Saturday, June 23, 2001

The Art of Eurail Travel

June 23, 2001
Lagos-Seville-Madrid-Paris
After five days of sun, surf, and sand in Lagos, I decided to get back up north to Paris and plan the eastern leg of my journey. Thus began my 24 hours of continent-crossing. I left the hostel at 6 am to catch the early bus back to Seville. As i walked along the Lagos rivermouth for the last time, I noticed the waves were actually breaking on the other side of the river. All week that upper beach lay quiet with a slight onshore breeze barely rippling the brillant mediterranean surface, but today I saw thick storm surf crashing on the shore, decent right-breaking sections and a couple guys were paddling out. So I snapped a few photos for the boys back home and reluctantly made my way to the bus station.
I had slept on the bus to Lagos, so this time i stayed awake and watched the Algarve coastline as we slowly made our way back to Spain. The Algarve is extremely beautiful; and there is much development along the coast ... newly constructed white villas with red tile roofs and shopping centers and gasp ... starbucks. It looked alot like recently developed south orange country, like Laguna Niguel, except for the occasional ancient castle jutting from a farmers field. In Lagos I did find some prime stretches of real estate on the cliffs overlooking the famous grottos, empty cow pastures with rotting abandoned cottages only a few miles out of town. If anyone has any venture capital they want to trust me with I think now is the time to start building vacation homes here for all the German tourists pouring into in Lagos every summer. The plan is to build now with escuchos and then sell next year in euros, once that currency is officially introduced as hard currency. So let me know.
We hit some bad traffic jams on the way to Seville, mostly farmers driving their ancient wagons to market on the tiny streets, and so I arrived at Seville at worst possible time, NOON. I forgot to tell you, Seville is hot. Hot dry, heat and it was 39 degrees C. 95F?
Imagine strapping 50 pounds to your back and hiking through Phoenix Arizona on a blistering summer day. Not very comfortable. I made my way by bus to the Train station and used my eurail pass for the super fast AVE train to Madrid. With the eurail pass I was able to get a 1st class seat, so I boarded the train dripping with sweat and take my seat, and plug in the complimentary headphones. After a few minutes I look around and notice Im sharing the car with a dozen businessmen in navy blue suits and I feel extremely out of place in my dusty cargo shorts and sweaty Tshirt. But that's backpacking. I ended up enjoying a nice airline food type dinner and watched Chicken Run in Spanish. Pollo Bilar? No, thats dance. My spanish is horrible.
We roll into Madrid about 6 pm, and I've only got forty five minutes to change train stations and catch the only overnight train to Paris. I didn't want to get stuck in Madrid for the night because of the heat, and I after two weeks of Spain I am was ready for something new: Fortunately, the Madrid metro line is new, clean, efficient and safe. I arrived at the train station with time to spare for a quick dinner, and then boarded the Paris train.
I had a bed in compartment that sleeps four. I shared the room with two long haired guys from Missouri who were sons of a pilot. They were huge metalheads, and I got to listen to endless barrages of Metallica and Iron Maiden escaping from their headphones. I admit it was fascinating to hear Maiden's Powerslave while watching the scenery from 'Man of La Mancha' roll by.
So now I am in Paris. I've been to Jim Morrisson's grave, the Effel Tower, Champs Elysee, and everywhere else. I'm staying in a dirty but cheap hostel on the right bank of the river, but I spend most of my time in the Latin Quarter, looking the million shops here or drinking coffee and trying to act French. Not really; though. The Parisiens have been nice so far, and everyone knows english, and if you really desperate to talk to an American all you have to do is wait a minute and you'll hear some Griswold type family stroll by on their way to the Louvre , father with the map, mom with a camera, teenage son frowning and listening to a walkman, and little ninos running off ahead and almost getting run down by mad parisien taxi drivers.

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