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[Jun. 1st, 2009|06:34 pm] |
My trip to Spain began inauspiciously. I left my flat in St Andrews at some ungodly hour Tuesday morning -- seven, maybe? I forget now -- to undertake the frustrating trek to the airport. There are two ways to do this; I walked to the bus station, and took a bus to Ferrytoll, outside Edinburgh, and then another bus to the airport. The other way is to take a bus to the train station in the next town over -- we haven't one of our own -- and take the train into Edinburgh, and then a bus back to the airport. Either way, from door to check-in, and allowing for time waiting for trains and busses, you're looking at a solid two hours. I wish St Andrews were more accessible.
Anyway, I began strong by putting my passport in my pocket before I left. I didn't, I think, write about it here, but the last time I travelled to Europe, to give a talk in Oslo, I made the arduous journey to the airport, then discovered I'd left my passport in my flat. Brilliant. Anyway, that's another story. This time, I had my passport. I flew to Amsterdam, where I had a long layover of about three hours, before moving on to Barcelona.
Here is the shape of my trip to Spain. The reason I went to Spain is that I was selected to give a talk at a conference in Zaragoza, a conference in honor of, and on the topic of, Ernest Sosa's work in philosophy. Ernie was my Ph.D. advisor, and I know him and his work very well, and find it fascinating. So it was a natural conference for me to attend. The conference ran Wednesday-Friday; I then scheduled myself a weekend as a tourist in Barcelona. I flew to Barcelona and back; there is a high-speed train linking Barcelona and Zaragoza.
Whatever competence I displayed in bringing my passport to the airport, however, I did not book my train from Barcelona to Zaragoza in advance. In fairness to me, I tried at least a little -- and I learned later, when attempting to avoid repeating the mistake, that the Renfe website is extremely difficult and unreliable, and not only (but admittedly in part) because I don't speak Spanish, let alone Catalan. Anyway, I successfully navigated taking the train from the airport to the central train station, but the next step did not go smoothly at all. I'm still a little confused as to what happened.
I first tried the electronic ticket machines, hoping I'd be able to access an English option, and buy my ticket to Zaragoza. This was a little after 9:00. (Thirteen hours into my travel, taking account of the time zone change.) But no luck; not only was there no English, there was no plausible way even to proceed in ignorance of the language; indeed, beginning the ticket-buying process on those machines intiated some sort of log-in, and requested a password. So I went to the ticket desk. I'm shy when I'm not sure what I'm doing, even when I'm confident in my ability to communicate. This process, to me, was closer to terrifying. The ticket guy indicated to me that he spoke only a minimal amount of English, but I was able to get across the word 'Zaragoza', which he repeated back, then started typing. Then he wrote on a nearby sheet of paper:
22:00
--> 02:05
From which I gathered that he wanted to put me on a ten-o'clock train that would arrive at 2:05 in the morning. This surprised me, as I had thought there was a high-speed train that took only about an hour and a half. "Nothing faster?" I asked. "No." So I bought the ticket, in great disappointment. I hadn't, to be honest, finished preparing my presentation; I'd meant to go over it a couple of times in my hotel at 10:30 or 11:00, when I'd expected to arrive.
I went away, then discovered that the wi-fi at the station, though it didn't give general internet access, did give access to the train schedules. Seeing these, I confirmed my previous belief that there was indeed a much faster train, leaving at 21:40 and arriving at 23:20. I went back to the ticket desk, but had difficulty explaining what I wanted. "Nine forty," I said. "High speed." And then, and this is the one that did the trick, "nine three three," which was the train's number. This he seemed to understand, then did some typing. "No seats." "Oh. And 10:05?" There was another high-speed train scheduled at that time. "No." He showed me his computer screen, where I saw a bunch of numbers that I didn't understand. "Ok." Disappointedly, I resigned myself to the slow train.
Now this all seemed pretty straightforward at the time. The fast train, I guess, tended to run at full capacity, and I should have booked in advance. But later in the week, comparing notes with the other conference participants, several people who had travelled according to similar patterns (though none at the same time) told me they'd not booked in advance, and had taken high-speed trains from Barcelona to Zaragotha, and that those trains were almost empty. So now, in retrospect, I'm confused. Maybe, for some reason, the last two trains of the day were incredibly full, even though most of them were not. Or maybe I failed to communicate what I wanted, although I really think that, although I was far from elegant, I'm pretty confident I was effective there. Or maybe the ticket guy didn't like me. I don't get it.
Anyway, the slow train didn't afford me a chance to work on my presentation, as I'd hoped, as I sat in a compartment with several other people, who engaged in a very lively conversation for the first hour and a half or so. It's remarkable, really, how friendly they were; I should have liked to have talked with them. It was pretty humbling to spend so much time not knowing what was going on. It made me feel stupid, which isn't a way I'm used to feeling. I was also exhausted. Eventually, they turned off the lights in the compartment, but I did not sleep, both because I was uncomfortably close to the people around me, and because I was afraid I'd miss Zaragoza -- there was no indication anywhere of where we were, or when to expect each stop; indeed, there wasn't even an announcement. I stood up and waited by the door when, judging by my clock and the scheduled arrival time, I expected we were nearby. I don't know how everyone else knew when to get off.
The train was delayed, and it was after 3:00 that I finally made it to my hotel, having commissioned a taxi trip, cleverly having written the name and address of my hotel on a scrap of paper beforehand. The woman at the front desk spoke English, which relieved me greatly. I surprised myself by how uncomfortable I had felt. Then again, I'd been traveling for nineteen hours and hadn't slept, so maybe I'll cut myself a little slack. I went immediately to bed, setting my alarm for 6:30, to finish preparing my presentations, both of which were the next day. That day, as you might expect, passed in a bit of a blur, but I gave my presentations, and don't recall being mortified at my performance or their reception. The talks were interesting, and, as always, it was good to see Ernie again. The man no signs whatsoever of slowing down.
I'm a fan of the Spanish meal pattern. A late, light breakfast, after you've been working a couple of hours, followed by a large, multi-course late lunch at 2:30 or 3:00. Then a light meal, with tapas or some such, late in the evening, if you're hungry. It's a great pattern, for my body anyway, and one that I may adopt for myself from time to time as my other obligations permit.
The conference was good, on the whole. I spent Friday evening exploring Zaragoza, doing a couple of tourist things. There are two beautiful cathedrals and an impressive castle -- more ceremonial and palatial than the military ones I've toured in Scotland. This latter includes the tower that is the setting and inspiration for the play on which Verdi's Il Trovatore is based. Neat..
Here are pictures I took of Zaragoza.
Saturday morning I returned to Barcelona. (I had no trouble getting a ticket this time, although I didn't manage to do it online in advance, as I'd resolved to. My weekend in Barcelona will take a post or two of its own. As I write now, it's Monday midday and I'm flying from Barcelona to Amsterdam, then on back to Edinburgh. I'll sleep well tonight. |
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| Comments: |
I wonder what was up with that train stuff. It sounds harrowing and frustrating, not being able to communicate effectively. But maybe those trains really were full, for whatever reason.
Nice pictures! You saw a CASTLE!!
Haha. I see castles all the time. Scotland's crawling with 'em.
Dude, I'm sorry. That sounds ridiculous.
Also: is "Il Travatore" the companion to "La Troviata"? =P | |
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