We are up early this morning. We greet the day by drinking our instant coffee that we have become accustomed to. We complete our pack up and head out. We Uber to the train station and thankfully, we have allowed ourselves some extra time. We walk into the station and notice that there are people everywhere; there’s a lot of activity and none of the signage is in English. We find the board listing departures and quickly find our destination, Barcelona, but there is not yet a location (similar to a gate at an airport) to tell us which train to get on. A woman stops to help us and we learn that the locations will be posted about 20 minutes before departure.
We grab a little bite to hold us over, knowing that there is a dining car of some sort on the train. With the guidance of some friendly people, we haul our oversized luggage up the stairs of our car, find our seats, and settle in. It quickly comes to our attention that we are on car 11 and we should be on car 12. We haul our luggage back down the stairs and walk to the next car, drag our luggage back up the stairs and settle in.
A young lady approaches us with her ticket in hand and politely shares that we are in her seats. She is supposed to be in car 11, so she apologizes and leaves the car. Shortly after, she returns, with a picture of the number 11 on her phone, trying to help us understand that we are in car 11. I walk with her to the outside of the car and show her the 12. She apologizes once again and I head back to my seat next to Shawn. There is no air conditioning as the train is not moving and we are both sweating profusely.
Our car does not fill up so we move to a more desirable seat, only to find that people do show up at the last minute and also, there are several stops along our 6 hour ride to Barcelona and people have assigned seats along the way. Seems like common sense now!
Once we are well into our ride, Shawn goes to the dining car. He brings back beverages and snacks. The choices are quite limited so we take note to pack a lunch next time we travel this way.
The French countryside is lovely along the way. There are scattered 14th century churches and homes of many different eras as well as a multitude of farms. We see a gathering of aged travel trailers in one place. We note that people are living in them as they are out and about. It’s not a designated park or campground, just a cleared off, large dirt area. It seems that they are making the best of what they have.
We arrive in Barcelona in the late afternoon. We gather our luggage and call for an Uber. It’s hot and sunny here, but the air is dry compared to what we experienced in Paris. Our driver, Mohammed, has Moroccan roots but has been here in Barcelona for 11 years. He uses his cell phone to translate what he wants to tell us. He speaks French into his phone and then shows it to Shawn so he can read the translation. Shawn is sitting in the front seat as traffic was heavy on the driver’s side of the car when we loaded up so Mohammed felt this would be safer. They quickly discover a mutual love of sports and I am smiling to myself as Shawn also uses the Mohammed’s phone to communicate back. Mohammed is comfortable reading the translation, responding with laughter and more chit-chat, all while navigating the busy streets of Barcelona. Mohammed speaks five languages, not including the broken English he is practicing with us today. He tells us four days in Barcelona will not be enough.
We pass by an old bull fighting arena that is now a beautiful shopping mall. Mohammed says they raised the whole stadium 5 meters when they built the mall. There is a band of bright red, wooden artwork that surrounds the building. He also shares that the hotel we are staying at overlooks the whole city. There is beauty all around us in the architecture, like Paris, but a completely different feel. Hopefully I can capture the nuances over the next few days in my writing.
We drive uphill on the road to our hotel and I am excited to see where we land. We arrive and pull into a beautiful, modern entryway with a lovely water feature, unload and say our goodbyes to Mohammed.
Some background about me: I grew up with hard-working, middle-class parents in the 70s and 80s. We had everything we needed and our life was simple. We didn’t vacation often but when we did, it was done modestly. For a period of time, we had an RV, but I only recall two trips in it; one along the coast with some friends and one to Lake Mead with just my parents and my sister, Wendi . For years, when I was young and began to experience more travel, I would hear the voice in my head say that it’s not necessary to spend much money on a room because you only sleep in there.
But now this. I absolutely love staying in gorgeous hotels. I love the luxury of sleeping in a king-sized bed with luscious, comfy white sheets. I love the big, beautiful bathrooms, often with a tub I am comfortable bathing in, and today, I am also loving our balcony that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. I am so thankful. I feel like a princess but at the same time, I am humbly aware and accepting that this is a moment in time. I am careful to enjoy and appreciate this without identifying with it. But I do love it.
I also know Shawn and I worked hard and lived within our means for many years to come to a place where we can enjoy these gifts in life.
Our first meal in Barcelona is in our hotel lounge. We enjoy varied tapas and drinks and chit-chat with our server, Maria, as well as our bartender, who introduces us to a sample of olive oil ice cream…it is absolutely delicious, creamy and mildly sweet with fine orange and lemon zest and barely a hint of olive oil. He tells us he doesn’t care for it so Shawn and I are surprised and delighted with how much we like this. We agree we will order a full serving tomorrow!
We end our day with a walk around the premises. It is a warm, still night and like in Paris, the darkness sets in at 10 p.m. There are less people here and a calmness. We crawl into bed, and I am thankful.