It’s me again, the voice of liberation and release. Here is my next enthralling episode, lovingly prepared to grip you by the lapels and shake you in a moderately rough manner.
I spent an hour or so on the last evening in Carcassonne sorting out my route to Tarragona. This was a painstaking process but I felt it was time well spent so that I would avoid any stress and uncertainty en route. Got up early, walked the 30 minutes to the station and had plenty of time to relax as I waited for my first train, Carcassonne to Narbonne. This all went without a hitch and I had plenty of time to catch the next one to Port Bou. Everything was going to plan and I was quietly congratulating myself on my previous night’s preparation. The train stopped at Perpignan and I noticed that everybody was getting off. I thought something must be wrong but then a conductor approached me and told me that the train was terminating there due to a strike and that there would be no trains to Port Bou that day. This was something that was not communicated to me at any point during enquiries or purchasing seat reservations etc. I then tried TGV for a train to Barcelona but unsurprisingly there were no seats available. I then tried Flixbus but for some reason the online booking system wouldn’t accept either of my debit cards. Not to be deterred I then discovered there was a shop a short walk away that sold tickets. I arrived at the shop and discovered it was basically a bookie’s full of marginalised types who seemed very interested in me once they realised I was a tourist. This became evident despite my best efforts to remain anonymous by pointing at the Flixbus page on my phone and speaking as few words as possible, only in French. This approach appeared to be successful until the assistant asked me something that required an advanced understanding of the Gallic tongue. I did manage to get out without any bother but it felt very uncomfortable. I am led to believe it is advantageous to do something that frightens you every day so I will put that down to development. Anyway, got the ticket and just had a 2-hour wait for the bus. Everything was back on track and I could chill for a while now. The bus was due at 2.20pm and at 1.55 I got a message saying it was 165 minutes late. This was not ideal but I still had time to get to Barcelona and catch a train to Tarragona. The time passed, the bus arrived and away we went. 20 minutes on the motorway and the traffic suddenly ground to a halt and stayed that way for 2 hours. There was now no way I could get a train to Tarragona so I started looking for a hostel in Barcelona. It was 10pm by the time we got off the bus and I had set off at 7am that morning. The succinct moral of this story is; when someone says “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail” tell them to Phuck off.
“The seagulls always sound the same” – Me
Let’s be honest though, who wouldn’t like a night in Barcelona? It just cost me the price of the hostel and I still had to pay for the one in Tarragona even though I contacted them and explained what had happened. The hostel was great (called 360) and I had a little time in the morning, before I caught the train, to see if they had finished La Sagrada Familia yet. After all, construction only started 140 years ago. Well, the answer is no. Mañana mañana. Cost £40 for the night.
Arrived in Tarragona, checked in and just went to the beach as I only had one afternoon and night there now. I haven’t got a lot to say really, sunbathed, had my tea and a shower, went to bed, got up, left. I didn’t see much of the town and learned very little about it. A bit shabby but even Alan Whicker had his off days. The assistant washed my clothes for free as she was riddled with guilt about having to charge me for the night I hadn’t stayed. Spent about £60
So, to Zaragoza. To be honest this was not somewhere that had been on my list but it was the easiest place to get a direct train to my next stop. I had originally been planning to stay until Sunday and then visit my brother and brother in law who live in Granada. However, they had a family party arranged for Sunday so I decided it would be better to go on Saturday. I tried to get a refund for the night I wouldn’t be staying but just ended up in a rather frustrating game of email tennis with Hostelworld and the Hostel, neither of whom seemed willing to address the issue. I gave up and put it down to experience. The hostel was called The Botanic and I suppose it did grow on me. The staff were ok and can’t be held accountable for their shyster employers. I was impressed and surprised by the city. Surprised by the size but shouldn’t have been as apparently it is Spain’s fifth largest city. Impressed by the architecture and art history. I visited the Museo de Zaragoza which had a fairly extensive Goya collection and some wonderful pieces by other artists of whom I had never heard. Entrance was free, always a bonus. I also nipped in a contemporary art gallery that, amongst other delights, had a chair made from drawing pins. A must for the dedicated anti-social introvert. As I only had one full day there I covered some ground; visited the Basilica de Nuestra Senora del Pilar, some Roman ruins, an extensive yomp around the city and a small park, the name of which escapes me. I was going to have a nosey at the Palacio de la Aljafería but an overzealous security guard put me off. All in all a busy but entertaining day. Spent about £75 over the two nights not including the night I had already paid for but didn’t stay(£25). It had been an expensive few days without really doing much.
The journey to Granada was delightfully trouble free and my brother collected me from the station. They live a few miles outside the city in a lovely house with a pool and jacuzzi/hot tub. Both these were well utilised the following day for the party. I hadn’t had a bath for seven weeks and so I had a long soak before we went for some food at a favourite restaurant of theirs. Fried anchovies, squid, patatas de pobre, monkfish and some spectacular cheesecake. De puta madre, as they say in Spain. My brother-in-law Miguel’s sister was celebrating her birthday and the whole family was there. Parents, siblings, nieces, nephews. It was a great day, with lovely people, and fantastic to have some meaningful social interaction. I did get surprisingly sunburnt. As much as I enjoyed catching up with my brother and having some home comforts, I was coming to the end of my time in Europe and still had a few places to visit.
Next stop was Torremolinos. I had worked there a few seasons in the eighties and thought I would see how it is today. Back then it was all young British and Scandinavian tourists getting legless, timeshare salespeople, Moroccan hash dealers, Costa Del Crime villains and a mental nightlife. Muggings were rife and hotel rooms and apartments often got robbed. However, despite the tackiness there was a great atmosphere and my memories are mostly good ones. On my return I stayed at The Hostel Guillot but had my own room which was pleasant. I had one full day there so had a good look around and visited some old haunts, most of which aren’t actually open in any shape or form now. I wasn’t expecting much and didn’t get much. It would have been nice to have a drink in the bar I used to work in but that is long gone and the entire building empty. It has a completely different feel now and none of the party lifestyle seems to remain. Strangely though, walking down the main shopping street, Calle San Miguel, it seemed like it could have been 1987 again as that really hasn’t changed at all. It was self indulgent nostalgia, nothing more. Cost about £80 for the two nights.
It felt like I was leaving myself with a busy schedule for the last week but I was determined to see some of Portugal. The train routes were lengthy and had many changes so it wasn’t ideal. I set off from Malaga at 9am and didn’t get to Lisbon until 9pm. For some unknown reason, well unknown to me, Portugal is on BST so I gained an hour. The hostel was fantastic, Ambiente, so I just grabbed some food and was asleep before you could say Christiano Ronaldo, or Luis Figo in fact. The next morning I was up like an old lag on his release date and ready to explore the delights of the city. I have been trying hard to find the right word to describe Lisbon. Undoubtedly beautiful and charismatic but there is something else, It is random and multi-faceted. It is almost like an optical illusion at times; you are on a street that is steep and uphill, the next street, separated only by a row of houses, is steeply downhill. Although the architecture is very different, the hills and trams conjured images of San Francisco in my mind. There are many different architectural styles and its identity seems to stem from its many identities. I am confusing myself now. I walked all day and visited Castelo de Sao Jorge and the mirador nearby with amazing panoramic views of the city and waterfront, the districts of Bairro Alto and Chiado, the waterfront itself and Jardin de Sao Pedro. The latter also had stunning views of the city but from the other side. Had a few chats with an English guy called Jamie who was staying there. With hindsight, the most wonderful of life’s piss takes, I would have stayed a bit longer but I had already booked my next stop. I adored Lisbon and found its unified disparateness refreshing and absorbing. Cost about £75.
When I booked accommodation in Lagos I anticipated a couple of lazy days on the beach before my final stop in Europe. However, my sunburn from Granada was still making its presence felt, literally, and so the beach didn’t seem such a good idea. Stayed at The Suntrap Hostel, irony overload, which had a really good vibe and facilities but was very dirty. When I arrived I enquired about a supermarket but was met with a wall of silence. Nobody seemed to have any knowledge of supermarkets. I don’t know if it was some weird conspiracy to make tourists use local restaurants but I googled ‘supermarkets in Lagos’ and there was a Lidl 600m away. The next morning I lathered myself with sunscreen and had a purposeful walk up to Ponta de Piedade, a breathtaking limestone headland of rock pillars, arches, caves and cliffs, about 3km from the hostel. It was indeed an awesome place and I spent the best part of a day exploring. There were some musicians staying in the hostel and they entertained residents on the rooftop terrace in the evenings. All very cultured and inclusive. The following day I visited Museu de Lagos Dr Jose Formosinho. Although not an overwhelmingly large institution it was nonetheless informative and housed some interesting exhibits. This was followed by a prolonged amble through the streets and alleys of Lagos town. The musicians were back for another evening of music and witty repartee. Lagos has some obvious tourist trap elements, the marina and bars etc, but it also has a lot of history, buildings with character and natural features. I think, again in hindsight, that not being able to laze on the beach probably made for a better experience. Spent about £110.
I had booked a bus from Lagos to my next and final stop before leaving Europe. The cost was £20 to Seville and it meant I didn’t have to endure another long train journey with several changes. When I arrived it was 45 degrees, damn hot even in a summer of unusually high temperatures throughout Europe. Apparently, it is always very hot in Seville but this was exceptionally so. The hostel was called TOC and I would recommend it if you are visiting. I gave it a couple of hours until the temperature had dropped to a more manageable 43 degrees and then went for a very leisurely walk, staying in the shade wherever possible. Seville is quite possibly one of the most beautiful cities I have visited so far. Stunning architecture, winding alleys, culture, history, relaxing parks. I had a wander around The Cathedral, Giralda Tower, The Alcazar (royal palace) and the surrounding areas. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to do the Alcazar tour due to queues and availability. Whilst wandering I found a small pizza establishment which was very cheap and with sizable portions. This was my go to place for the next couple of days, I am easily pleased sometimes. The other residents were quite sociable and I got talking to a guy from Australia whose luggage had been lost by the airline. Really not an ideal situation but he was quite philosophical about it. The following morning I took a walk to Plaza de Espana, a huge edifice built to celebrate Spain and show off at the Ibero-American exposition of 1929. It is semi circular with towers, walkways, arches, a canal and mosaics representing all Spanish cities. I then crossed the Guadalquivir to visit El Castillo de San Jorge only to find it is temporarily closed. Something most of its previous visitors might have preferred as it was once the base of The Spanish Inquisition. Nobody expects The Spanish Inquisition! Well, I certainly didn’t expect it to be closed. Now at a loose end I looked on Google Maps and saw an unusually shaped building a few blocks away so I thought it required investigation. This turned out to be Las Setas (The Mushrooms) which is a wooden construction that looks like . . . well, giant wooden mushrooms. It is quite spectacular but I quickly realised that it would be lit up at night, and so more spectacular then. I returned at sunset and sure enough it was a visual feast. The lights were constantly changing colour and producing a moving effect. It is also a mirador so you could see people on the top enjoying panoramic views of the city. As well as the things I have mentioned, for me, the real beauty of Seville lies in the every day; the streets, alleys, houses buildings. It is all consuming to just wander and see what you find around the next corner. Cost about £70.
A little housekeeping. The figures I mention in posts are usually the cost of accommodation, food, drinks and activities. They do not include seat reservations, other travel costs, toiletries, equipment etc. The total spent on 2 months interrailing in Europe was . . . . pause for dramatic effect . . . . £2400. That was a tad over budget, but really not much.
So, with the exception of a quick stop in Algeciras to get the ferry to Tangier, that is Europe done. It has been amazing and I have been constantly surprised and captivated. There have been a few setbacks but on the whole it has been a wonderfully engaging voyage of discovery. From the serene beauty of Bruges to the majesty of Budapest, the surprise enchantment of Ljubljana to the brazen chutzpah of Hamburg. the hubris of Seville to the quiet humility of Bergen. In finishing I would say that some of the most spectacular moments have been on the train journeys themselves, priceless.