Porto - Vigo

The train to Spain is going to be my hardest one yet. Four carriages, three second class and one first with no dining car and very few people. Furthermore, even though it is going to another country, it is a regional train and many are only on for one or two stops.

I speak with one or two people but no-one knows much English and I am rapidly running out of cars where I am not regarded as the weirdo to be resolutely ignored. Thankfully, after returning to my original place a chap called Nuno (again) comes to my rescue and does a great piece about his home town, Viana di Castello.

Just before Valença, on the border, I notice a guy across from me, his arm over the back of his seat. The woman behind him, a tall, buxom señora with dyed blonde hair, has been on since Porto. He, short dark hair and pale, joined the train much later and so far they hadn't exchanged a word, yet I and the rest of the carriage are increasingly convinced that he is not only staring at her as she sleeps but also stroking her leg. Eventually, she wakes and sits up but still no one says anything. However, as he gets off he bends and whispers something to her as he passes, she touches his hand gently and he leaves. Then suddenly he turns around, dashes into the carriage and kisses her, his right hand fumbling for her breasts. She slaps his hand away but seems completely unfazed. He strides off into the night.

In the kerfuffle an old lady and her bags are left on the train by her husband. She shrieks in alarm and someone rushes to stop the door closing. The husband shrugs and can't understand the fuss.