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.