From Prague to Portugal

            Some might call us crazy. Heck, I would call us crazy, but we had to be in Portugal by Sunday, so we only had 2 days to get there from Prague. When we tried to make official arrangements by train ahead of time (ie. Seat reservations) we were told it would take 3 days to get there. We decided to try our luck and just wing it. I knew we could get there in 2 days, but at what cost?

            We woke up at 5 a.m. on Nov. 5^th, 2010, and headed down to the bus stop. We missed the 5:47 a.m. bus by a couple of minutes and would have wait until 6:07 a.m. for the next bus, which was cutting it close for the 6:31 a.m. train we were trying to catch. If we missed that train, we would never make it to Portugal in 2 days. By the grace of God we made it to the train in time and headed to Frankfurt, thinking, so far so good. Unfortunately, that train was 20 minutes late arriving in Frankfurt which caused us to miss the train to Paris. We had to wait for a couple of hours until the next train.

            We hopped on the next train to Paris but because the train was full and we had no reservation we had to stand with a crowd of people in the cafeteria car for the 3 hour trip.  We arrived in Paris a little after 8 p.m. and looked as to when the next train to Spain would depart. My Eurorail time table showed a night train leaving at 11:10 p.m., but the train station departure board said the next train for Spain wasn’t leaving until 6 a.m. the next morning. We were thoroughly confused and because the ticket counters were closed for the night we couldn’t get anyone to help us. We started to dread that we would have to sleep in the train station, which would be worse than any train. I was determined to figure out what was wrong. I stared at the Eurorail timetable, trying to understand where I went wrong. There were seven train stations in Paris, but as far as I could tell we were in the right one. Until I looked closer and saw an A next to the departure time, which meant that there was an exemption for that specific train. The exemption was this:  A: Paris Austerlitz ● →. I looked it up in the explanation of symbols. ● → meant that the train was leaving from another station. Blast!

So, without a map, at about 10 p.m. we set out to find this other train station. The seemingly only person still working that late was a woman who told us we could grab a bus just outside and it would take about 30 minutes. We dashed out to the bus depot, only to find we had to wait 15 minutes for the next bus, which was going to cut it close to our train departure again. Luckily, the 30 minute prediction wasn’t completely accurate and we arrived at the station in about 20 minutes. Now we had to try our luck and get on the night train without a reservation (which are required on all night trains). We walked up to the train check point and told them our situation. Luckily, the French don’t really care about such things so they laughed at little (I believe at our expense) and then let us on, no problem. The train departed at 11:10 p.m. and we were safely on board.

Our elation to be on the train was shortly lived once we realized the small and uncomfortable seats we were sitting in were the same seats we would be sleeping in.   

Like a blast from the past, this train from the 70’s had small seats that barely reclined and gave little leg room. The 70’s brown décor was complete with matching linoleum flooring, which was usually only seen on the intercity metro and trams.  The arms went up so you could at least attempt to spread out by laying across the two seats and either scrunch you legs up to your chest or just let them hang over into the isle.  There was a man diagonally across from me that slept in every possible position that night. I was jealous that he seemed to actually sleep several times during the night. I’m not sure I slept at all. The next morning we arrived in Irún, Spain.

Now I will go back a little to when I had my passport stolen.  I had the choice of getting an emergency passport right away (valid for 3 months) or waiting for two weeks to get a new permanent passport. We were told by our French friends that traveling without a passport would be no problem if I just wanted to put in for a new passport, continue our travels, and then come back in two weeks for my passport. Well, Randy and I thought it best to be safer and get an emergency passport instead. And it’s a good thing I did because we were met by a welcome committee of undercover police when we arrived in Irún. First we were asked for passports on the train before we entered Spain, and then we were stopped and asked again after we got off the train (before they would even let us in the station). Both times I was asked why I didn’t have an entrance visa stamp (which I realize now is ironic after I learned that my friend, who flew into Spain, did not get her passport stamped when she arrived).  Anyway, after a passport cross examination, we had to buy a reservation for the train to Madrid, then get our reservation tickets checked, and then put our bags through an x-ray machine before we could board the train. And that is how they do it on the French and Spanish boarder; unlike any other train station we have been too. It was a little obnoxious.

As if to make up for the horrible ride in, we were pleasantly surprised with the train to Madrid.  It was new, the seats were spacious and we even had in-transit entertainment (even though it was in Spanish).  So, with my complimentary earphones I watched “The Painted Veil” en Español.  We arrived in Madrid in the afternoon where we were disappointed to find that the only train to Lisbon was at 10:25 p.m.  We had eight hours to kill and no money.  We couldn’t go out and see Madrid, we had to sit in this tiny, dingy train station.  Randy had his book on his phone, so he had no problem with sitting for a while.  I on the other hand had finished reading Gulliver’s Travels and was looking at staring at the wall for eight hours. 

As I said, the train station was small, especially for a capitol city like Madrid.  It looked like it’s glory days had been in the 70’s or 80’s and no new money has come in since.  Between the small handful of stores to shop at, there were two tiny book stores to look through.  The first book store had nothing in English.  It was almost pointless to go to the second book store because it was the same store and I figured it would carry the same books (although that would defeat the purpose of have two stores in one small location).  I took a chance and went to the second book store; After all, I had 8 hours to kill.  After scanning Spanish book title after Spanish book title I was about to admit defeat when I came across some English words.  “Am I imagining this?” I thought.  No, the book cover was in English.  Still doubtful, I started flipping through the book because I was sure the text would be in Spanish.  It was like a mirage, I wasn’t sure if I was really seeing English on the pages or if I was suddenly fluent in Spanish.  Sure enough, it was English.  Not only that, but it was the only English copy and probably the only English book in the entire train station.  It was probably the biggest book in the train station as well, with a total page count of 851.  But the book was actually the kind of historical based fiction I like to read and I didn’t have to worry about running out of things to read for the rest of our trip, so I was willing to lug it around.  I had the biggest grin on my face when I brought the book back to Randy.  We had very little space to be adding anything to our load, let alone Madrid’s largest novel.  Randy looked very annoyed but didn’t put up much of a fight over it.  The purchase was made and I had nothing else to read, so he let it go.

We were optimistic about the night train to Lisbon after our pleasant journey from Irún to Madrid.  Well, I was anyway, until our train arrived and we saw what kind of night we were in for.  The train was very similar to our night train from Paris to Spain, except it was worse still.  The décor was more 60’s style teal colored wool seats and curtains with linoleum floor, no leg room to speak of, and the arm rests did not move.  You were stuck in your upright position with no hope of stretching out unless you lay on the floor.  A few passengers did sleep on the floor and I wish I had too.  I tried leaning my head against the window but even that didn’t work since the heat was blasting through the vent between my seat and the window.  I was actually missing the awful seats from the night before.   I tossed and turned and tried awkward positions all night. By the time we arrived in Lisbon at 9a.m. my feet and ankles were completely swollen and they did not go back to normal for 24 hours.  What did I learn from that experience?  Next time I go to Portugal, I will take a plane.
The point of this story........WE MADE IT FROM PRAGUE TO PORTUGAL IN 2 DAYS!!!  We are awesome!