Long Day on the Train

(pic- departing shot from Toulon)

Oct. 28th:
Staring out the train window experiencing the motionless state of travel: factories exhale cumulous belches, giant turbines collect the wind’s energy, rows of agriculture interrupted by rows of dwellings, interrupted by walls of brick and concrete. “Comes the morning when I can feel, that there’s nothing left to be concealed, movin’ on a scene surreal… sure as I’m breathing, sure as I’m sad, I’ll keep this wisdom in my flesh, I leave here believing more than I had, and there’s a reason I’ll be, a reason I’ll be back… as I walk the hemisphere, I got my wish to up and disappear, I’ve been wounded, I’ve been healed, now for landin’ I’ve been, for landin’ I’ve been cured…” Eddie Vedder’s Into the Wild soundtrack appropriate for the mood as gray, dank clouds greet me, my pack, and my solitude. The parallel lines of the rail carry me into the unknown and unseen, as I live the dream, and dream of home, and dream more of the unknown.
Bedtime: Ahhh, to finally stretch out moments from drifting off into dreamland. A long day of trains, 4 altogether to get from Toulon to Barcelona. A long day unsettled nerves and tired eyes. One of those travel days where you question what the hell it is you’re doing. When I stepped off the train at Passeig de Gràcia and rose from the steamy underground to the crispy drowning city streets I remembered. My initial hesitance with the sobbing sky soon dissipated into enthusiasm as I bounced along in socks and Chacos while hiding under my hood. With my heavy-duty army poncho draped securely over my gear I navigated the busy city streets. That is the unknown and unseen, and now I am tucked away in the middle of it. This noisy hostel reminds me of my travels in New Zealand almost a decade ago. That decade has me in bed while the exuberant accents outside my door prepare to begin their night. It also has me willing to pay a little extra for my own room. I was pleased to find in it a window that opens like a flue to an oversized chimney. No view other than 3 steep walls, but fresh (city) air and the blended smells of nearly a dozen stories of people preparing their cena. And I drift off.