ours have come from England, OK to see us as well, but also to see The Boss at the Monte de Gozo (Mount of Joy – what a wonderful name) auditorium in the outskirts of Santiago.

Our friends, Chris and Dee, came by car and ferry from the North of England to Santander and then on to Vigo. Here is a transcript of our text messages during the Santander to Vigo stage of the journey on Thursday (of special interest to those who have been fined by the police recently):

Chris: Half an hour out of Santander on the Auto via Cantabria- Meseta.

Me: Wondered where you were up to. Sunshine here. Safe journey. Wise man Phil says to be sure to have change for the motorway tolls.

Chris: Spot of lunch in Leon.

Me: ¡Que aprovechéis! Guten appetit! Bon appétit! Oh, you get the message.

Chris: Back on the road.

Me: Bonne route!

Chris: Coffee break. About 260 kms to go.

Me: Excellent travelogue this. E.T.A.?

Chris: 6/6.30-ish, though we’ll probably get lost a couple of times when we come off the motorway and try to find you! It’s 30° C up here!

Me: Where are you at the moment?

Chris: No idea! A service place off the A 52.

Me: Fine, just so long as you are on the right road.

Chris: Aye, we just saw the sign and pulled off. We had a bit of an adventure getting out of Leon and ended up on a dirt track briefly but were soon back on track.

Me: Do you have sat. nav.?

Chris: No.

Me: Text again when close. Are you coming into Vigo from the North or the East?

Chris: East. And a bit later now as we got stopped by police for not stopping completely at a STOP sign when heading back to m’way, though there was nothing coming! Dee is not a happy bunny!

ME: Hope they didn’t fine you. Watch speed too. V. keen on speed fines here. Do you know the road number you are coming into Vigo on?

Chris: They did – 105 euros! Coming in on A 52, then E-1/AP-9AM and finally A55.

Me: Uh oh! Bit steep! They also fine drivers on mobiles. Thanks for info. Phil is plotting route to us. Drive safe.

Chris: OK. Be a while yet though.

Me: OK. Follow A52 into Vigo to roundabout with huge horses statue. Take exit 3 - big road called Gran Vía. Look for us outside El Corte Inglés store.

Chris: 137 kms to go!

Me: Keep it up!

Chris: Of course!

Chris: 64 kms to go!

Chris: 25 kms to go!

Chris: Coming into Vigo on N120.

That’s when we had to go to speech instead of text. Of course Chris and Dee missed the turn onto Gran Vía and ended up parked on Venezuela where we went and found them. Then we had to navigate our way through the one way system back to our place and into the garage space that we never use – the great adventure of finding the allocated spot in the depths of the garage. But at last all was well. A long drive but with scenery to make it well worth the trouble.

And tomorrow we head off for Santiago de Compostela where the Monte do Gozo auditorium is being spruced up for the Boss and where they await the arrive of his stage in about fourteen trucks! Reports say he has been wowing them in Bilbao, Benidorm, Sevilla and Valladolid so we hope he has a voice left by the time he gets to Galicia.

Apparently some 70 000 extra people are expected to pour into Santiago this weekend – pilgrims of a different kind! It seems that planes from just about all other Spanish airports that fly to Santiago are fully booked. Extra trains are being laid on. We’ll set off early to avoid traffic jams. Thank heavens we booked hotel rooms weeks ago.

Watch this space for reports of the concert. Meanwhile, we are working on a dream!