Day 9 – Part 1 – I wanted adventure …

October 3rd – Day 9 – Part 1

I woke up multiple times over the course of the night due partly to fear and partly to the general ruckus heard in a big city hostel on a Friday night, but I was alive and my stuff was intact when the morning rolled around. Unfortunately, the bed bugs I’d found infesting my bunk the night before weren’t a dream, and I was covered in bug bites.

The Center Rambles offers an early morning breakfast but the meal cut off, and my hostel check out time of around 11am was fast approaching, so I rushed to the shower. Due to the shady nature of the hostel, I did what I could to watch my stuff while I bathed.

It was kind of like the old game “Lava” a lot of people played when they were kids where you pretend the floor is lava, but with the imaginary image of molten rock replaced by the actual filth of this hostel’s bathroom floor. To avoid having myself or any of my possessions touch the ground while simultaneously keeping everything in eyesight so I knew it wouldn’t be stolen I found myself bathing in a pair of cotton slippers I’d purchased in the UK, while constantly looking over at my backpack, clothes, and shoes balanced precariously on the hook outside the shower.

Luckily, I was able to bathe without anything getting too contaminated. As I brushed my teeth, a few guys from Australia in their late teens entered the bathroom. We talked about our mutual impression of Barcelona and the hostel and they agreed that this was one of the sketchiest places they’d ever seen.

I gathered my things and went to the lobby for my breakfast of Nutella, jam, bread, and juice, the standard meal for most larger hostels. After eating my meal, and doing some online research as to the location of my room in Firenze I headed out the door. It was about 11am, and I had some exploration time before my train left for Italy so I took a short walk around the block.

Perusing through a local market, I found a mysterious beverage called “Coconut Drink.”

After drinking the sweet concoction, I walked back to the Center Rambles to figure out an itinerary for the day.

An art exhibit celebrating Authenticite was set up across from the hostel on hospital street. With few exact plans established I wandered in to the FREE exhibit.

The exhibit was created by a person named Sabal Gavaldon. I am not sure of the exacts because a lot of the writing was in Spanish, but I am lead to believe it had something to do with art.

There were a few sculptures playing interviews about the movement, and a few neat interactive exhibits featuring shredded vinyl records skipping on repeat on turntables but the full spectrum of the event was lost on me.

I wandered toward La Rambla hoping that it would be a kinder place then I bared witness to the night before, and the sunlight did a lot to soften the impression. La Rambla stretches from the center of Barcelona all the way to the beach. It is kind of like a carnival with impressive street performers, various people in costume, booths selling food and trinkets, and the previously mentioned guys selling counterfeit purses. My mother always wanted to visit Spain, but because of a general lack of funds she has yet to make the trip, so I bought a silver bracelet for her while walking through the bazaar.

Eventually, I reached the beaches of Barcelona. A statue of Christopher Columbus was perched on a large pole at the end of the street.

The Columbus Monument signifies the site where Columbus returned to Spain after discovering the Americas. I felt a divided emotion when standing before the monument. Columbus’ voyage is a major moment in American history, and we even have a bank holiday in the states celebrating his arrival in 1492. Without him, the mass exodus of Europeans to the America might not have been as pronounced.

Unfortunately, my American Indian ancestors were largely slaughtered, diseased, or otherwise genocided during the above mentioned exodus, so Columbus’ “discovery” is seen as a little bit of a touchy subject by my people.

My emotion was heightened by the appearance of a Spanish man, dressed in full Native regalia posing for tourists next to the monument. Was I standing before a monument of a man who wrote the first chapters of American history, or a man who signed a death sentence for my culture?

That’s a different story for a different day, but the historical dichotomy of the location was not lost on me.

I went to Barcelona with little knowledge of the sites, and it was intended as a quick stop off location between San Sebastian and Barcelona, so I felt little regret when I walked along the coast to the Barcelona Franca. railway station.

It was a hot day, and my trusty multi-pocketed green GAP jacket bought from a UK thrift store was beginning to give me a feeling of heat stroke under the Spanish sun.

I pressed on, half delirious from exhaustion to the station, passing several booths and small shops along the way. The city was a beautiful site with the aqua blue of the water giving a nice backdrop to the brightly colored businesses.

I arrived at the station at around 2pm. According to my railway guide the last train for Milan, Italy left the station at around 7pm. All I needed to do was reserve my ticket and I’d have enough time to check out la Sagrada Familia and maybe a museum or two. I approached the ticket window with my train number written down, and a smile on my exhausted face.

This is when the bad news started.

1. For whatever reason, Spain runs on a slightly different system than most countries under the Eurail pass. Where it costs free to about 5 Euro to reserve a train ticket in most countries within the Eurail network if you have a pass, The reservation alone for my ticket from Barcelona to Milan cost upwards of 50 Euro (About 80 USD) to book a seat. I noticed a slight price bump on my ticket from San Sebastian to Barcelona, but considering I spent about 600 dollars for the Eurail, granting me unlimited travel across most of Europe, the random extra fees tacked on by the renfe got really annoying really quick.

2. When I stated my intentions to board the October 3rd night train from Barcelona to Milan shown in my rail guide, the gentleman working the counter informed me that that particular train didn’t exist. We argued as best as two people who don’t speak the same language could argue and to our efforts, we kept things going for about 5 minutes, but the conversation inevitably ended with him telling me my best bet to get to Milan was to take a night train leaving the next day at 7:30pm.
I stormed away from the counter to cool my head, and eventually found a worker who was more patient with my concerns. I had a hostel booked in Firenze on October 4th, and my goal was to be in Italy in time to make my booking. After going through every train route on the renfe with me, the train worker informed me that because it was a Saturday, train service in Spain was limited, so my best bet to was to take the Sunday night train the previous worker suggested.
I sighed, and emptied my Oyster Card Holder turned wallet of all but about 15 Euro so I could afford the reservation fee.

3. With my wallet basically emptied, my hopes of spending time in Firenze, Milan, and Pisa dashed against the rocks, and no plan as to how I would afford food and a place to sleep while in Barcelona for an extra night, I sat on a bench in the train station in a state of meditative shock.

I went backpacking in search of adventure, but university did little to prepare me for a night of potential homelessness in a crime center, surrounded by a massive language barrier in a place where I only had myself to rely on.
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Check the previous entries section for a complete look at my backpacking adventure

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