Travelling hassles often start before you even plan your journey and then they lie in wait for you further along the line, in many cases already ordained by the Lord. Then, when you book your tickets you're still not aware that anything is awry, but never be too sure. As the time of your departure draws near you might start to notice things, like brewing bad weather that might develop into storms. You will be thinking, well, that's 'up north', not down south, I'll be fine, but then, a couple of days before departure, as you snooze in bed and all outside is dark, you hear a strong wind and driving rain being swished around in the blizzard outside. It'll blow over before I go, you might say, confident that all will be alright, but you clearly forgot about the tree on the track or whatever other storm-related ailment is going to affect your day. And don't for one minute think that getting up really early, getting down to the railway station to get the first train, will save your bacon, it won't.
I had decided to take the 0709 to London Victoria or, failing that, the 0717, which would take me direct to St. Pancras International. There was nothing to suggest that there were any problems, apart from news reports about the severe battering various places around the UK were taking from Storm Darragh. When I reached the station a large lady in a colourful coat and pulling a small bright yellow suitcase behind her, came out of the station and told me, without me having to ask her, that there were problems with the trains. Clearly, nobody knew what kind of problems, but everybody was thinking back to the driving rain and the heavy winds and put two and two together: it was something to do with the severe weather we'd been having. There was only one thing for it, decamp to Purley Oaks station and catch the 0721 to London Bridge, actually, a kind of better option. Fortunately I had a lift and was dropped off outside the station. I humped my heavy suitcase up a flight of stairs and waited. Soon, the train arrived and off I went on leg one of my journey from London to Barcelona.
You might be wondering why I was taking the train and not doing my usual taxi to the airport (£100) and the reason was simple: I can't stand the hassle of flying, the racist taxi driver to the airport or the foreign taxi driver taking me to the wrong airport, the two hours of waiting around at the airport assuming that 'security' had been smooth running. Often it's not and you have to go straight to the gate, no time to chill out. Then the nervy flying situation itself, will there be turbulence or won't there, the problem of what happens if a huge heifer decides he (or she) is sitting next to you, everything about it is horrible and I hate it. So, I booked trains instead of planes: London to Paris, Paris to Barcelona, Barcelona to Madrid, Madrid to Bilbao and then, sadly, a flight from Bilbao to London Gatwick airport. I much prefer Gatwick as the alternative is often London Heathrow and all the hassles that causes, circling around over the airport until there's a slot to land, it's so infuriating waiting and waiting before you hear "cabin crew prepare for landing" and even then there's no certainty. It gets even worse when the caption says "ten minutes to landing" and I look outside the window and think to myself there's no way he's getting all that way down in ten minutes. Somehow he tends to manage it, but whatever you might say, flying is horrible in the extreme and I really cannot stand it. I much prefer a train that takes you into the centre of the city than another taxi (£100) from the airport to wherever I'm staying.
So, I'm on the train, the 0931 London St. Pancras to Paris and from there I have just over an hour to cross from the Gare du Nord to the Gare du Lyon. The journey on Eurostar is pretty uninspiring and even when you're through the tunnel and in France, it's still not brilliant, there's little to see. It took three hours and because the journey was so non-descript, I can't remember much about it. I don't even remember if somebody was sitting next to me or not. I can't remember if I had an aisle seat or a window seat although I think it was the latter as I'd have hated to be boxed in by another passenger. The television celebrity Eammon Holmes was on the train. I spotted him in his wheelchair on the platform and then never saw him again. Presumably he was spending a few days in Paris, but I don't know for sure.
It took three hours to reach Paris and then, when I got there I was faced with a huge queue for taxis. I was offered a motorbike taxi and refused it and then wandered back into the station in search of the Metro. While there was a little bit of hassle trying to locate the right ticket machine I somehow managed to get it right. I headed for the metro platform and reached the Gare du Lyon where I found my train, the 1442hrs to Barcelona, which was going to take in the region of six hours. I remember sitting next to a girl who spent the entire journey watching movies, one about women who were pregnant, but because I was only occasionally glancing at her laptop screen, I couldn't really make head nor tail of what was going on.
It was a long journey and at times it became tiresome. I broke up the time by heading for the nearby buffet car for lunch and then later dinner. For lunch a cheese and ham sandwich plus a vanilla yoghurt and for dinner later, around 1800hrs, a pasta dish and another vanilla yoghurt, plus, on both occasions, a cup of Darjeeling tea. Again, I didn't spend a great deal of time admiring the scenery outside of the window. It was, after all, fairly average.
I did spend a great deal of time reading Life by Keith Richards, which is absolutely wonderful. I've got two books on the go at present, one being Life and the other Eric Ambler's Epitaph for a Spy, which is equally good. As darkness set in and the train ploughed on towards Barcelona stopping at places like Bréziers, Montpelier Saint-Roche, Narbonne, Perpignan and so forth, I was getting tired of the journey and just wanted to get off. I remember feeling this way when there was around two hours still to go and longed for the moment when we arrived, but it seemed an age away. People came and went and some stayed to the bitter end, only getting up to go to the bathroom as I did on one occasion, yes, just one momentous occasion when I could have done with not having anybody outside waiting to go in, but it was much worse than that as the person waiting was the girl sitting next to me back in coach 14. There was only one thing to do. I emerged sheepishly and walked in the opposite direction to where I was sitting, I simply couldn't face any disparaging expressions and fortunately I didn't get any. How bad might it have been if she'd remarked, "God! What have you been eating?" Well, had she asked me I would have told her that junk food had made up most of my food consumption that day, from a pain au raisin to a cheese and ham sandwich to a poor quality pasta dish, not forgetting vanilla yoghurts and two cups of Darjeeling. She said nothing and nor did I.
When I eventually disembarked I trundled my way to the taxi rank and headed for Motel One, a hotel I last enjoyed in Vienna back in 2017. Let's say this about it, it's basic in many respects and fairly cheap too, but it's also very pleasant. I like the decor, the darkness, the video of a roaring log fire in every room (until, of course, you turn on the television). I was in Room 414 but they decided to confuse matters for the sake of being trendy and called it room 4.14, which was a little confusing at first. The room looked out on to flats across the road. There was a rain shower (which I wasn't expecting) but they're never as good as you think they're going to be, not a patch on the one in my room in Tokyo a few years ago. I had very little in the way of complaints. I hadn't paid for breakfast and so I had to pay when I went down in the morning. To be frank with you, it wasn't that good. There appeared to be a great selection of food on offer, but in reality that wasn't the case. On day one I was a little disappointed with the fresh fruit in a bowl, it looked very dry, but the worst thing was the lack of decent cereals. Cornflakes and two different types of granola plus a container billed as muesli with fruit that was really just uncooked porridge oats. I opted for the latter reluctantly and added some sliced banana to give it some flavour. This I repeated on the morning of my departure after two days in room 4.14. There wasn't much around the hotel either, but ultimately it didn't matter.
The check-out time was noon and I missed it, for the first time ever, I think. I'd been working downstairs on my lap top and later, as I went to my room, I found my entrance was blocked. A red light instead of a green one meant I couldn't get in my room and had to go back to the front desk to plead for another hour, just enough time to shower, get packed and get out. I decided to walk to the nearest Metro station where I journeyed on two lines to Barcelona Sants railway station. There was a train to my chosen destination of Madrid at 1500hrs using the train operator Renfe. I queued for a ticket, which set me back 48.50 Euros and then I went to the Comos restaurant and ordered paella (what else?) and a yoghurt. For some reason there's a lot of yoghurt on display in certain types of restaurant in Barcelona.
What really annoyed me (there's always something) was the airport style security before boarding the 1500hrs train to Madrid. I journeyed from France to Barcelona without the need for a scanner but there I was doing what I normally do when I'm at an airport. In all honesty, it wasn't that bad and soon I was on the train and waiting to depart. Initially I sat in seat 17b because it was dark on board and I didn't see that 1 before the 7. I was supposed to be in seat 7b so I picked up my belongings, including my heavy and cumbersome suitcase which I'd somehow manhandled into the overhead shelves that ran the length of the carriage (carriage 3) and moved to where I should have been sitting.
The time is 1634hrs and we've just departed from our first stop. The light outside is starting to fade and again the scenery ain't up to much. The stop was Zaragoza something or other. The train quickly picks up speed and I'm thinking about finding the buffet car if one exists, which I'm sure it does. The train is fairly crowded, but when is there anywhere that isn't these days?
The conditions outside are almost desert-like and the skies are misty-looking. I'm not sure how long the journey is, but I don't think it's that long. I reckon at most three hours, but I might be wrong. I think the longer journey is the one to Bilbao, which is tomorrow at 1205hrs. Right now, however, I am intrigued about the landscape outside of the window. It's basically a desert of some sort, devoid of everything bar small, round, green bushes, but nothing else, no houses or cultivated land, the occasional wind farm, but nothing else. I tried Googling what it might be, but the computer (my computer) wouldn't allow me access to the search engine, claiming that bad actors might be trying to access my laptop. There are occasionally signs of a road but they are few and far between and I figured it would be a great place to camp, literally miles from anything and anybody. It doesn't look like farmland, more like moorland, but it's huge and has been going on since leaving Barcelona. It looks as if the next stop is Madrid Atocha station, but it could be hours away, I just have a hunch that it's not. I'm loving what's going on outside the window, the point being that nothing is going on as there isn't anything to go on. It's desert-like, moor-like and it goes on forever. In the distance, looking out of the right hand side of the carriage (in the direction of travel) there are some mountains hemming in a little bit of the desert, but the mountains come and go and the desert just carries on. On the left hand side I can't see any mountains, but instead just a flat landscape peppered with these tiny bushes. There are a few electricity pylons and now, on the right hand side, I can see something industrial, a large crane, perhaps, but now a steep bank obscures my view on both sides and when the bank ends, more barren scrub land as flat as a pancake and in the far distance some mountains almost obscured by mist. Above are grey clouds, it's all very mysterious and I love it.
We've been through a couple of shortish tunnels and as we emerged the desert continued, a little more hilly than before but still very much desert on both sides of the train. And suddenly, on the right hand side at least, there was a brief sign of life in the shape of buildings, some in the process of being built, but now the bank has returned and I can't see anything. Soon, another tunnel, but it's short-lived again. There is still a lot of desert but now there appears to be a town or a small city or the start, perhaps, of urban sprawl, but also plenty of industrial goings on. I can only guess we're approaching Madrid, but my view is once again obscured by steep banks. It's 1733hrs and if I'd taken time to look at my ticket I would have seen that we're due to arrive in Madrid at 1745hrs so just under three hours in total. Sometimes I think I must waltz around half asleep.
On my travels today I have met two beggars, but I simply don't carry cash with me, although I've been sorely tempted to ask if they take credit cards. The joke would be on me if they said yes.
I took a taxi to the Pestana Plaza Mayor hotel and it's a little bit on the posh side, roughly double the price of the Motel One in Barcelona. To be honest I could do without all the pampering by the staff. I hate being called sir and having somebody carry my luggage to the room, as if I'm going to provide a tip to the porter. The room, room 406, again on the fourth floor is poncy and it seems a waste as I'm only here one night. This is the sort of hotel that has white towelling gowns and slippers for its guests and I hate it, there's a minibar with nothing worth having inside it, a coffee machine on the desk (actually, the Motel One didn't have a desk, a major omission, but this one does. There's no bathroom here, just a shower, but it's all very posh, far to posh for me, I hate poncy places at the best of times.
I went to look at the pool and it's far too hot down there for a swim, and it's too dark. There's a poorly equipped gym (no exercise bike) and I think a sauna. I don't like it and would prefer a walk.
I'm annoyed with my taxi driver. I gave him a tip and he didn't include it on the receipt, the bastard.
And now I'm thinking of food. There's a restaurant downstairs that's fairly reasonable and I get 10% discount apparently. But I'm thinking of going out for a walk as I've spent a lot of time sitting down since Monday and it's getting to me.
I took a stroll, mindful that it was dark (not dangerous) but I was more concerned about finding my way back. I spent my time peering through the windows of restaurants trying to assess if they were too pricey or not and eventually settled on Taberna La Taba, which wasn't that upmarket, in fact, I realised when I was handed the small A5-sized laminated menu that it wasn't really up to much. Put it this way, I could have made a better paella. It arrived in the standard paella dish but really it was just yellow rice and chicken pieces with chopped up green beans and a few butter beans. It filled a hole but that was it. A cold sparkling mineral water arrived, plastic bottle and all and I sat there munching on some padron peppers and a couple of ham croquettes while I awaited the main course. I considered dessert for all of a minute and then asked for the bill.
Once outside I tried to retrace my steps. The GPS on my iphone said I was five minutes away on foot and I felt fairly confident that I would find my route home, but no. The phone ran out of power and I wandered aimlessly trying to remember how to get back to the Calle Imperial. In the end I took a cab and when I reached the hotel took a shower and read a bit of Epitaph for a Spy by Eric Ambler. I've got two books on the go at present, the other one being Life by Keith Richards, which is brilliant.
I'm really not keen on the Pestana Plaza, it's poncy and everybody thinks I'm impressed. I'm not. I've eaten in some of the best restaurants in the world and slept in some of the most amazing hotels. I don't like poncy hotels with too much going on in the room. I don't need a hotel where you need somebody to show you how to operate the air con and the lighting. Give me basic and cheap any day. Or something like Motel One, I'm sure there's one here in Madrid, I wish I'd checked.
It's now the morning, just gone 0600hrs and I'm showered and ready to have breakfast, which is going to cost me 19 Euros. I had to pay 14 Euros at the Motel One in Barcelona so this better be good. I take a train to Bilbao departing Madrid at 1205hrs. My meeting here in Madrid is from 0900hrs to 1000hrs, my plan is to come back to the Pestana Plaza and then cab it to the station to buy a ticket.
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