Overnight Train to Barcelona
After an entire day at the Alhambra, we headed to the Granada train station for our overnight train to Barcelona. We got there early since we had already checked out of our hotel. Fortunately there was free entertainment – the woman across from us in the lobby was apparently under extreme duress – crying, yelling, pounding – while on her phone. I think I preferred not being able to understand her.
Upon deciding we would go to the train station hours early, I said to Joe, “Let’s be sure not to wait for hours and then miss the train.” … it’s happened before. Oh, foreshadowing.
Over the course of our trip, we had discovered that thankfully, most announcements in places of transportation were in Spanish and English. Unless there is no pre-recorded announcement in English for the situation and the only train station staffer on duty doesn’t speak English … then they’re just in Spanish. An announcement came over the loudspeakers in Spanish and all the people we had been waiting with get up and run out the doors in the opposite direction of the train platform. Obviously something was going on, so we found a woman who we’d heard speaking English and asked her if she knew what was happening. Apparently there was a problem with the tracks between where we were and where the train was, and the train wasn’t coming to us – we were going to it. There were coach buses in the parking lot and everyone was getting on. At no point did anyone official tell us in English, 1) that yes, what the English-speaking woman told us was accurate, 2) that we were to get on the bus 3) where the bus was taking us.
And yet, we got on the bus. I figured a 20 minute drive. Nope. An hour and a half at least. In the dark. I still don’t know where we were. The bus let us off at an empty train station where we waited another half hour (and were asked if we had any rolling papers). STILL, we don’t know this is what we were really supposed to have done. By some unusual amount of good luck, the overnight train showed up, our tickets were accepted and off to Barcelona we went!
Yea for traveling adventures!
And then … I get a call in the middle of the night (well, it was hard to tell what time it was) from Pops. I can’t answer. Why would he be calling? Penelope? And then a text, “Earthquake?” Errrr? It’s a question, so does he think I’ve been through an earthquake? I’m pretty confident the only rumbling I’ve felt is from the train and there isn’t any mass panic in the hallway. What is going on? All I know is that we’re going to Barcelona a sea-side city and after earthquakes there are tsunamis.
Later, we learned that there was indeed an earthquake in Spain and had the train gone in a straight path, we would have gone through the town that was most effected. But the train goes in a curve and we were in no way affected. (Did I use effect v. affect correctly there? Terrible with that one.) I felt horrible that it took so long for us to have Internet access and email our parents, who were lovingly besides themselves, that all was well. But no news is good news … right?
What we woke up to … no tsunami here!
