Stan - Stead
After 66 days living the good life in España, it was finally the day for the family to visit my home away from home.
"Let me know when you land!" A quick message to Mum, who should be heading with the clan to their gate by now, seven hours after leaving home for Stansted. They'll be here tomorrow!
It was a mutual decision to stay away from the pink gin this time and play it safe with beer and wine. Having already been to Dr Livingstone's, we went to the world's smallest Irish bar and the world's most un-English, English pub you could ever hope to see. Oh well, we aren't picky!
"Let me know when you land!" A quick message to Mum, who should be heading with the clan to their gate by now, seven hours after leaving home for Stansted. They'll be here tomorrow!
"I don't think we're going to make it."
The reply from the comedian younger brother - "Good one."
"I'm serious. We've been stuck in traffic for hours."
... Oh.
So, after a tense wait to see if they pulled off the miracle of the decade and the unbelievable realisation that they had missed their plane, I was (somewhat begrudgingly) told that "The Stead's" had made it onto the flight.
After brushing off the disappointment - a bit too quickly for my mum's liking - that I would have to wait until Christmas to see the immediate family, I prepared myself for a weekend with the Stead's.
...
Having finished my day at work, the cultured young woman that I am was leaning against the wall of Burger King - where I had decided we should meet - watching the world go by as I kept an eye out for the two Brits I was looking for. A few minutes with no sign and I realised that I had been staring through the 20 foot light-up Christmas tree at a blonde head. The first and only blonde head I have seen for two months.
That was the blonde head I was looking for.
After a quick hello and a phone call to Mum to let her know we'd found each other - not difficult, Pontevedra is only small - we headed for "The Jungle Bar."
After a quick hello and a phone call to Mum to let her know we'd found each other - not difficult, Pontevedra is only small - we headed for "The Jungle Bar."
Dr Livingstone Supongo (which I've just the second realised translates roughly to the famous phrase "Dr Livingstone I presume") is the perfect mix of over-the-top decoration and hellishly good margaritas. From there we headed to Paulaner Munchen (not entirely sure that's the name of the place or just something they sell but that's what I'm calling it) for dinner.
Since I arrived two months ago I have been told by everyone who lives here that I need to try the fish. None in particular, just fish. So that's what I did: a fish crepe to start and monkfish and prawn skewers for a main. As sceptical as I was when Claire told me to try monkfish - if you don't know what one looks like, google it to understand - if there is one persons advice I will take when it comes to fish, it's Claire's.
Her recommendation did not disappoint.
Next stop: Soul Beer. The kookily decorated local that is home to - if the words on their sign is anything to go by - music, food & drink. For the record, the sign couldn't be more accurate. A few more drinks in and we were joined by Tom, a.k.a. Burnley Boi, a.k.a. my flatmate. Despite the nickname and - what to me is a - northern accent, there was still a little bit of confusion as to whether or not he was Irish.
He's not. Never has been.
More drinks! At this time of night, despite being past midnight, it was still quiet. I'm still not used to Spanish time yet, so we carried on as we would back home. So, we ended up in the smallest, emptiest club in all of Spain. After a night on wine for me and beer for Claire, we made the questionable decision to swap to pink gin and lemonade. A fine decision when out in England and they use measurers and charge more for even a drop more than a shot, but here it seems that measurers don't exist and the Spanish are a generous breed. We discovered (with mixed reactions) that a pink gin and lemonade is shockingly good value for money: a pint glass with at least five shots of gin and a bottle of lemonade to "water it down."
Needless to say, it was time for bed soon after.
Saturdays haven't seen me rise from my bed before eleven o'clock - at the earliest - for at least ten years. Until today. I was meeting the Stead's in a café around the corner from my flat at ten o'clock so my alarm had been set for half past eight. Plenty of time to wake myself up, have a shower, get ready and be there on time.
I woke up at ten. Thank God it's just around the corner.
When I finally arrived and had finished my coffee that had been brought to me by, possibly, the most unfriendly looking waitress in Spain, we went for breakfast. We found a little café down one of the side streets in the old town and were told that there were more seats available upstairs. Up we went and it seemed we were magically transported to the home section show room of Urban Outfitters. The decorations still had price tags on them. Strange, but they fed us so we were happy.
We all seemed to be feeling pretty good after our pints of gin the night before. We were doing a good job of pretending to be anyway. So, we spent the morning walking around Pontevedra. It's only small, there's not a lot to see, so we sat out in the sun and had a few drinks before Shane declared it "cake o'clock" and we made our way to Acuña: the local bakery chain.
Once cake o'clock had been and gone, we decided to embrace Spanish culture and have a siesta.
Night number two started very similarly to number one: outside Burger King, to "The Jungle Bar" for drinks before finding food. Surprisingly, it's harder to find somewhere to eat at half past seven than you would think. It was only when Shane and I decided to send Claire in on her own that we found out we were being turned away because they had tables booked at half past ten. Claire assured him we'd be out in twenty minutes... We're English.
Since I arrived two months ago I have been told by everyone who lives here that I need to try the fish. None in particular, just fish. So that's what I did: a fish crepe to start and monkfish and prawn skewers for a main. As sceptical as I was when Claire told me to try monkfish - if you don't know what one looks like, google it to understand - if there is one persons advice I will take when it comes to fish, it's Claire's.
Her recommendation did not disappoint.
Next stop: Soul Beer. The kookily decorated local that is home to - if the words on their sign is anything to go by - music, food & drink. For the record, the sign couldn't be more accurate. A few more drinks in and we were joined by Tom, a.k.a. Burnley Boi, a.k.a. my flatmate. Despite the nickname and - what to me is a - northern accent, there was still a little bit of confusion as to whether or not he was Irish.
He's not. Never has been.
More drinks! At this time of night, despite being past midnight, it was still quiet. I'm still not used to Spanish time yet, so we carried on as we would back home. So, we ended up in the smallest, emptiest club in all of Spain. After a night on wine for me and beer for Claire, we made the questionable decision to swap to pink gin and lemonade. A fine decision when out in England and they use measurers and charge more for even a drop more than a shot, but here it seems that measurers don't exist and the Spanish are a generous breed. We discovered (with mixed reactions) that a pink gin and lemonade is shockingly good value for money: a pint glass with at least five shots of gin and a bottle of lemonade to "water it down."
Needless to say, it was time for bed soon after.
...
Saturdays haven't seen me rise from my bed before eleven o'clock - at the earliest - for at least ten years. Until today. I was meeting the Stead's in a café around the corner from my flat at ten o'clock so my alarm had been set for half past eight. Plenty of time to wake myself up, have a shower, get ready and be there on time.
I woke up at ten. Thank God it's just around the corner.
When I finally arrived and had finished my coffee that had been brought to me by, possibly, the most unfriendly looking waitress in Spain, we went for breakfast. We found a little café down one of the side streets in the old town and were told that there were more seats available upstairs. Up we went and it seemed we were magically transported to the home section show room of Urban Outfitters. The decorations still had price tags on them. Strange, but they fed us so we were happy.
We all seemed to be feeling pretty good after our pints of gin the night before. We were doing a good job of pretending to be anyway. So, we spent the morning walking around Pontevedra. It's only small, there's not a lot to see, so we sat out in the sun and had a few drinks before Shane declared it "cake o'clock" and we made our way to Acuña: the local bakery chain.
Once cake o'clock had been and gone, we decided to embrace Spanish culture and have a siesta.
Night number two started very similarly to number one: outside Burger King, to "The Jungle Bar" for drinks before finding food. Surprisingly, it's harder to find somewhere to eat at half past seven than you would think. It was only when Shane and I decided to send Claire in on her own that we found out we were being turned away because they had tables booked at half past ten. Claire assured him we'd be out in twenty minutes... We're English.
I ate octopus. Monkfish is one thing, but octopus! I ate tentacles and enjoyed them. Tentacles.
...
Sunday was a day for finding somewhere new. So, after meeting for breakfast at eleven o'clock - I still managed to be late because I couldn't find the entrance to Claire and Shane's hotel despite walking practically past it twice - we made our way to the train station.
No trains to Vigo, 50 Euros for a taxi, too far to walk... Bus it is. A twenty minute journey that the driver managed to get done in about seven (only a slight exaggeration - we were flying!)and we were there. For 2 Euros! Thank God we didn't go for the taxi.
The bus station is a bit of a walk from the centre of town, but I'm well overdue for a bit of exercise so it's a good job.
Chaos. Claire forgot pavements exist and decided to follow Google maps while walking in the middle of the road. There was a man doing circus tricks at the traffic lights - a bit like James Cordon does with Crosswalk the Musical and going to driver's windows asking for money. We tackled possibly the most hectic roundabout I have ever seen! All of this before actually getting into the city centre, but we made it.
Shane had the idea to eat a little bit later today so that we would finish at the time the 10 million Christmas lights of Vigo turned on. A good plan until it got to ten to four and we realised that everywhere stops serving food until about eight o'clock. Nightmare.
Not to worry! The lights turn on at six-ish, We'll have another few drinks in the centre and see all of the lights on the walk back to the bus station and find somewhere to eat back home. Perfect idea.
Oh my God, the people we had to weave in and out of to get anywhere. I love Christmas spirit as much as the next guy - more than - but the people of Vigo really get the most out of their Christmas lights. They were out in full force: children, adults, dogs, I wouldn't be surprised if a couple of hamsters had joined in on the family outing. It. Was. Packed.
After perfecting the necessary ninja to avoid ploughing into the oblivious Spanish spectators and we'd made it back to the bus station, I had the time (and energy) to reflect on the fact that the lights were actually pretty ace. However, the focus was now on food.
We played it safe and went back to Paulaner Munchen. This time I copied Claire and had Mussels to start because I'd stolen one of hers last time we'd come and it was beautiful. My main (again) was monkfish - grilled this time, not skewered - and some of Claire and Shane's Paella which, despite what the menu said, was not "for two" but more likely four.
Suitably stuffed after our gargantuan meal and tired from the day, we made our way back to Burger King and said our goodbyes before going our separate ways.
So, it wasn't the weekend that we had expected - we'd have been a lot more drunk if the rest of the family had made it - but it was (for me anyway) a good one. So, I'd like to finish off by saying thank you to The Stead's, firstly for managing to get on the plane and for looking after me company all weekend. Hopefully next time the rest of the clan will be able to make it too.
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