It turned out the 12:15 train went directly to Ventimiglia. Found that a train leaves at 21:00 following the coast into Spain for which I will have to wait nearly three hours. Went into town to buy bread and cheese, how European! While waiting at the train station, two Scottish girls asked if I spoke English and Italian. They asked if I would make a phone call for them to a friend who spoke English, but whose parents did not. I made their long distance call to Milano for Angelo from Ella, and Angelo wasn't home, so I left the message that they would call again.
This is just great! There is a strike on! No trains into France until tomorrow morning! There are no local trains to Bordighera where I might have been able to stay with Gianni's uncle. I don't want to spend money on a hotel so I settled myself into a waiting room chair. But adventure always awaits!
One of the station hands noticed my reading a thick book and said I'd have it finished before the night was over. He then asked where I'd be sleeping, and I said "right here." He offered to let me sleep in a train staying the night in the station, and mentioned a few other girls would be doing so also. At 22:30 he rounded up his group: two girls of Japanese-ancestry from California, Ada and Elaine, and a girl from Toronto, Betty. We were first invited to share dinner with the station crew. We were seated at a rough table in a back locker room. Then I was to accompany our benefactor, Franco, to pick up the stuff for dinner. We got most of the food from a bar owned by his friends. Then he wanted to get some spices from his house, where he had me sample a couple of wines. Then he wanted to know if I wanted to take a shower, and I was supposed to trust him when he kept pinching my cheeks and hugging me?! Finally we just picked basil leaves and returned to the station. Dinner was prepared and leisurely eaten. Had spaghetti with a green sauce made from basil leaves called pesto. Plus salami, ham, antipasto salad, ending up with cantaloupe, nuts and coffee. Gorged. We were joined by seemingly unending numbers of station hands. Most memorable was Raimondo, the old man of the crew who collects postcards. Giorgio was the cutest! Roberto, who became very talkative after drinking some wine, was funny! There was Claudio who spoke French and wanted more than to converse with Betty. Then the two with the fancy mustaches!
Friday, July 20, 1979
At nearly 3:00, we were taken to the train with plush reclining seats. One crewman insisted on kissing each of us goodnight! The train was new with electric-button controlled window shades and air-conditioning. I paired off with Ada and we talked for a while. We tried the restrooms, but they were locked. Got a little sleep, but were awakened just after 6:00 by the morning shift. The train was scheduled to go to Milano!
We joined the long line at the restrooms in the station to freshen up. Then we joined the long line at customs which finally started moving at 7:00. The officials simply smiled at us, then we boarded the modern, air-conditioned French train. It left at 8:05, filled to standing room only. We considered ourselves lucky to get seats, but they turned out to be reserved. One by one we were unseated at each succeeding station. The other three girls got off at Nice. I continued to Marseilles to find out the strike was blocking trains to Spain! Took a train from Marseilles to Narbonne, finding the Port Bou trains were also blocked by the strike. Continued to Toulouse to find their trains wouldn't leave until the strike was over the next morning. Read for a while, then bought a candy bar to break a 100-franc note so that I could have change to use the pay toilets. Decided to take the train back to Narbonne where trains are more frequent to Port Bou in hopes of getting into Spain sooner. At Narbonne, immediately got a train to Perignon, then one to Cerbere. On the last three trains no one came to check tickets. In Italy, the conductor just glanced at the Eurailpass. In France they at least looked for the date.
Saturday, July 21, 1979
Arrived in Cerbere at 0:30 and will have to wait until 5:41 for the train into Spain to Barcelona.Slept on a bench in the station, as did many others. At 5:00 went to the restroom to wash up. Another girl came in slamming the door which locked us in. But her toothbrush opened the lock! Outside a beggar woman was shouting things to the amusement of the station crew. She asked me for cigarettes. The 5:41 train took us to Port Bou where we had to change trains. More or less teamed up with a guy from Milwaukee. Passed easily through customs. Had a long wait for the 8:00 train to Barcelona… It’s taking forever!
Finally arrived in Barcelona at
about 11:30, Spanish time, an hour ahead of Italian-French time. Went to a bar
for an expensive Coke, and a huge bottle of water that most travelers seemed to
carry. Found that a train leaving for Cordoba was due at 14:00. Knew that in
Spain one needs a boarding pass for the trains, so I joined one of the many
long lines only to find out from an English-speaking couple that it was to
reserve for the next day. Found the proper line and the Milwaukee fellow was
already in it; he let me join him. Spent over an hour in this line, but
managed to get the boarding pass in time for my train. It supposedly cost 30
pesatas, but I didn't have to pay because I only had a 100-pesata bill? The
Milwaukee fellow had given me a rose left behind by a couple German girls on
the last train, and he seemed pleased to see it sticking out of my pack.
Got on the train headed for Malaga
which was super-crowded. I stood in the aisle, but was invited to take a seat
by a middle-aged man. Most of the people in the full compartment spoke Spanish
except for two Moroccan brothers, one who spoke English as well as French, and
a Spanish soldier who spoke French and understood Italian. We had some strange
conversations: the soldier asking the Moroccan to translate his French to
English so I could understand, and I would directly answer the Spaniard in
Italian. I had no idea how long the trip would be, and it was long! The fellow
who offered me his seat bought me a Coke and offered me part of his sandwich,
kind of a roll filled with pizza sauce. Later I was invited to take a walk to
the bar on the train for a Coke with the soldier who noted after seeing
Gianni’s bracelet that Spaniards are just as romantic as Italians. He commented
about me, or complimented me, I should say, in French, to be translated by the
Moroccan. At the stop at Valencia, we got off the train to stretch our legs and
the soldier bought me another Coke. Later on the train I was asked to join the
soldier and Moroccans as they met with some girls to listen to music on a
cassette player. I soon left feeling sort of out of it, because of the
language. Spanish has many words similar to Italian, but not enough to
understand everything. During the day, someone was always standing in the aisle
or taking a walk on the train, so in playing musical chairs everyone got to sit
for a while. But later at night when trying to sleep, there weren't enough
seats for all. The soldier sat on the floor at my feet and used my knees as his
pillow. At the same time one of the two young boys in the compartment leaned
against my shoulder while sleeping. It’s nice to be “needed.” The mother and
her two sons had reserved seats and boarded at a later station to usurp a
mother and daughter who had reserved the same seats! But the latter two were
getting off at the next stop anyway. Managed to get some sleep.
Sunday, July 22, 1979
Awoke and went to the lavatory to
get washed up, and in only a few seconds someone was hammering on the door to
hurry me out. The train just kept going and going! I had planned to get off at
Cordoba, not trusting this “express” train to stop at Bobadilla where I
could get a train to Algeciras (the point where boats go to Morocco). But the
Moroccans said the train stopped there, so I continued on with them. The
non-English speaking brother, in French, invited me to tour Morocco with them
before going to Tetouan. I understood his French, but couldn't tell him I had a
friend waiting, and this trip had already taken twice as long as I expected.
I was the one who noticed the
Bobadilla sign, so we hurried to get off the train. Arrived at about 11:30, a
20-1//2 hour train trip! Had to wait in Bobadilla until the 15:30 train for
Algeciras, so I walked through the sleepy town of white-washed stone/concrete houses and mostly bars. Bought an apple and a sandwich at the station and had
the apple for lunch. Read a lot. Finally got on the Ferrobus (a diesel self-propelled “bus” on rails) for Algeciras, more or
less accompanying the Moroccan brothers. Spain was generally flat, some small
hills, with lots of fruit orchards. Also saw fields of sunflowers which I also
saw in France. Later saw pastures full of bulls, mean-looking beasts with very
long horns.
Suddenly something under the train must have snapped, throwing up a
lot of dust and gravel. The train stopped while the crew worked on whatever was
wrong for nearly an hour. Limped on to the next station, a tiny flower-covered
building where everyone got off to await the next train. This was a nice
air-conditioned train originating from Madrid. Arrived in Algeciras at 21:30.
Because no buses were running, we had to walk to the port. The Moroccan
brothers had an abundance of baggage, so another fellow and I helped carry it.
Even at that, they had to make two trips. No more boats left that night, so I
left the Moroccans at a café to go to a travel agency to get my boat ticket for
the next morning. I also asked how to get to Tetouan from Ceuta, the boat’s
destination. They only knew that there was a bus. They also could not change
money to Moroccan currency, but said I could use Spanish money in Ceuta, which
should be enough. Then I had to find a real cheap place to stay overnight.
There were benches along the waterfront, so I took one pretending to read.
About midnight a fellow came to me babbling in Spanish; it took him a while to
figure out I didn't understand him. He asked if I spoke English, then asked to
“sleep with me.” He didn't want to take no for an answer. Conversed a little in
Spanish/Italian, and I finally “asked” him to go. He gave me a tiny cotton
flower in the name of Christ - strange fellow. Then a VW bus drove up with
three guys and two girls, and they were camping out in their sleeping bags on
the grass in front of me, so I feel more secure.
Next: Morocco.
Next: Morocco.
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