Welcome to Zaragoza Airport - well, almost

 We are zig-zagging around a bit today in one of those areas of hamlets and farm buildings, linked by the sort of roads which happened between long established and now forgotten land divisions.  One the photos show the fill and fill again approach to road repairs.




Why are we heading this way I hear you ask? To get near Zaragoza airport is the answer.  



I have not yet lost the excitement of airports - I don’t fly enough.  I love smaller regional airports the most.  They have character and you can generally get the feel for all of them.  We came to Zaragoza for a Battle of Ebro anniversary event.  The plan was to land middle evening and stay overnight before hiring a car and driving east.  We were already late when the Ryanair jet came in over Eastern Spain and into a thunderstorm.  Watching the lightning in the distance and from above was one of those incredible and difficult to describe experiences.




We were late.  We missed the last bus.  The taxi took us near the very cheap hostal we were staying in.  We three got out and and as we did a drunken man staggered towards us.  ‘Are you you English?’ he challenge.  ‘Yes’  we replied in a state of mounting apprehension.  He threw his arms wide open and cried ‘Welcome to Zaragoza.’  I’ve had a soft spot for the place ever since.



Our return was also on a somewhat delayed plane.  I think we were meant to arrive in Stansted at midnight and ended up nearer to two,  We arrived with a small boy.  Chocolate ice cream seemed to have an effect on him.  He became the prefect drunk act.  He was fall over and giggle.  Walk into people and laugh.  Generally he was getting the ‘WTF’ look from people who considered he was going to keep them awake and annoyed across the flight.  Not a bit of it! Once airborne he was out like a light and it was some other brat that screamed the place down.  




Tomorrow, we get even closer to the airport.

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