,
Standing in
line at the railway station in Alicante, I wasn’t looking forward to having to
spend the next 12 hours sequestered in a train. We were scheduled to depart at
8:00pm, arriving in Alcazar at 10:23pm, where we would have to change trains.
The downside was that we had about a two and a half hour wait for the connecting
train, which was leaving at 12:47am. The upside was that we had upgraded and
had paid extra for a private compartment with couchettes, allowing us the
luxury of stretching out and sleeping comfortably for the remainder of the
journey. Time of arrival in Algeciras was 9:30am in the morning, allowing us to
check into our hotel, un-pack and devote the rest of the day to sightseeing and exploring
this southern tip of Spain. Little did
we know then what adventures awaited us on the “Estrella” night train.
Since both
Alicante and Algeciras are situated along the Mediterranean coast, my travel
companion and I were envisioning a leisurely rail journey, the beautiful sandy
white beaches of Costa Blanca and Costa del Sol playfully beckoning us to stay
and linger a little bit longer. Map of Spain spread out on the table, we
meticulously plotted and planned every inch of our itinerary, from where to
stay to how to get there. Drawing a florescent marker line along the edge of
the sun-drenched Spanish coastline, we mapped out our prospective train ride.
Map, tourist guide book and Eurail pass in
hand, we had our European train travel covered or so we thought. Little did we know that our idealistic vision
was just that, a vision and the vision was about to de-rail. We also did not
know that our selected train route was one that did not take us along the sandy
beached coastline but through the dry and arid plains of Spain instead. There
was no direct train from Alicante to Algeciras and so it seemed quite illogical
to us that we had to kind of backtrack and travel west to Alcazar, change
trains and continue south to Algeciras. So much for our picturesque coastal
journey!
This voyage
took place a couple of years ago, and I can’t quite remember why we had chosen
to take the overnight train, perhaps it was a lot cheaper than taking the
Express train, am not certain as to the logistics behind that fateful decision.
The one thing that remains imprinted in my memory was the cold and the
dampness. The incessant rain seemed to have followed me all the way from
Barcelona and wasn’t leaving my side anytime soon.
Stepping off
the train in Alcazar, I was greeted by a pelting, torrential downpour. Why was
it that my phrase of the day seemed to be “the
rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain”? We had about two and a half hours in which to
spend time in this seemingly abandoned train station and all that I was able to
focus on was trying to keep warm and dry. Layered in tights, jeans, skirt, sweater, jean
jacket and my travel buddy’s extra large fleece jacket, I now resembled a
walking fashion disaster, a far cry from a chic fashionista wannabe. Unable to stave off the bitter cold and shake
the numbing dampness that had now permeated my every living cell, I was beyond
miserable and on the edge of tears.
This was
supposed to be sunny warm Spain, not damp and rain-soaked London or any
Canadian city in late October, for that matter. Why had my travel books failed me, as they had
promised plenty of sunshine, minimal rainfall and seasonably pleasant weather?
Not a soul
was to be found in this stark, bleak and desolate railway station, as no one in
their right mind would be hanging out in the middle of nowhere on a frigid
night, shivering uncontrollably, desperately trying to seek shelter from the
driving rain. Only two sun-starved Canadians (that would be my travel buddy and
I!) were either stupid or crazy enough to be on the platform, guzzling wine
from plastic water bottles, miserably bickering with one another over whose brilliant
idea it was to take the night train to Algeciras.
Finally,
after what seemed to be an eternity, we boarded the railroad car, grateful that
we would be able to change out of our rain soaked clothing and warm up in our
private compartment.
Hauling our
bags onto the train, we searched for our vestibule and were surprised when we
were greeted by a young couple that had already set up camp in our room. The
promised two bunks were actually four bunks and the not so private two bunk
cabin was tiny and crammed full with backpacks, suitcases, sleeping bags and
four strangers who were forced to share a confined space for the next eight
hours. This was obviously not first-class accommodation or even anything
resembling budget conscious lodging!
Loudly
declaring “Lights Out” a few minutes after my travel buddy and I stepped foot
into the compartment, our new cabin mates promptly shut off the light, leaving
us astounded by their odd behaviour.
Searching for our flannel pyjamas and sleeping bags in the dark, we were
shocked that our bunk mates weren’t even gracious enough to give us a couple of
minutes to exchange names, unpack and settle in. Crawling into our separate bunks, we were
further disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to break bread with our
neighbours and share wine and travel stories, as we’ve done countless times in
the past on our previous train travels around the world.
Yikes!! This
was not going to be a pleasant journey after all. These people were most
definitely not cool!
Shivering in
our bunks, we tossed and turned, unable to catch some shut-eye. The creaking
and groaning of the old-fashioned caboose lumbering along the tracks wasn’t
nearly as grating and irritating as was the sawing noise emanating from our
snoring bunk-mates.
Feeling
claustrophobic, cramped and squished, we abandoned the notion of a restful
slumber and spent the remainder of the journey standing in the aisle, looking
out of the window, counting the stops to Algeciras, all 14 of them.
To be continued....
Come discover the allure of the not so exotic Spanish
Siberian midnight train with me... come travel with me....
0 Response to "Midnight train to Algeciras"
Post a Comment