I regard today as an itinerary-planning error... We don't normally volunteer to sit on a piece of transport for 12 hours, or plan to arrive somewhere new at 9 o'clock at night...

We became aware only last night that this is in fact what we're doing, and as there's no way to change it, we just have to tough it out.

The train from Irun is roomy and comfortable (although there are no power sockets or internet services such as we were spoiled with yesterday).

We set off bang on time, and right from the get-go, the scenery is awesome. You start with a mountain section, all twists and turns, and then you spend a long time crossing a high, rolling plateau.




The first stop is San Sebastian.

Two and a half hours in, there's a longish stop in Miranda de Ebro, where the first of several train reconfigurations takes place.


The next well-known stop is Burgos.

So far it has all been a bit of a walk down memory lane. Way back in December 1988 (after Christmas in Biarritz, and Panda's gallant climb over the Col de Somport), we arrived in Spain for the very first time. It was all a bit of a revelation. This side of the Pyrenees was so much drier, and the landscape was beautiful but distinctly stark. Picturesque but apparently not very prosperous villages clambered up the steep slopes, each clustered round its big church. Donkeys were still providing transport.

After overnighting in Jaca, we headed out on a massive loop past Huesca, past Zaragoza, and on to Burgos. Huge patches of freezing fog lay in wait for us (you could see them bunching up on the horizon long before you got into them), so the driving was not always easy. And it was cold as... I'd stupidly not expected Spain to be so cold.

We arrived in Burgos just as the light was fading, and I remember touring the beautiful cathedral in the semi-darkness, with the voices of late guides still echoing round in the gloom.

We overnighted somewhere outside the city, and the next day set off for the coast. Apart from getting lost with monotonous regularity, we also discovered that accommodation on this coast is really designed for summer visitors, not winter ones (of course, this may well have changed in the intervening 31 years...)

We stayed the next night at a little boarding house (maybe in Laredo -- details are sketchy because I kept no diary back then, and it was one of the many trips on which the camera didn't join us). The warm welcome somewhat made up for the chilly bedroom. There was no breakfast, of course, and we headed off very early, much to our landlady's surprise, in order to forage for food, and avail ourselves of Panda's efficient heater. I think that was the day we discovered real Spanish chocolate con churros. Heaven...

The next night's lodgings were even colder. In my memory I see us climbing endless chilly flights of stairs, and traversing miles of wintry corridors, as that night's landlady led us to the (apparently) only occupiable room. Vast and draughty, it was provided with a minuscule fan heater, which I have to confess we left running all night.

OK, this is it, we said. We're heading back to France. Where it's WARMER. And it's OPEN. It wasn't a quick journey. I think we were trying to avoid tolls, because we found ourselves on roller-coaster roads, usually trailing large lorries that little Panda didn't always have the oomph to pass.

Once back in France, we headed for La Rochelle, and treated ourselves to a couple of nights in the Novotel. Such decadence... GBP 50 per night (500 French francs) including breakfast. A serious amount of money back then. But so nice to be warm again, with "Le Grand Bonjour" breakfast waiting for us every day.

So, I wouldn't say our first trip to Spain was a massive success... But it was hugely educational. You really know nothing about somewhere until you've actually been there. And we did a couple of thoroughly enjoyable trips in subsequent years, so we were obviously not too discouraged.

Anyway, back in the present...



It's 14.30. We've eaten lunch. We've fetched coffee from the buffet, to go with our post-lunch chocolate. And we've arrived in Leon. Which figured in another Spanish holiday as the place we first saw storks, and the place the car-after-Panda, Puglet, was arrested and imprisoned... But I can't keep digressing, so more on that another time... Another train reconfiguration seems to be under way, and now we're reversing out.

The scenery has continued to be amazing. We've had distant snowy mountains, hill-top villages, heathland, many lovely churches, the occasional castle...

Almost 4 pm, and we're working our way down a mountain, in a series of complicated loops:



A rather beautiful gorge provided the backdrop to our just-before-5pm tea (olives, salami, and Cruzcampo beer from the bar).


Just before 5.30 pm we had the big excitement of the trip: the coach-changing manoeuvre (they warned us about this when we got on). We needed to move to the Bilbao-Vigo coach, because in Monforte de Lemos, the train was dividing, and our original coach was going to A Coruna.

Why couldn't we sit in the new coach from the beginning, you might ask. Well, we think it's because it only appeared at one of the reconfigurations of the train. Ie, this coach wasn't present at the creation in Irun. (I guess it would argue it was present at another creation in Bilbao. It's all relative...)

In my opinion, this kind of train service constitutes one of the fascinating convolutions of the world. It's like the guy who owns his grandfather's axe: his father changed the handle and he changed the blade, but it's his grandfather's axe... Did we actually finish on the same train we started on?

But somehow, it all fits. It all works. It's one of the reasons railways are wonderful.

It's 6.30 pm, half an hour after the Monforte de Lemos reconfiguration, and the light is starting to fade. We're following a series of steep river valleys. It's getting difficult to see now, especially when the gorge closes in on you. But what we can see is really beautiful.

It's 7 pm. It's Ourense. And we've lost the bar. Oh no... Now I feel bereft.

At nearly 8 pm, we hit the river that forms the border with Portugal. We follow this for 25-30 km.

And amazingly, given the long journey, we arrive pretty much on time in Vigo, just after 9 pm.

First impressions of the city, on the walk from the station to our Airbnb, are excellent. Looking forward to exploring...