Tick Tock
We had trouble getting a train out of Barcelona. The trains were either full or too pricey. At last, we settled on departing Barcelona for Torino a day earlier for the price of 49 euros a passenger.
Initially, we were taken aback at the cost of the train ticket but after an overnight deliberation, we decided that it was in our best interest to get to Torino rather than take the train into Montpelier, France where we would transfer onto a train to Nice before being taken to Milan, a two hours’ drive from our destination of Torino.
“Brittany! It is 6:18 PM, we need to get going!” a hyped AnnMarie slapped at my leg. I rose lazily from the top of my bunk, gripped the handle, positioned my hips and let myself slide off the top bunk. I looked down with calm eyes at AnnMarie, her face flush with anxiety, “It is okay, the train does not leave until 7:38 PM and we have the ticket.”
AnnMarie let a sigh escape her mouth as she gathered her essentials together to put into her backpack. Twenty more minutes had passed before we left the Graffiti Hostel to set out for the Barcelona Franca train station.
It was at this moment that I realized we had not yet been to the Franca station. Keeping my cool, I eyed the metro map and figured out a way to reach the station. We would have to transfer trains once. Not a problem.
It was 7:02 PM when we made our transfer. AnnMarie gripped the pole of the metro, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor and glancing around. I sat atop of my suitcase, my eyes fixed on the floor. One person was already nervous enough for the two of us. I had to not let my nerves get the best of me.
We disembarked at 7:30 PM, with 8 minutes left to get to our train.
“Brit, where is the station?” a bewildered AnnMarie questioned me. I let her question slide as I quickly noticed the woman sitting in the office to my right and strode over to her with purpose. When I reached the glass walls of the office, I plastered my Eurail pass on the glass and mouthed as widely as I could, “Where?” The worked immediately looked up, got out of her seat, and took a closer look and alarm entered her eyes. She shot out of the office and gestured, “Go up the stairs and go to the right.”
We obliged, AnnMarie shot out in front of me as I heaved my 45 pound suitcase into my arms and bolted up the stairs. When we were at the top, the night sky greeted us and there were no sign of the Franca station.
“What next?” AnnMarie spat.
There was a convenience store at the corner. Without hesitating to think, I broke out into a jog. When inside, I shoved my Eurail pass into the first pair of willing eyes I could find.
The man exited the store, “Go down two streets then go to the right.”
We crossed two, but the second did not seem promising so we advanced to the third, which was a main street. Looking left and right, we did not see a sign pointing to the train station.
AnnMarie was beginning to lose it, “Forget it, we will miss it!” I shot her a stern look and shook my head. Inside my head, though, I cursed my lethargic attitude of earlier. I knew I was the one responsible for this predicament we were in. I had to take control.
There were a group of pedestrians waiting to cross the street. I ran to them and underwent the same routine. A woman told me to keep going into the direction we were heading in.
Without further ado, AnnMarie catapulted into a sprint, almost carrying her entire suitcase off the sidewalk. I knew she could run fast, she was the fastest runner on her soccer team in High School. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and began my sprint.
Two and a half streets later, we saw the sign of the Franca station. I had almost wanted to come to a halt to appreciate the welcome sight after all of the initial confusion about its location, but time was precious. With my suitcase, I maintained my pace, dodging a few business men on the walkway and maneuvered a hard right into the station. AnnMarie was at the X-Ray machine, trying to fight her purse off of her body. I caught up quickly and freed her purse from her hood.
Without pausing, I lifted my suitcase as if it were a grocery bag and let it land on the machine with a thud.
When our bags were visible coming out the other end, we wasted no time in retrieving them.
“Platform 4, Brit!” AnnMarie quickly told me and I ran, reaching platform 4 first as the train was leaving.
Instinctively, my hand went up as if I was trying to signal the driver, “No, don’t leave! We are here! We have tickets!” But the train only accelerated and in defeat, I slowly lowered my arm.
We had missed it. It was my fault.
Then I felt AnnMarie’s hand shaking my shoulder, “I was wrong! THREE! It is three!” She was already on the run. Regaining my concentration, I broke off in a run. We approached two agents who took our tickets and returned only the stubs to us.
So we had not missed it! What a close call! Yet we were still not on the train and our coach number was 79 and as we were running alongside the train on the platform, we took notice that the number was in the fifties. Our mad sprint was not yet over.
A man in front of us displayed the same urgency as he fell into our rhythm. We were all in a race against the clock. If we slowed our sprint, he matched our pace. Whenever we picked up speed, he joined in.
Finally, we reached coach 79 and clambered into the train. When we were safely onboard, we sunk down into the first vacant seats we found.
“7:35 PM,” AnnMarie checked her iPod and looked at me. I shrugged, “Hey, we made it and we got a good work out. We ran half a mile in 5 minutes. Good work.” Then I took a swig out of my one liter water bottle while AnnMarie rolled her eyes at me.
In moments of great stress, it is always in the best interest to maintain a calm composure and a clear head.
Initially, we were taken aback at the cost of the train ticket but after an overnight deliberation, we decided that it was in our best interest to get to Torino rather than take the train into Montpelier, France where we would transfer onto a train to Nice before being taken to Milan, a two hours’ drive from our destination of Torino.
“Brittany! It is 6:18 PM, we need to get going!” a hyped AnnMarie slapped at my leg. I rose lazily from the top of my bunk, gripped the handle, positioned my hips and let myself slide off the top bunk. I looked down with calm eyes at AnnMarie, her face flush with anxiety, “It is okay, the train does not leave until 7:38 PM and we have the ticket.”
AnnMarie let a sigh escape her mouth as she gathered her essentials together to put into her backpack. Twenty more minutes had passed before we left the Graffiti Hostel to set out for the Barcelona Franca train station.
It was at this moment that I realized we had not yet been to the Franca station. Keeping my cool, I eyed the metro map and figured out a way to reach the station. We would have to transfer trains once. Not a problem.
It was 7:02 PM when we made our transfer. AnnMarie gripped the pole of the metro, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor and glancing around. I sat atop of my suitcase, my eyes fixed on the floor. One person was already nervous enough for the two of us. I had to not let my nerves get the best of me.
We disembarked at 7:30 PM, with 8 minutes left to get to our train.
“Brit, where is the station?” a bewildered AnnMarie questioned me. I let her question slide as I quickly noticed the woman sitting in the office to my right and strode over to her with purpose. When I reached the glass walls of the office, I plastered my Eurail pass on the glass and mouthed as widely as I could, “Where?” The worked immediately looked up, got out of her seat, and took a closer look and alarm entered her eyes. She shot out of the office and gestured, “Go up the stairs and go to the right.”
We obliged, AnnMarie shot out in front of me as I heaved my 45 pound suitcase into my arms and bolted up the stairs. When we were at the top, the night sky greeted us and there were no sign of the Franca station.
“What next?” AnnMarie spat.
There was a convenience store at the corner. Without hesitating to think, I broke out into a jog. When inside, I shoved my Eurail pass into the first pair of willing eyes I could find.
The man exited the store, “Go down two streets then go to the right.”
We crossed two, but the second did not seem promising so we advanced to the third, which was a main street. Looking left and right, we did not see a sign pointing to the train station.
AnnMarie was beginning to lose it, “Forget it, we will miss it!” I shot her a stern look and shook my head. Inside my head, though, I cursed my lethargic attitude of earlier. I knew I was the one responsible for this predicament we were in. I had to take control.
There were a group of pedestrians waiting to cross the street. I ran to them and underwent the same routine. A woman told me to keep going into the direction we were heading in.
Without further ado, AnnMarie catapulted into a sprint, almost carrying her entire suitcase off the sidewalk. I knew she could run fast, she was the fastest runner on her soccer team in High School. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and began my sprint.
Two and a half streets later, we saw the sign of the Franca station. I had almost wanted to come to a halt to appreciate the welcome sight after all of the initial confusion about its location, but time was precious. With my suitcase, I maintained my pace, dodging a few business men on the walkway and maneuvered a hard right into the station. AnnMarie was at the X-Ray machine, trying to fight her purse off of her body. I caught up quickly and freed her purse from her hood.
Without pausing, I lifted my suitcase as if it were a grocery bag and let it land on the machine with a thud.
When our bags were visible coming out the other end, we wasted no time in retrieving them.
“Platform 4, Brit!” AnnMarie quickly told me and I ran, reaching platform 4 first as the train was leaving.
Instinctively, my hand went up as if I was trying to signal the driver, “No, don’t leave! We are here! We have tickets!” But the train only accelerated and in defeat, I slowly lowered my arm.
We had missed it. It was my fault.
Then I felt AnnMarie’s hand shaking my shoulder, “I was wrong! THREE! It is three!” She was already on the run. Regaining my concentration, I broke off in a run. We approached two agents who took our tickets and returned only the stubs to us.
So we had not missed it! What a close call! Yet we were still not on the train and our coach number was 79 and as we were running alongside the train on the platform, we took notice that the number was in the fifties. Our mad sprint was not yet over.
A man in front of us displayed the same urgency as he fell into our rhythm. We were all in a race against the clock. If we slowed our sprint, he matched our pace. Whenever we picked up speed, he joined in.
Finally, we reached coach 79 and clambered into the train. When we were safely onboard, we sunk down into the first vacant seats we found.
“7:35 PM,” AnnMarie checked her iPod and looked at me. I shrugged, “Hey, we made it and we got a good work out. We ran half a mile in 5 minutes. Good work.” Then I took a swig out of my one liter water bottle while AnnMarie rolled her eyes at me.
In moments of great stress, it is always in the best interest to maintain a calm composure and a clear head.