To Ponferrada…and Vigo

Last night I strolled León old town, soaking up the atmosphere, seeing some of the sights and spending an inordinate amount of time in a bar trying to work my options for onward travel. Walking back, crowds were lining the streets leading towards my accommodation and along the road outside. It turned out that a rehearsal for the Semana Santa procession was soon to start and the balcony of my room afforded the perfect view. For over an hour hundreds of black-robed men, women and children filed past to the accompaniment of black-robed drummers and marching bands. Twice massive effigies appeared amid their mass, more black-robed people beneath and holding them up on poles while shuffling along slowly under the weight. Some I noted were even bare-footed. On a number of occasions the procession seemed to quieten, suggesting an end to it, only for it to build up again as more rows of black filed past. It was gone nine before the whole thing finally disbanded.

I had a seven o'clock departure so this morning I awoke early, cycled the deserted streets from León centre to the station and got on another practically empty train; whatever the Semana Santa problem is about getting train seats that I was told about in Bilbao I have yet to experience it. On the one hand it was good to be moving forward. On the other it was not so good to be unaware as yet of where and how I move on from Ponferrada.

The león of León

It was an uneventful train journey. The dark lifted to reveal a wide plain and snow capped hills in the far distance. We stopped at small towns, more built up than on my last train journey and which slowly developed into an urban sprawl along the route. I was beginning to think a cycle ride would not have been too bad on this flat ground but then it all changed. For the second hour the railway cut its way through hills, alongside dark green rivers in deep gorges of cold, grey granite and into tunnels burrowed through more inconvenient sections. It was a beautiful but barren landscape - rugged and demanding - and one that made me happy to be on a train rather than on a bike. 

After two hours I stepped out at Ponferrada to blue skies and icy air; despite the temperature it is not a high city but it is one hemmed in by high and snow covered mountains. An hour later and I had a ticket to Vigo. I have turned down trains for the bus: a cycle to the bus station to check all I had been told and read were true (I am feeling a little bruised and cautious at the moment after my train experiences) and a cycle around Ponferrada shops to find a suitable bag to put the bike in (thank you Decathlon) and I was able to buy a ticket to Vigo for this evening. 

Packed and ready 

The bus journey was a less comfortable version of the train journey earlier in the day, the driver moving at speed and throwing his vehicle around the many corners that the roads through mountains seem to have. Between that and the incessant beeping and sounds of mobile phones and electronic games, I was glad to get off at Vigo. I am clearly getting old, irritable and intolerant.

I reassembled my bike, it was not completely damage free but I can live without a bit of plastic on my gear lever if I have to, especially when it was buckled wheels I was worried about. It was then only a short walk to my hotel, a welcoming bed and the end of a long day.