Art of Travel: Paris to Madrid

Day Twenty-three

I knew I would have an early start this morning to reschedule my ticket to Madrid so figured I should settle for an equally early night. I guess it was about eleven when I got back to the hostel last night. The bar was heaving and there were only a handful of people asleep in my dormitory. The square below the balcony was filling up with small groups of drinkers who kept up a steady but tolerable murmur of noise. Although I fell asleep soon enough sleep was broken after only an hour by a couple of young americans who, with absolutely no regard for those in bed, entered the room while carrying on their boisterous conversation from the corridor.

This marked the beginning of a downhill slide. Noisy american kids kept coming in and out and I got sick of telling them to take their conversations outside, pointing out that they were in a room where others were trying to sleep. By half five I gave up on any thought of falling back to sleep so I showered, checked out and cycled to the station. Walking from the dormitory to the check out desk I had to step over and around bodies in mixed states of consciousness.

As I had expected, the station was a hive of activity. Surprisingly though the queue for tickets was not too bad. I reached the front after waiting less than ten minutes only to be told that I had to go to the information office if I wanted to change the details of an existing ticket. This was not so bad since there were only five other people ahead of me in the information office queue. When my turn came I requested a seat on the next available train to Madrid, preferably the one leaving at eight thirty. The attendant smiled, stamped the back of my old ticket and asked me to join the first queue around the corner. I should have suspected complications, it was all appearing a little to easy. The queue around the corner was one of six side by side, all about thirty to forty people deep, and all trying to change their tickets from yesterday for the next available train to x, y or z.

It was just turning seven O’clock when I joined the back of the queue so I thought it feasible that I could still make the half past eight train. By a quarter to eight I had only reached the half way point and although people were still coming away from the ticket booth at the front looking content and clutching fresh train tickets I suspected the likelihood of catching the half eight train was looking a bit unrealistic. Fortunately the next train was due to leave two hours later, so missing the eight thirty was not such a big deal. However, getting tantalisingly close to the front now and those in front are coming away from the ticket booth empty handed wearing pained expressions on their faces. My turn eventually comes and I have resigned myself to the inevitable, so it is not the fact that all the trains for the day are full, no, what rubs salt into the wound is being told that I have to join the queue at a different booth to get a ticket for tomorrow.

 

Last updated 12th of May

 

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