Google Can Only Help So Much: My Spanish Train Fiasco

I am a firm believer in the saying that the best adventures are those unplanned. However, I've have come to realize that there can be an alternative meaning that saying. The best adventure stories come from unplanned disasters. These fiascos may hilarious and entertaining after the fact, however I can tell you that finding yourself lost in a country where you don't speak the language is one of the most frustrating and stressful situations you will experience while traveling.

My day was set out to be a simple and flawless transition between Tarragona and Valencia. I laid at the beach for a few hours before grabbing a light salad lunch; I had leftover paella in the hostel fridge that I was eager to finish later on the train. After lunch I searched up train times to Valencia and found that there was a train leaving in 40 minutes, at 3:49, that would put me in Valencia at roughly 7:00, just in time for dinner. Since I still had some time to kill I treated myself to a couple scoops of gelato before heading back to the hostel to pick up my backpack. I left my hostel with less time to spare than I had planned, but I made it to the train station with enough time to buy a ticket and grab my train. Or so it seemed.

The man at the first window I went to told me I needed to go to the other window next to his. I waited in line for this second window and practiced asking for a ticket in Spanish, "Me quisiera una boleta a Valencia por favor." I reached the window and asked the man, but as soon as I said Valencia he began speaking in rapid Spanish, gesturing that I couldn't have one. Flustered, I spoke back in English trying to clarify what he was saying. He repeated himself, I think. When I still didn't understand he crossed his arms and gave me a look of disgust. I can't say that was much encouragement to practice my Spanish, but that was another can of worms I could deal with later. I returned to the first window and asked the man if he spoke English, "A little." I told him that the other man had not sold me a ticket, and asked what I needed to do. He sent me around the corner to information.

My planned itinerary

There were four people in front of me and only one lady working as slow as a snail through peanut butter; the departure time for my train came and went. When I finally reached the woman I explained my problem; she informed me that I would not be able to take a train to Valencia because there was vandalism to the tracks at one of stations along the way. Ends up that's what the overhead announcement had been saying, I just hadn't recognized the station name. The only thing I could do was wait for them to fix the tracks. Since there was no place for me to stay in Tarragona and I already had a place ready in Valencia I was determined to get there. I suggested a bus to Valencia, or better yet a bus to a train station past the vandalized one. She looked at her papers and sent me back to the first window to buy a ticket for a bus to a train station, where I would switch to a regular train. I returned to the first window to be told yet again by the man that he could do nothing for me and I needed to talk to information. I had already been to information though and was suppose to get a ticket for a bus to somewhere to catch a train. He called the lady at information, punched numbers and letters into his computer, charged me €22 and sent me on my way in the general direction of the doors, telling me I needed to take the 5:28 bus and switch to a train. Simple enough. Or so it seemed.

I waited with a crowd in front of the bus stop. When the next bus arrived it was mass chaos to get on. From what I could understand of what the bus driver was saying was that you needed a ticket to be allowed on. I sought out the help of a security guard, explaining I had a ticket and questioned if that meant I could get on. Ends up I was at the wrong bus and needed to hurry across the roundabout to another set of buses; I had minutes before it left. I rushed over and was greeted by a chuckling guard gesturing me to slow down. The bus didn't end up leaving for another 20 minutes. It was fine by me though, at this point I was finally able to relax knowing I was on the right bus on my way to Valencia. Or so it seemed.

Ends up the train didn't
just keep going south...

When we arrived at the train station everyone that had been on the bus loaded up onto the train without hesitation. I showed my ticket to a train employee to check to make sure that I was on track. They showed another employee who shrugged, chuckled and said in simple Spanish I actually understood, "It is that way to Valencia." Good enough for me. I found my seat and settled in for a longer ride than I had originally anticipated because I was on a "normal" train, not the express train. Even though everyone had been telling me I was going in the correct direction, I still had a feeling I wasn't going the right way. I pushed the feeling aside though; the train was heading south and that was good enough for me. Valencia was south right? So it was bound to reach there eventually. Or so it seemed.

I checked Google Maps, curious when I would get here and it showed me switching to the express train at L'Aldea station. Which happened to be the next station we arrived at. I was unsure, hesitated and missed my chance to get off. I figured I'd only missed my chance to catch the express train, but the train I was on would get me down south eventually. I settled in again until the train stopped for an extended period of time and I overheard someone say that the train was heading back towards Barcelona. I quickly hopped off and found that I was at the end of this particular train line in Torosa. I thought of getting back on, but hesitated and missed my chance. I went inside the station to figure out where I needed to go. Ends up the train didn't continue south, it turned inland at the exact station where I had hesitated the first time. I would need to catch the next train back in 40 minutes, at 7:46. Google Maps put my ETA at 11:30. With nothing to do I sat down to wait. At least I knew what station I needed to change at and what train to catch, I would be in Valencia soon enough. Or so it seemed.

I got on the train knowing I needed to get off on the next stop. When the train paused the doors didn't open and there was no announcement. I looked out the window it did not appear as if we were at a station. I figured that we were waiting for a train to move so we could go forward. When the train started to move along the tracks I saw the sign for my stop come in and then out of view. Yet again I had missed the stop! I had been in Spain for almost two weeks, taken dozens of trips on the Barcelona underground and ridden the train to Tarragona a few days earlier and had been riding it for hours that day. It was the first time they didn't announce a stop. I grabbed my stuff and went to stand next to the door, eyes glazed over with tears threatening to spill over, ready to jump off at the next stop. I stood there waiting for around 10 minutes. When I got off I frantically checked Google Maps again and found out the next train back to that station wouldn't get me there until after the last express train departed. I wouldn't be able to catch one until 6:30 in the morning. I spent the next three minutes freaking out because I was now stuck in a town I had no idea about and had no way to get to Valencia. Or so it seemed.

Once I finally calmed down, I looked at all my options. I first considered a car rental, but it was 8:20 pm and by that point everything was closed. Which was unfortunate because the train station I needed was only a 15 minute drive away; plenty of time to drive there and catch the train to Valencia. Then it clicked, there are these cars called taxis that you can hire to drive you places. Why that hadn't occurred to me in the first place, I have no idea. I quickly went down to the street to see if someone could help me get a cab. I approached two waiters at an outdoor restaurant and inquired where I could grab a taxi. They sent me inside to have the bartender call one for me. After a quick phone call, the bartender let me know that one would be there in five minutes. Looked like I would make that last train after all!

I reached the station without a problem and found that my train would arrive in 20 minutes, at 9:15. I hadn't eaten since my light salad lunch almost seven hours before. Unfortunately there was nowhere to buy food and since I had forgotten that wonderful paella in the hostel fridge,  At 9:10 a train pulled up, and as if by fate the cafeteria car pulled up right in front of me. A woman train employee came off and I immediately showed her my ticket asking if I had finally found my train. No, her train was heading north, back towards Barcelona. Lovely. She suggested that there may not be another train so late; a man who had gotten off the train to smoke seconded that option. The man in the station had confirmed there would be a train so I was only slightly worried. I took the chance and went aboard to buy food on the train. However, in the middle of ordering my food, another train going the other way pulled up. I rushed out, ready to board. However the employees coming off said it was not my train. I walked away in shock, close to tears. The lady from the first train had continued discussing with the others, then called after me that this was in fact my train; it was going to Valencia! I thanked her repeatedly as I scrambled on. Conveniently I ended up in the cafeteria car again. After getting my food I settled down for my hour and half long train ride. This time I checked with the woman at the cafeteria before my stop, making sure I didn't miss it again. As I got off the train I turned on Google Maps to find my way to my hostel. It was only going to be 15 minutes using public transportation; ETA was 11:20. It decided to have me take the metro system; which was fine, I had become a master of the metro and would be at my hostel in no time. Or so it seemed.

Where I started: Joaquin Sorolla

Where I ended up: Machado

Where I needed to be: Colon

However, Google Maps decided I still had not had enough transportation fiascos for the day and chose to give me very bad, very wrong directions. First off, it told me to take a line from that station that didn't actually run thru the station. Fine, I got to the line it wanted and got off at the station it told me was only a five minute walk from my hostel. Wrong, that station was a 27 minute walk to my hostel! I looked at map manually and saw that I had yet again passed the station I actually needed. This time though I took no fault, in my mind Google Maps was entirely to blame. I went back down to see if and when the next train back to the station I needed would arrive, 25 minutes. I had three options at that point: wait the 25 minutes then walk the 5 minutes or so to my hostel; walk 27 minutes in the dark, carrying two backpacks, through who knows what kind of neighborhood; or grab a cab. Well, there weren't any taxis outside, and I'd already spent enough on transportation for today. I also wasn't keen on risking my safety for saving three minutes. So I settled in on a bench and waited for the next train. I was finally on my way to the hostel, this was finally going to be the end. Or so it seemed.

I was right this time. I managed to finally make it to my hostel, eight and a half hours after leaving my old hostel in Tarragona. Although life decided it needed one more shot and tripped me up on the doorway into the hostel. I've never quite understood the reasoning behind having an extra piece you have to step over to get through a doorway.

There you have it, the two and a half hour simple train ride that turned into an eight and a half hour fiasco of language barriers, missed stations and treacherous doorways. All of which because some hooligans decided it would be funny to mess with the train tracks. I on the other hand did not find it so humorous. That will change in time though, I am sure of it.

A Day With Gentle Giants

When I first started planning my trip to Thailand I knew I wanted to ride an elephant. It had been on my bucket list for as long as I could remember. When I first started my research I was overwhelmed by the number of places in Thailand where you can spend a day with elephants. Many of the places had pictures of happy guests riding through the jungle in baskets on elephants’ back. I knew that this was bad for the elephant’s health so that option was not an option at all. Others promoted a day of just spending time with elephants. Unfortunately choosing that option would mean not being about to fulfill my wish to ride an elephant. I continued my search, determined to find a way to balance getting the experience I desired and the well-being of the animals.


Along the way I stumbled on the website for Patara Elephant Farm, and its Elephant Owner for a Day program. At first glance it didn’t sound promising. The words “farm” and “owner” were far from comforting considering that these are intelligent, wild creatures. After reading through the program my feelings did a 180. Only 12 people are allowed each day, making sure there are always more elephants in the sanctuary than there are guests. Each person is paired with a single elephant and its mahout, the elephant’s life-long caretaker. Guests spend the day experiencing what it means to be a mahout.

There is no online reservation, only an email address to send an inquiry to. A couple days after sending an email I got a response requesting my preferred date and the location I need to be picked up from. I was informed that the cost would be 5,800 Baht in cash at the conclusion of day. At roughly $180 this was by far the most expensive elephant experience I had found. Still, it didn’t take long to decide that a day one on one with an elephant was well worth the money.

Three months later I stepped out of the Patara car and walked over to an elephant and her baby that were waiting to greet us. They took my breath away. From the first time she looked at me I could see the intelligence behind those eyes. While we waited for the rest of the guests to arrive we took turns feed the elephants while the mahouts took pictures with our cameras. When the mahouts brought out sugarcane for us to feed the elephants the mother kept taking it away from the baby. It quite resembled a human mom not wanting her kid to get a sugar high. That or she just wanted it all to herself, hard to say.

Off to the left a mahout dropped a bundle of sugarcane he had been carrying onto the ground. Behind him a male elephant nonchalantly made his way up the hill towards the pile of tasty greens. When one of the mahouts asked if I wanted to go see him I could barely contain my excitement. As we got closer to the male my excitement turn into a slight nervousness. Here I was, a small, frail human getting closer and closer to a huge beast with tusks almost as long as I was tall. The feeling dissipated quickly though. He didn’t even blink an eye as stroked his trunk. I had never seen, let alone touched anything that was made of ivory. I knew it would be smooth, but the feel of his trunk still astonished me. The mahout who had walked me over took a picture.

Once the last of the 12 had arrived and gotten pictures, the lead mahout called us over to a gazebo and gave us a briefing of the day. We were given special serapes so that the elephants would recognize us. We were split into two groups and headed out, each group in a different direction.

Each of us were specially paired with an elephant based on the lead mahout’s perception of our personality. I was paired with Ka, who was my mahout trainer, Mena (pronounced men-ah), my paired elephant, and her baby, Tara. Mena was a sweetheart; however I soon came to realize that Tara was quite the trouble maker.

We started off OUR bonding by feeding them, bamboo at first and then sugar cane. There was another younger baby elephant belonging to the elephant positioned next to us. She was the cutest little thing; quite presumptuous too. I wasn’t expecting or really interested in a full frontal kiss, but got a couple none the less.

We learned the different ways to monitor an elephant’s health, including smelling their poop, as well as the words we would need to know when directing our elephants. The words were simple; the application was not. Directing Mena to the river was a slow interesting process; Ka had to help out quite a lot.

Washing an elephant is much different than washing a dog or horse, the two types of animals I have experience washing. Some of the dirt came off her skin easily, other chunks not so much. When our elephants were nice and clean we took a group picture. The elephants returned the favor of cleaning them by spraying us with water from behind. As if we weren’t wet enough.

There are three ways to mount an elephant: have her lay down and climb on from the side, have her lift her leg and hop on, or scramble up her trunk as she lifts you up. The last one was actually the mahouts’ method of choice. Hearing that made it that much easier to choose the seemingly unorthodox technique. It was a lot harder than he made it look, especially since Mena lifted me up faster than I expected. Then there was turning around since once up I was facing the wrong way. Everyone knows elephants are big. What isn’t as well-known is how much taller they seem when you are up there.

I thought it was difficult directing Mena while I was walking next to her. It was just about impossible to do while I was riding her. Luckily she seemed to know where she was going. Getting the elephants to go when there were tasty treats all around was a futile battle. There’s little anyone can do when a creature as big as an elephant has other plans. We went at a slow steady pace, which was perfectly fine because there isn’t the most stable seating on the back of an elephant. While continuing up the river Tara, Mena’s baby, decided she wanted some attention and threw herself into the middle of another elephant’s path. For several minutes she playfully rolled in the water as our mahouts tried to get her moving.

Lunch was delicious! There were so many tasty treats, some I hadn’t tried before. The array of things was rather amusing: fried chicken, dragon fruit, sticky rice wrapped in leaves, fruit cupcakes, fried bananas, and even donuts. There was so much that the six of us only managed to finish about half of it. None of it went to waste. Once we were finished with our meal, we took out any non-edibles components and had the elephants help clean up. Feeding them was more fun this time because we could only give them small pieces that they have to curl their trunks around.

Before heading off on the last leg of our journey we washed our elephants again, they need it twice a day. This time they laid in the water and we sat on top to get the higher parts. Even though I already knew that elephants can breathe through their trunk, it was still fascinating to be washing Mena while she was underwater for such an extended amount of time.

The ending part of day was much slower going due to a combination of our elephants being hungry and the correlating abundance of food on the side of the trail. My Mahout had the brilliant idea of giving me a bundle of sugar cane to have on my lap for when Mena decided it was snack time. I even shared with one of the other elephants.

The experience I had with Mena, Tara and Ka at Patara Elephant Farm was without a doubt one of the major highlights of my month in Thailand. I recommend this to anyone and everyone going to Thailand. You will need to get your spot well ahead of time because they fill up fast. It may have been the most expensive elephant experience offered, but it was worth every Baht!