Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts

Wednesday, 26 August 2026

Once in Os Peares

Os Peares (officially Nosa Señora do Pilar dos Peares) is the strangest village I’ve been to. It belongs to (or shall we say, is torn between) two provinces, four municipalities, three judicial districts and two dioceses. In part — but only in part — this is due to its unusual geography. The rivers Búbal, Minho and Sil meet here; cross one of them and you are bound to find yourself in another administrative division. This peculiar arrangement is guaranteed to make any paperwork-related undertaking a nightmare for the villagers. On the contrary, the mere mentioning of its name must provide infinite joy to bureaucrats dealing with the local matters.

It’s difficult to say what exactly is the centre of the village but I’d place it near the church (Iglesia Nuestra Señora del Pilar de los Peares) — wait, there are two buildings with this name, and I’ve never seen either of them open. Scrap that, I’d place the village centre right in the natural pool of the river Búbal, because this is the place you can meet more than one person at a time. Having said that, I spent several glorious mornings by this pool enjoying total solitude.

Next to the pool there is a reasonably modern building that combines a health centre (the doctor was on holidays when I was there), an ATM and a post office. This latter is open every working day from 11:00 to 11:30. One day I came to visit it because I needed to send a gift to my friend in Santander. The postman did not have a suitable envelope but was able to fashion something resembling it out of scraps of brown paper he’d found under his desk. I was pleasantly surprised when I learned, two weeks later, that the package had safely arrived to its addressee, together with its contents.

The village boasts its own train station where a train stops twice a day: 8:37 to Ourense and 16:48 from Ourense. So a day out in the provincial capital is doable. The train in either direction stops at platform no. 3. I don’t know how useful this information is as I was unable to find platforms no. 1 and no. 2. There is an Eiffelesque railway bridge painted sky blue, the kind of bridge you’d board a train only for the privilege to cross the river by. However, you’d have to go in the direction of Monforte de Lemos to experience that, which I never did. What I did was the next best thing: to cross it on foot. Or maybe it is the first best thing, given that you can stop at any point and enjoy the view to your heart’s content.

The village also has a pharmacy; a grocery store (I heard a rumour that the owner is about to retire, which could spell the end of it); and, of course, a number of bars. My favourite is Bar Barra, where a beer in a frosty mug and a generous tapa will cost you €2.

Os Peares is the birthplace of one Alberto Núñez Feijóo, the man who thinks he is the next Prime Minister of Spain. In another bar, spookily called Luz de Gas, a big photo on the wall shows the man himself posing with the owner-cum-waiter. I don’t know why she put it there, I think it scares the customers off.

Ah, Galicia, beautiful Galicia. Apart from Estrella Galicia and pulpo a la gallega, it gave us Franco, Rajoy and now Feijóo.

Speaking of Franco. Some 1.5 km northeast of the village centre (as defined above) you’ll find a hydroelectric power station constructed during the dictatorship, between 1945 and 1955. The generalissimo just loved his dams. Below the dam, a model village was built for the power station workers, complete with a school and a chapel. Then this housing “was abandoned and fell into disuse for decades”, although the station itself seems to be working all right. Now the restored village hosts Peares Language Immersion Centre. In the summer, the students of the immersion courses descend on the natural pool in the centre of Os Peares where they outnumber the sunbathing locals by an order of magnitude. Above the power station is another place worth visiting, El Mirador Alto da Picota; do some research (a hint: Google Maps may not show you the best route) and wear proper hiking shoes, not sandals as I did.

It’s well known that the rain in Spain stays mainly in Galicia. Not in July though, and especially not in Os Peares. In the four weeks that I spent there, there was one rainy day and several misty mornings, otherwise full sun with daily temperatures up to 40 °C.

According to Wikipedia, in 2023 Os Peares had 57 inhabitants. If it is so, there are more homes than people and, inevitably, many houses are empty, which confers this idyllic corner a certain degree of creepiness. Even stray cats and dogs are conspicuous by their absence. If there are any unsolved murders in Galicia, Os Peares provides the ideal setting. It just has this aura.

This aspect aside, Os Peares is a great spot to visit and probably spend a couple of days hiking around. By the end of the first week there, I thought I’d seen all there is to see. After two weeks, I was fed up with it and with the heat. By the end of the third week, after seeing all there is to see in Ourense, I was ready to go. I left Os Peares after four weeks hoping to never come back.

Os Peares is a place you couldn’t help returning to. On many an occasion I was greeted by a road sign welcoming me, once again, to Os Peares, which means that I must have left the village behind me at some point without noticing it. I’m considering “Once in Os Peares” for the title of my new book. OK maybe “Twice in Os Peares”. But that will be it.

More photos of Os Peares @ Shutterstock.

Wednesday, 9 January 2019

So long, Harold

I lost my friend.

Because Harold the hedgehog is more than a cuddly toy. Sure, he is a cuddly toy. He came to our house almost twenty years ago. Yuri and Timur played with him when he was young. He moved with us from England to Fuerteventura and then to Gran Canaria. With time, his formerly straight hair (which supposed to represent needles) became afro-textured, probably because we live so close to Africa. During the last two years, he was my travelling buddy. He lived in Valencia and Santander, accompanied me to Finland and to the USA and to countless walks and concerts (he’s been to Chick Corea, Canteca de Macao, Chambao and Amparanoia, among others). And now he’s gone.

Tuesday, 20 June 2017

Three minutes to departure

Ten days ago, I became an unlikely hero of Barcelona Aeroport T2 rail station.

Allow me to explain. After sleeping through most of the Norwegian Air flight Gran Canaria—Barcelona, I woke up refreshed (stiff neck notwithstanding) and quite ready for some food and drink. The station attendant at the Aeroport T2 kindly informed me that the next train to Barcelona-Sants was delayed by about ten minutes. I had half an hour to kill. Naturally, I found myself in a station café enjoying a good company of a pincho and a caña. The anxiety that kept hold of me for the last five days had finally relaxed its grip. I’ve landed, man.

Quarter an hour later, I was surprised to see the ostensibly delayed train showing up. Suspecting that it would attempt to depart on time, I paid, grabbed my backpack and promptly left.

In the train, I found a cozy seat next to the window. There was a middle-aged couple sitting opposite. Just to be sure, I asked them whether this train was indeed going to Sants. It did, they confirmed. (Unless I totally misinterpreted their Catalan.) When there was about three minutes left to departure, I realised that something was missing from the picture.

That’s right. My luggage.

What followed would have put Usain Bolt to shame. I left the carriage, ran out of the platform, into the café — the suitcase was exactly where I left it, viz. near the bar stool I occupied until a few minutes ago — the barman and the patrons just stared in astonishment — grabbed the suitcase, did a 180° turn and left the café without slowing down, ran back through the gates — the station assistant, apparently frightened by the expression on my face, quickly opened them for me and shouted “Corre, corre!” — and so I did. A few seconds later, I was sitting, panting, in the very same chair opposite the middle-aged couple who were nodding their heads and showing me thumbs up as the train began to crawl away from the airport.

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Fuerteventura

by Kompass Karten

After more than a year on Fuerte, the time has come to get a proper map of this island. At last. Google Maps is useless for place names: in the best case, they are not there. In the worst case, they are years out of date. (No, there is no street in Corralejo named Avenida del General Franco). I don’t know about GPS. I never seen anybody using GPS here anyway.

This 1:50000 Kompass map is... good. Not perfect — well, nothing is perfect — but way better than any other map I’ve seen. It is big too: 117 x 74 cm, to be precise. (The dimensions 19.5 x 11.6 x 0.9 cm quoted by Amazon refer to a folded map.) So if you find the art of map folding nontrivial, you may wish to practice. Even so, our beautiful island is rather long, so they had to print its southern part on the other side. The legend is in German, Spanish, English, French and Italian. Naturally, the place names are in Spanish, but one can come across a number of random German words or phrases (usually printed in red) which are left on their own. Here they are for you:

100 Jahre alter Plattenweg100-year-old paved path
Achtung! Gezeiten beachtenAttention! Beware of the tide
Baden gefährlich!Swimming is dangerous!
Bauernmuseumfarming museum
Felsenkapellerock chapel
Freilichtmuseumopen air museum
Genehmigungspflichtig (Rathaus La Oliva)subject to permission (from La Oliva Town Hall)
nur mit Genehmigungonly with permission
Kulturlandschaftcultural landscape
Landschaftsschutzgebietlandscape conservation area
Museumsdorfmuseum village
Naturdenkmalnatural monument
Schiffswrackshipwreck
Siedlung(early historic) settlement
Surfschulesurf school

Finally, the enclosed Lexicon (a short guide to the island) is in German only. But you don’t buy a map to read a guide. Pretty much disposable, unless you really want to know how to say gofio in German.

Wednesday, 29 August 2012

London 2012

For years, London was a place I tried to avoid. I was going there only when I needed to, which typically involved either long-haul air travel or visits to embassies, consulates and other establishments bent on depriving you from money and will to live. The only time I’ve been to the National Gallery was back in 1995, after four long hours spent in the American Embassy. Shudder.

It took me moving to Canaries to be able to appreciate London. (I can’t say “fully appreciate” or “truly appreciate”: for that, one has to live there for a while, and I am not sure if that is ever going to happen.) London was cleaner, friendlier, more exciting and more impressive than any other time I’ve been there. Also, even more expensive than just a year ago.

I’ve been there? This is the first real time I’ve been there. Till now, I’ve only been through London. Greenwich, Natural History Museum, Science Museum, Tower Bridge, V&A — I’ve never been to any of these before. Well worth a return visit, and that says not-a-museum-goer. One day I’ll be back, please keep ’em open for me.

The fact that my stay in London coincided with the Olympics may be, well, just a coincidence. But my new appreciation for the city is probably not. I thought I couldn’t care less about the Games. I was wrong. The Opening Ceremony (which I watched on the telly) was great, what with the Queen and James Bond and Sir Paul. But the bit that really made me — I am going to say now something I never expected to say — temporarily proud to be British was, of course, Mr Bean sketch.

More photos of London @ Shutterstock.

Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Megabus UK

Last month, I started to look at the public transport fares to Liverpool. Man I was for a surprise. If I were to believe the National Rail website, the cheapest single fare from Great Chesterford to Liverpool is £151.50. It occurred to me to check out Megabus which I never used before. More surprises were to follow.

First, the only Megabus destination from/to Cambridge is... Oxford. Well that makes sense. Where else people from Cambridge need to travel? But wait. What if I check the travel from London?

As it happens, Megabus offered me rail tickets for £5 each. (Apparently, they are in partnership with Virgin Trains!) Plus I paid 50 pence reservation fee, in total £10.50 the return journey from London Euston to Liverpool Lime Street. Not bad, I say.

So I thought I was sorted for my trip to Liverpool this Monday 20 June. However, my brilliant plan was almost thwarted by our excellent rail system (since the privatisation of British Rail, I am never sure who is responsible for this or that particular railroad atrocity). Monday morning, the trains to London Liverpool Street were not running. Thankfully, Tamara gave me a lift to Cambridge, but I was mentally preparing to say goodbye to Megabus plan — if I were to miss my train from Euston, I would have to buy a full price ticket from Virgin (at least £35).

At the ticket office, I asked what is the fastest way to get to Liverpool. The answer was, to take a train via... Euston. The one-way fare was more than £80! The alternative was to take the Birmingham train and change at Nuneaton. That would cost me sixtysomething quid. The train to Kings Cross was about to depart in a few minutes; I bought the ticket (£20) and boarded it.

From Kings Cross, it takes less than ten minutes to walk to Euston station. I had about half an hour to spare, so I walked (£0).

To summarise. Travel to/from London cost me four times as much as travel from London to Liverpool. Still, at £50, the whole journey is cheaper than anything on offer from the helpful Cambridge ticket office. Thank you Megabus!

Sunday, 5 June 2011

Leeds

I first visited Leeds in 1994. The place did not look welcoming. It was raining for three days and I saw a bit of sun on the fourth day, when I was about to go. All in all, the visit was a success: I got my first job in the UK. I came back in 1995 and spend three years there. Yuri was born in Leeds. Also, I learned a thing or two about samba and guitar-making. I saw John Abercrombie, Julian Argüelles, Django Bates, Carla Bley, the late Michael Brecker, Juan Martín, Barbara Thompson, Keith Tippett and Stan Tracey playing live. I even bought the tickets to see Stéphane Grappelli, but the maestro got ill and the concert was cancelled. After Leeds, Cambridge seemed to be a deep province. All gigs of interest were elsewhere.

Leeds is an amazing city. It was transforming almost daily when I was there and it keeps changing. Day or night, it is busy with life. It still does not look welcoming though. The pedestrianised area aside, it is not pedestrian-friendly. Come to think of it, it is not motorist-friendly either. As far as cyclists are concerned, it is plain hostile.

Leeds is not an easy city to live in, let alone love. Do I miss Leeds? Sure I do. I miss being called “love” by strangers. (At the petrol station: “Number four, love? Ta.”) Live there again? Probably not.

Central Leeds boasts a bewildering array of shops, bars and restaurants, but it is not easy to spot anything, um, idiosyncratically Leodian. Here is a good one: Pickles & Potter deli cum sandwich bar in Queens Arcade. A welcome relief from Starbucks; cash only.

I saw these pearls of Yorkshire wisdom in a shop window in Grassington. I made note of them for our very own Yorkshireman, Yuri. He especially liked the “pay nowt” bit.

’Ear all, see all, say nowt.
Eat all, sup all, pay nowt.
If tha ever does owt fer nowt, allus do it fer thissen.

Tha can allus tell a Yorkshireman, but tha can’t tell ’im much.

Saturday, 1 January 2011

Techniquest

If you happen to find yourself in Cardiff Bay, you could do worse than spending a couple of hours in Techniquest. The last time we were in Cardiff I didn’t get there, so yesterday I had (and used) a chance to correct that. I am not a museum-going type, so trust me: it is great. With 150 or so interactive exhibits, you definitely won’t get bored.

Saturday, 7 August 2010

Wells-next-the-Sea Carnival 2010

Unlike last year, we did not do camping this time, it was just a day trip. Arco Iris played one static set at noon and a parade at 3 pm; in between, we had some yummy pancakes aboard Albatros.

Sunday, 18 July 2010

Liverpool Brazilian Carnival 2010

This weekend, 17—18 July 2010, small (but beautifully formed) Arco Iris made it to the Liverpool Brazilian Carnival. This time, we had five caixas and four timbas but only one rep and one bell. Well we did rise to the challenge!

Saturday evening, AI (and quite a few of other samba schools) were parading through the city centre for about two hours, ending in China Town. (Good thing that before the parade we went for an early dinner in La Viña tapas restaurant. Mmmmm. Another good thing, it was not raining for a change.) Naturally, the night gig provided an opportunity to try out my new light-up drumsticks.

Today, we played two 20-minute sets (12:30 and 3:00) at St Luke’s “bombed out” church. I think by the last set we sounded the best. “Ladies and gentlemen, all way down from Cambridge — Arco Iris!”

Monday, 3 May 2010

Welsh Encontro 2010

Yes! We did it to Welsh Encontro 2010 in Cardiff — and back. Arco Iris played two slots, on Sunday in front of Kemi’s Café Bar and on Monday near Techniquest. I think today’s busk was better, maybe because of sun, maybe because, just after it, we had a jam with Samba York. On the contrary, the mass busk (“Sambadrome”) at 2 pm today was a bit of an anti-climax: it looked (and sounded) like too many people had quite enough of samba and just wanted to go home.

Sunday, 9 August 2009

Wells-next-the-Sea Carnival

Unbelievable as it is, it’s been 20 years since I last went camping. Well, not true any longer, thanks to Arco Iris. Yes, another gig! Yesterday, we hit Wells-next-the-Sea to play at the annual Carnival. We were playing three times: the first set — a 20-minute static for the arrival of the Carnival Queen; then parade around the Wells; then another short static, during which we were introduced as the “Irish Samba Band Arco”. During the parade, we were closely followed by another drum band (perhaps the organisers thought that two drumming bands together will sound better than one). It was glorious sunshine for the whole day. We were camping at the Mill Farm, a walking distance from the town centre. The highlights (apart from drumming): The Corner House restaurant; sky lanterns in the evening; and, this morning, the boat trip to Blakeney Point to see the seals.

This is probably my last gig with Arco Iris this Summer: the carnival and fête season is nearly over.