Amsterdam to Barcelona is a really long way.
My itinery was Amsterdam-Brussels-Paris-Bacelona, but I failed to wake up to my alarm. I woke up about fifteen minutes before my train was scheduled to leave. I quickly got dressed and grabbed my stuff, and despite my promise to myself to never run again while wearing that enormous backpack, I ran to the station and got to my platform just in time to see my train leave.
According to my handy Eurail timetable (which has the timetable for all the intercity trains in europe), if I caught the next train to Brussels I should still make my connecting train to Paris. And it would have worked, if my train hadn't stopped in the middle of nowhere for half an hour. So I had to buy a whole new set of tickets. I did get to see a little of Brussels, though, which is a really nice looking city.
I wound up in Paris in the late afternoon, and was chilling out at the train station when a homeless british wino named Moore came up to me and started talking to me. When I told him I was Australian he started playing air guitar and singing some folky tune. I asked him what he was singing and he kept singing. This went of for far too long before he finally broke out of it and said "It's the Seekers." He would occasionally start his little concert again throughout our conversation. He offered my some of his €2 bottle of red, but I declined. When he tried to turn the conversation to sport I told him I had no interest in it, especially cricket, so he decided to tell me all about two british "pacemen" from the 1930s.
Eventually I'd had enough of him, but he had inspired me, so I went and bought myself a €2 litre of white, and drank it. That always makes overnight train trips more barable.
I woke up in Porto Bello, where I changed train for Barcelona.
According to my handy Eurail timetable (which has the timetable for all the intercity trains in europe), if I caught the next train to Brussels I should still make my connecting train to Paris. And it would have worked, if my train hadn't stopped in the middle of nowhere for half an hour. So I had to buy a whole new set of tickets. I did get to see a little of Brussels, though, which is a really nice looking city.
I wound up in Paris in the late afternoon, and was chilling out at the train station when a homeless british wino named Moore came up to me and started talking to me. When I told him I was Australian he started playing air guitar and singing some folky tune. I asked him what he was singing and he kept singing. This went of for far too long before he finally broke out of it and said "It's the Seekers." He would occasionally start his little concert again throughout our conversation. He offered my some of his €2 bottle of red, but I declined. When he tried to turn the conversation to sport I told him I had no interest in it, especially cricket, so he decided to tell me all about two british "pacemen" from the 1930s.
Eventually I'd had enough of him, but he had inspired me, so I went and bought myself a €2 litre of white, and drank it. That always makes overnight train trips more barable.
I woke up in Porto Bello, where I changed train for Barcelona.
posted by Nick Tresco at 9:46 AM
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