The Train to Spain - Part Three

The metro system in Madrid was pretty easy to negotiate and we speedily crossed the city from Chamartin station to Atocha station. The announcements on the metro appeared to consist of a man and a lady performing a comedy double act, except instead of jokes they told you which other metro lines you could change onto at each stop. It was all done in a very chirpy tone, though. I'm sure that goes down well in the rush hour. Luckily it was Sunday and our fellow passengers were few.

If you're catching a train out into the wilds of Spain from Madrid, Atocha seems to be the place to do it from. It's a big station and well equipped with the usual stuff: restaurants, shops, large garden, aquatic curiosities. Yes, really. We went to dump our bags in the left luggage lockers and stumbled upon a hot house garden full of palms and misty humidity. It proved to be a relaxing place to sit when the heat of the day got too much and we'd seen all we wanted to see of the city outside. There was even a large pool of filled with fish and terrapins, who basked on rocks and posed for photographs like seasoned professionals working the tourist trade of weary travellers. We came to the conclusion that every station should have a few terrapins. Terrapins aside, Atocha also benefits from being well located for sightseeing and a quick walk from the station concourse gets you to many of Madrid's top attractions, including the Prado and Reina Sofia museums. We plumped for a quick tour of the city's botanical gardens, which had a particularly fine grove of olive trees and some very large insects. I never knew there were so many types of olives... apparently there are more types than just black, green and stuffed with pimentos, so there you go. It was good to commune with nature after such a long journey; far better than sitting squished in an aeroplane seat for hours waiting for the seatbelt sign to go off and the obese guy next to you to wake up so that you can stretch your legs, I imagine! A slow saunter through the park with an ice lolly, a cheese sandwich snack at a kerbside cafe and it was time to hit the tracks again.

A Spanish colleague of my beloved's had recommended paying extra for “Preferente” instead of “Turistico” class on the long distance trains in Spain. As far as we could make out this wasn't the super-swish, ultimate best first class, but it was better than standard. It was certainly well worth paying a bit extra for. Stepping onto the AVE train from the heat of a midday city platform the air conditioning immediately contributed to the feeling of luxury. The seats were spacious and clearly hadn't seen as much action as those on the Elipsos sleeper. They were adjustable, with welcome little footrests to soothe tired lower limbs. There were televisions up above that showed a film throughout the two and a half hour trip. We were given free, Spanish railway branded headphones that plugged into our seats if we wanted to listen to the audio track for this, but the scenery held my interest far more than “Bride Wars” did, I'm glad to say. Well, the scenery and the laser display board at the front of the carriage that kept flashing up how fast we were going and what the temperature was outside. 34 degrees celsius, 290 kilometres per hour, racing through the mountains. Amazing stuff. Outside we passed terrain that grew increasingly rocky and mountainous, here and there littered with half finished apartment blocks, their skeletal frames standing as poignant gravestones for the booming economic age now long gone. Inside we were constantly bombarded with consumables by friendly stewardesses. There were free drinks, including alcoholic options, moist towellettes and a three course lunch served at our seats. Sadly there was no choice for this and the main course was an extremely meaty combination of chicken pieces in sauce, accompanied by ravioli filled with meat of indeterminate origin. As a vegetarian I didn't partake of this, but I ate the starter, bread roll and dessert, and the husband-to-be revelled in the delights of eating lunch for two. We both decided that this was how train travel should be. The standard British commute will always fall short from this point on. We were clearly meant to travel this way. Some people just aren't cut out for standard class. All too soon we were pulling into Malaga station and we had to reluctantly leave our reclining seats in the land of milk, honey and moist towellettes.

Malaga train station was an appropriate extension of the wonders of the AVE train, with its bright, clean and modern look. Across the road, Malaga bus station was pretty much the opposite. We found confusion, queues and many lobster-like English speakers in all their holidaying splendour. When we eventually found the bus to La Linea it was quite a contrast to our previous means of travel. There were no lovely ladies to attend to our every whim. There was a gruff, balding, harassed looking Spanish driver and a pervading sense of damp. Unable to escape the moist odour and unwilling to move about too much in our seats lest we should sense a certain wetness about them too, we embarked upon a mini-odyssey around the Costa del Sol. Instead of waiting for the direct bus, we mistakenly boarded the one that left first. As such we passed through Torremolinos, Marbella and many other places that have replaced the likes of Margate and Brighton as the haunt of the average British family on vacation, before we arrived at our destination. There was some kind of fiesta in La Linea and the streets were lined with merry Spaniards when we showed up. Tired and intimidated, we waited fearfully at the taxi rank for our final carriage to Santa Margarita and the swinging bachelor pad of the man who will soon be my husband.

Finally setting foot in the apartment, I realised that there's as much pleasure in arriving as there is in travelling. That said, I wouldn't have travelled any other way. Taking the train to Spain meant that I saw much more of the country and experienced far more than I would have done if I'd have flown. It also meant far less stress for me, despite the challenges of the last leg of the trip by bus and all its attendant unpleasantness. It felt like a good thing to do together and when we arrived there was a certain sense of achievement. I suppose it's all to do with the long understood pleasure we humans gain from taking the road less travelled, the rocky path instead of the smooth one and the challenge instead of the easy option. Talking it over now that we've been here a few days, we both agree that we'd do the trip again. In fact we've been tentatively discussing where else we can go by rail in the future, which is as resounding a vote for train travel as you're ever likely to get. We made the trip to be together and now we have the ultimate prize – we are together again, and what's more, we got to share something pretty cool in the process of making that happen. Bring a little love back into your life... travel by train.