Thorn Around the World

"I See France, I See Spain..."
It's rare to read a Thorn Report that doesn't include darts. But today is one of those days. Oh, I tried to find some and play a few legs out in the world. But, the art of darts was becoming increasingly hard to find as I traveled further south down the Iberian Peninsula through France and Spain. Plus, today I didn't even know where I was going.

October 13th, 2011 started early, and that was a good thing. I opened the curtains of the petite balcony at Le Peron, a boutique hotel tucked onto a corner over the sea. A glorious full moon was setting into the Mediterranean. Venus was tagging along. Morning boats and a ferry moved across the purple glass, between small rocky islets, as the pinks of sunrise began to appear. It was another celestial memory on an epic trip. I breathed in the soft salt air and stared.
Strangely, in that moment, I was also super stressed. My plan to busk on the streets of Marseilles went bust. And, thanks to some big conventions in town, hotel rooms were almost impossible to find.or afford. I knew I needed to leave Marseilles today and head for Spain, but I had a few problems. First, I had no plan-hopefully I could road or rail my way to Lisbon, Madrid, or Gibraltar. Second, I had no tickets-and buying the day you travel can be risky and often costly. Third, my big baggage was still half a city away at Hotel Le Ryad, tucked in their storage space-I'd need to get my bags, get my tickets, and get out of town as soon as possible, or the travel dream might briefly become a nightmare. Fourth, I really needed a cup of coffee.

Caffeinated, my satchel, passport and I checked out of Le Peron by nine o'clock. Fortunately, I still had a nice walk ahead of me: along the waterfront wharfs, through markets of artisans and merchants with fresh flopping fish, and up the hill through historic avenues to Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles, the main train and bus station. I was worried, and walking fast, so I didn't take many pictures. I had already decided it wise to try and get tickets first-to somewhere, anywhere-before I fetched my luggage from Le Ryad. It turned out, I was mostly wise.

By the time I reached the station, I was sweating from the speedy walk. The ticket lines and concourses at Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles were already long and bustling, people crisscrossing everywhere. With a perceptible hint of panic, I chose a line and did my best to politely elicit information and options from the woman behind the glass. Fortunately, after giving me a gruff first impression, she soon became helpfully sympathetic to my situation.and spoke fluent English. "All the buses to Madrid are full until tomorrow," she said. And, it turned out that Lisbon or Gibraltar were further and more grueling than I thought, more than a day on the bus. Then she said, "There's a bus to Barcelona that leaves in an hour, the only one today, just a few seats left." After a quick glance at the map and itinerary-eight hours, across the Pyrennes Mountains and into Catalonia, arriving by late evening-I said, "I'll take it." I slid my passport and plastic through the slot, and, with a wry smile, she printed up my ticket and asked "Do you have luggage?" After explaining that I still had to retrieve my bag from a hotel several blocks away, she raised a brow and said, "You'd better hurry. Ticket is non-refundable."

Zipping out of the terminal, down the marble steps of Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles and down the slanted streets of Marseilles, my heart was starting to race. It took only fifteen minutes to reach Le Ryad, grab my bag, thank the staff, and start back, but, with a massive rolling bag, cobbled sidewalks, a slope to climb, and sweat on my brow, it took twenty five minutes to make it back to the station. It took another five minutes to repeatedly dead lift my luggage up the last hundred marble steps. In those worried moments, a wise traveler learns lessons about the fine line between adventure and adversity.

Luckily, the bus was still parked in the bay. My anxiety subsided as I slid my bag into the cargo hold and sidestepped to my seat.
Sighing in relief, I once again curled up into my window, waiting for a day's worth of new world to scroll by again. We'd return through Avignon-maybe I could get a better look at some of the medieval fortifications that encircle the old city. Then, we'd ascend the ancient Pyrennes-the infamous mountain range that physically divides France from Spain, over peaks that armies from many empires have conquered. By evening, we would come to Catalonia, a unique cultural region of Spain, and come to its famous capital, Barcelona.
I was alone again and enjoying my thoughts when a young Bulgarian man across from me began talking. After some conversation, I had another temporary travel companion to point out views to. I don't remember his name, but he was nearly destitute, even showing me the last few euros in his pocket. He was going to Barcelona to look for work. Nearly broke myself, I still found enough sympathy to be helpful, promising to try and find us some affordable accommodations when we arrived.

Barcelona appeared in the night, and the bus tooled slowly through the city lights. We arrived at Estación Sants around ten o'clock. My friend followed me, as I searched for a cheap hotel. We found one, but they had only one room with a single bed-I was staying, I was exhausted, but I could neither offer nor afford to help my friend any further. Nonetheless, I let him follow me to a nearby restaurant, almost ready to close, a small Italian pizzeria called Mo Te Magno. The owner and head chef was extremely kind, offering advice to both of us and a free beer to my friend. I shared some of my pizza. But, as the meal ended, it was time to part ways-I would return to my room, while my friend would disappear into the dark. I'm pretty sure he slept in a park on a bench that night. I hope he found work the next day. I hope he lived.

After some semi-refreshing sleep, I woke ready to explore Barcelona. Right away, the architecture and language reminded me of Montevideo, Uruguay, my "home" away from Oregon, where I had once lived for a year. I was also excited to brush off my Spanish.
That first day's walk I had two targets on my mind: the Sagrada Familia, a famous church designed by Antoni Gaudí, and a dart bar in Spain. Thanks to my tourist map, I knew where one was and I found it-a towering Catholic colossus of a cathedral, still under construction for over a century, being ogled by mobs of tourists. But, I'd have to ask around about the other. By the end of that first day, thanks to a couple of local college kids I quizzed on a corner, I had a good tip on where to find the other-a bar called The George Payne.

Over and double out.














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