Thoughts from Sarria

In the UK, there are annual events involved two entire villages (or at least the males therein) fighting over a football. Watching the news on the TV this morning, I saw there was a Spanish version of this, in which men fight to get over a barrier and then fight some more for the honour of carrying a glass case containing a statue of the Virgen del Rocío( the Virgin of the Dew). One major difference between these events is that the English one takes place over an entire day or two, whereas the Spanish one happens around 3 o'clock in the morning. I've yet to find out why.

Checking a train time on the site of the national operator, Renfe, I was impressed to see there is now a virtual assistant who can answer your queries in English. Until I asked a test question, that is. For this is what I got:- I'm Irene, Renfe virtual assistant. It is a pleasure to help you. If you want you can select the language that you want to be responded. I'm using a Google automatic translator, sorry if some answer can look strange. I recommend you to activate the loudspeaker and hear the conversation. Can I get a train to Salamanca? I understood you want bound train information Salamanca , Can you tell me the source station? If you want, here you can access our application schedules. Progress?

Speaking of almost-English . . . Here are a couple of items from our lunch menu today:-

- Sole to the plate

- Caldareida of Snuff

- Highland Ham

- Hake to the Roman

The challenge (Trevor) is to provide the original Spanish.

I saw only a fraction of the Eurovision Song Contest on Saturday night but enough to find it easy to agree with the Times reviewer: It was a long night: 26 acts, all trying to out-Euro each other with their rising strings, syrupy key changes, “innovative” dance routines and “European” fancy dress. Ditto with the review in the Daily Telegraph: Eurovision is the pop show from another dimension, a big production international extravaganza celebrating the unifying force music at its most trite. The real competition is between UK columnists on trashing the event, with intelligence, knowledge and wit. The Guardian's opener was:- It wouldn't be Saturday night without a Scandinavian crime drama. This weekend the action moved to Malmö in southern Sweden. The sensible knitwear was replaced by glittering spandex and the only thing murdered were pop songs. But though Denmark won easily in the end, the true winner of the evening was the event's host, Swedish comedian Petra Mede. Resplendent in a purple ballgown by Jean Paul Gaultier, Mede navigated perfectly Eurovision's unique blend of geo-political rivalries, deadly serious musical ambitions and camp nonsense. Amen to that.

Today I began my second camino de Santiago ('pilgrimage' to Santiago) with old friends. The first was three years ago and went from the Portuguese border up through my home town of Pontevedra. You can read an account of it here. This time we're on the so-called French Way, which runs from the Roncevalles in the Pyrenees to Santiago. But we're only doing the last stage of this, from Sarria to Santiago, a mere 110km. Truth to tell, today wasn't too tough - a bus from Santiago to Lugo and then another one to our starting point in Sarria. Tomorrow will be a different kettle of fish. And we will probably drink less wine that we have so far.