A Coruña - Irun

The phone rings at 6 and again at 6.30 because the owner of the hotel doesn't feel I've made much noise in the intervening period. I roll out of bed and shave, an arduous task I had meant to do the previous night, but a much tidier face stares bleary-eyed back at me from the mirror.

In the station cafe I order breakfast. Even in a language I don't understand the news is still bleak: A shooting in the US, trouble in the Balkans, climate change and a footballer breaking his leg.

On the platform a single carriage waits behind the engine, it is just like a coach on rails. Its too early in the morning to worry about how difficult this will make things. Having settled down the conductor makes me move seats to make way for an interesting looking girl who is also in the wrong place. I know I should try and start a conversation but she is intimidatingly good looking and there's no way my tired morning advances will look anything but creepy.

Waking an hour or so later, I know I have to do some work, so I turn uncomfortably to the girl behind me and ask where she is going. This is the simplest opener, even if so far no-one in Spain has understood my first attempt at the question, just cocking their heads to one side and assuming a puzzled expression.

Her name is Elena and she is keen to improve her English, so we talk for a long time. Unlike some conversations that have dried up the moment I finish asking questions, Elena is keen to know all sorts of different things, often interrupting enthusiasticly when a new thought comes to her.

After acquiring some new carriages in Ourense, including a dining car, the train travels alongside the Sil river, flowing in the opposite direction to become the Minho and to eventually reach the sea at Vigo. The view from a train is immeasurably improved near a river and here is no exception, the flat calm waters a perfect mirror for the pine studded cliffs.

The on board cafe remains shut for the majority of the journey until just after 2. Here, I speak with two toughs heading for Bilbao, who read Men's Health, which this month promises to give the men of Spain "More and Better Sex" and "Bigger Muscles", articles with international appeal. We eat chorizo in a bun, the cafe's only real culinary offering. Is there butter? Nao. I ask if there is cheese. Nao. Can I have it warm? Nao. Just chorizo in a bun.

A tiny old man, with a huge smile and wispy grey hair, is going with his wife to Paris. He used to work in Avignon and every year the couple make this trip. His time in France means we can talk much more easily and he agrees to an interview. He starts in Spanish but then switches to French half-way through.