A day on the road and night by rail

The sun’s not up yet when I reach the bus-stop. A backpacking couple soon joins me and we are introduced as we click each others’ photos. They are a German speaking Swiss pair studying in Madrid. The clock ticks past 0730 and there is no sign of the bus. It is 0810 when the brain finally sparks to life. It’s October 12^th, Spain’s National Day and the only reason I’m having an extended weekend. The 0700 bus does not run on Sundays and holidays. News revealed and accepted with some indignation by the girl ("Why didn't anyone tell us?"), we head to the beach for three hours of sunshine, breakfast and conversation about India, Kannada, Bollywood, Switzerland…

The journey home is long and I have Janine and Thomas for company all the way to Madrid, via Almeria and Granada, all by bus. They have Switzerland’s World Cup qualifier to watch, while I have the 2300 to Barcelona to catch.

2130 hrs, Madrid

I get to Madrid Atocha station after bidding goodbye to the Swiss with my e-mail id hurriedly scribbled on a scrap of paper, and traversing the concrete labyrinth of Madrid’s underground. Ticket to home booked, I await my order of a one-fourth chicken with salad and fries, watching Spain’s WC qualifier on the telly. As is my wont, I check once more that all my stuff: camera, passport, backpack, cap is safe and casually glance at my ticket. The ticket reads Departure Time: 2200 hrs and my watch reads 2154. Panic time. I point to my watch and say tren to the restaurateur. The man gets the idea and has the chicken wrapped in foil and plastic in under 30 seconds. Money paid, change collected after thoughts of abandoning it, and a dash towards the platform. The LED screen though still says Barcelona-Sants 2300. Confirmation at the counter and directions to platform 10 take 8 seconds and I bound down the stairs and the platform to the train. 10 seconds after my entry, the whistle is blown and I sigh with relief and settle down for the packed dinner and a peaceful sleep.