We crawled out of bed quite late (not used to shutting down bars on Saturday nights!) and made our way outside. Since we’re here for 3 weeks, and spending the first 2 of those in language classes, we decided today would be a non-tourism day to rest and recharge. Started with a traditional Spanish breakfast of tomato, ham, toast and cortado, the top local coffee choice served in a glass.

Walked up to the school building (about 10 minutes from where we’re staying) so we can find it tomorrow when we have to be there early. Then began meandering aimlessly, drifting down alleys, crossing big boulevards, and eventually eating lunch in a small cafeteria. Not brilliant, not terrible, just plain  “milanese” (fried fish / cutlets) served with friendly smiles and patience with our faulty Spanish. Made less serviceable because our waiter spoke Valenciano – “yo soy” sounds something like “shgo jhoy.”

More wandering, this time through the long curving park made from an old river bed that defines the northern edge of the old city. (The river was rerouted decades ago to minimize flooding. A series of huge stone bridges span what are now pools, lawns and bike paths).

Back into the old town, a few grocery stops so that we can manage dinner and breakfast a la casa, and home for naps.

Cooler. Sunshine. The packing puzzle to satisfy Ryanair. Getting to Ryanair. Flying Ryanair. Hello Spain!

Brunch with Clarissa at the Ritz – not that Ritz, but a tiny and very friendly cafe up the street from her house on Chiswick High Street. Students, families, large tattooed lorry drivers, all crammed into a space maybe 300 feet square – it feels like a microcosm of the city. Coffee, eggs with Heinz baked beans, fried tomatoes, toast and bubble and squeak – all for about eight quid, a steal by London standards. No doubt it would have been fifty each, and much less friendly, at that other Ritz. The man who runs the place is so nice, and I want to write a review saying “Is this possibly the best breakfast in London?”

Afterwards, a lovely sunny walk down along the river towards Barnes Bridge.

And then the odyssey of getting from SW London to Stansted, which is quite a long way north of NE London – oy. Long tube ride. Can’t work out where to catch bus. Walk nearly a mile in wrong direction, then back. Still in time, but bus never shows (and is, as we discover later, running an hour late behind an accident). Share an Uber with two equally stranded Chinese women and, having paid in advance for the bus tickets, get to the airport well over budget but on time. Thousands of people packed shoulder to shoulder in the terminal.

Quite tasty food at a surprisingly authentic-feeling Lebanese restaurant in the terminal – at which, ok, our server was Romanian, but funny and sweet – then joined the scrum  waiting to board.

Amazing how many places Ryanair cuts costs–paper-thin seats, no seatback pockets, no free beverage service, extra short seat belt straps, but we made it nearly on time with all our luggage.

Taxied to our student residence hall (lovely) and ran back out the door to try to find something small to eat. At nearly 1am, even Spain was calling it quits, so we ended up with a very light “meal” served by a delightful Frenchman who hugged and kissed us as he booted us out at closing time.

It somehow seemed like an appropriate start to two weeks in student housing.