Yesterday I opened with… “I REALLY hope this place is better than first impressions suggest, otherwise I am marooned here for a couple of days. Everyone says it is a delight, but I have yet to see ANY evidence confirming those assertions.”
Alas, I report no progress other than the breakfast here was adequate and the staff remain delightful. I wonder if someone staying more than 24 hours is an anomaly or a sign of mental-retardation and they’re treating me kindly, as “different”.
You know things are bad when you go to the Tourist Information Office to ask what there is to do – and they proudly direct you to look at the wall murals in the harbour. Even Weldon’s sparting (“spray paint art”) would be more captivating, and itself only for a partial nano-second. Sorry Weldon; discerning audience.
I had lunch at the same place as yesterday, despite criticism. Same fayre – surf and turf, except surf then turf, with appropriate sequencing and no cajoling on my part. Maybe there is hope.
I met an Northern Irish couple who live in Murcia. They’ve come for the month of August to escape the humidity and 40ºC temperatures, as well as the Madrid people who come to infest the area and their summer-homes during the month. They’re bummed about Brexit (oops) but remain hopeful a deal will be struck. At the heart of their worry is reciprocal healthcare arrangements. They are both retired. Separately, they noted that the Galician coast is at the heart of the inbound drug trade as it’s vast, government resources are limited and it’s very difficult to police as a consequence. You don’t read that in the books or on the inter-webs, do you…?
So, I’m stuck here until Friday morning, and it is supposed to rain here tomorrow too. Super…
I ‘toured’ most of the town today, saving the high point (literally and geographically, for tomorrow, before I knew it was going to rain.) The plan is to get the early bus to Santiago on Friday at 0645, drop the pack off and see as much as as I can before heading to the airport for my flight to Barcelona and overnight there at a place still to be determined. I have a booking but have not heard back about a midnight check-in, which may be a problem, so tomorrow we action Plan B. I may even get a tattoo if boredom gets to me. It’s that bad.
Down-time is not completely wasted time, however.
I soaked clothes in the wash-basin with de-smelling stuff that I bought in the store. I rinsed in the shower. Quite cathartic. Try it.
I bought some cheap Spanish cologne so I can differentiate myself on the bus and the airplane.
I read the FT for the first time in a long time. Great quotation cited from Paul Tudor Jones, which indicates the way of the future: “No man is better than a machine, and no machine is better than a man with a machine.”
I net-surfed. I was recently asked which three living people I would invite to dinner if I could. I answered Nile Rodgers, George Bush Jr and Billy Connolly. Here’s Billy explaining some of the linguistic nuances between Britain and America:
I haven’t yet got around to Grace Jones. Must be a sub-conscious block working its way out, a bit like constipation.
The wind is coming up and weather’s closing in, it seems. The bar is open. My clothes are not yet dry. My fate is clear.
Manaña.
Dear Des
Would be hard to take criticism seriously from someone who takes a five week stroll to complain about food, people , and his room. They will spit in your food and clean your coffee cup with their weenie. Enjoy dinner.