After a broken night's sleep a nosebleed woke me up at a quarter past five, just after first light. Not too serious thankfully. We climbed into the car at a quarter to seven, as the sun emerged gloriously from the horizon at the end of the road outside the house. Veronica uses a phone app called Waze for route planning and reliable information updates, with the phone plugged into the car dashboard to display information. Its performance is very impressive, receiving live info updates from fellow travellers and integrating it into the dashboard info display.
Being early Friday morning rush hour time, Waze calculated our arrival time as a quarter to nine. It was accurate to within a minute of our arrival at Terminal 2C. It flagged up every radar camera and motorway police surveillance point, and highlighted stretches of slow congested traffic and how long it would take to pass through, all the time recalculating journey time if needs be. Seldom, as its prediction was amazingly accurate. Once you reach the A7 outside Girona it's a straightforward journey south to the Barcelona ring road. The last 35km is a nightmare of complexity as greater Barcelona's population is over 1.6 million, and each suburb is accessible from the ring road.
I was very impressed by pro-active airport staff funnelling us into a queue jumping lane to passport control on arrival last Saturday, and to the security check-in on the return leg. Little was said, just miles and subtle hand waves to guide you. Making vulnerable travellers feel like VIPs is a fine art. I was an accompanying spouse in a clerical shirt! I wear a black shirt and cross for travel as I find it eases or bypasses explanation. On arrival at Bristol we were discreetly diverted through passport control, to a live border force official about 20 years only instead of a robot robot gate, but there was no noticeable fast track on the way out.
The flight arrived on time and we were out of the arrivals area by a quarter to one, fast than I'd imagined when booking, so I'd booked for a three o'clock coach to Cardiff. The one o'clock coach was still boarding and I made a tentative approach to the driver, aware that re-booking for an earlier coach although possible, involved an additional fee. Our driver just waved us on board, not even bothering to examine our tickets. It's Friday afternoon - he said, I want to get home, and I'm here only because the guy who was meant to be driving didn't turn up for work. He had no intention of doing someone else's journey admin, but willing to get as people to their destinations as had arrived in time for the coach. Admirable pragmatism!
We arrived at Sophia Gardens coach station at a quarter to three, and walked home slowly, through the city's campsite in Pontcanna Fields, where we stopped for a drink and slice of bara brith, Then a stop at the Pontcanna Street Co-op to buy something to make a meal with. Clare fancied fish, I fancied baked beans to spice up with a little chorizo available in the fridge at home. By five we sat down to a late lunch, or was it an early supper?
I don't know what happened after supper, but I listened to The Archers after we'd eaten and unpacked, and then fell soundly asleep in my armchair and slept the rest of the evening, waking up when it was time to go to bed and get some more sleep.
We had a lovely time in L'Escala, getting to know Veronica and John and enjoying an environment neither of us has experienced before. One thing is certain. Next time we'll make sure to book a flight to Girona. No matter whether flights are very early or late, that 200km airport journey is well worth avoiding.
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