We were just here last year, so we had already mapped out a plan to get out of town first thing. Of course, first thing with this captain is subject to debate. He still docks this thing like it’s made of porcelain or fine china or something takes him FOREVER to dock. Then the gangway takes forever, then the “officials” who have to clear the ship. We actually sailed in 1/2 hour early and barely made it off the ship at the appointed 10:00 time. Once again, we had to fight with a passenger who decided he wanted to be in front of us in line. It was a stand off, really. We were in front and then we had to move back behind a “line” to let security work. So we turned to move back – and the ever so chivalrous gentleman said, no please, you go first to me. I said no, really, after you. No, after you. Seriously! So I just stood there for at least 2 minutes looking at him and he wouldn’t budge. All so he could get off the ship in front of us. finally I just gave it up so that I wouldn’t be the one in trouble with the cruise staff. What idiots.
So after the pushy idiots and the slow captain, we were finally on our way a little after 10. Hiked up to the train station, which was further than we thought, but a nice morning workout and picked up our teeny little mini car. headed out without any incident and within 40 minutes arrived in Cambados – a sleepy little fishing town up the coast from Vigo.
The weather is not really all that great – it’s cloudy and cool, but it’s nice to be out in the country. On the drive up to Cambados, the scenery changes from city suburbs to green farmland and eventually vineyards. This area of Spain produces a special wine called Albarino – and everyone has a vineyard it seems. Instead of gardens in your backyard, you have a vineyard. Everywhere, every house, has grapes growing right up to their back door.
Cambados is a compact little town with some neat medieval buildings and an original little village for the fishermen at one end of a long seaside promenade. The tide obviously changes a great deal here – and when we arrived it was low – and I mean REALLY
low – you couldn’t see the water in many places and big boats where sitting up on the concrete landing areas – completely out of the water. It was wild. Plus, because of the low tide, there were hundreds of clam diggers out in the flats. As far as the eye could see, people were bent over the muck, digging for clams to fill their buckets. That was an incredible scene.
We wandered around, but it was truly chilly with a harsh wind off the water. Finally strolled up through the old town window shopping for lunch. We settled on a Mariscaria called Martinez. Hardly anyone was there – but when we walked in they greeted us very warmly. They had huge lobster and crab tanks that kept us occupied during our entire lunch. You should have seen those lobsters move around in there. Totally active!
We wanted the menu de dia – so we took our waiter outside and pointed to waht5 we wanted on the chalkboard that held the menu of the day. Even th9ough I speak pigeon Spanish, it was really hard to communicate when you have no written menu! I tried the Albarino wine – which was excellent – Ed of course had beer. We ended up with garlic shrimp, mixed salad, fried calamari and Octopus Gallician style to share. It was an excellent meal. Made all the more fun by trying to do the whole thing in Spanish. When the waiter found out we were from the US he was pretty shocked. Guess they don’t get very many Americans there – Brits for certain, but not American.
We finally decided to head back to town and wound our way back to our car (but only after running into some people on a tour! Crud – didn’t know they came to Cambados. Oh well – we’re having more fun in our car and wandering than on the bus – that’s for sure!
Back in Vigo, we dropped the car without incident and headed to the old town. It had started to drizzle, so we looked for a bar, but nothing really appealed to us. Found an Internet cafe, downloaded our mail and checked voicemail, then decided to bag it and head back to the ship.
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