continued from the previous post.
approaching a man in a tiny telephone-booth-like stall, i indicate one ticket with my finger. looking at me rather unusually, he punches in a few keys on the register before him, lighting the small l.e.d. screen in the window to let me know how much i needed to pay. pulling out euro coins from my pocket, i pay the fare and taking my ticket, head towards the turnstiles, which would take me even farther underground. studying the wall maps along the way, i arrive at the platform, which to my knowledge, would take me back to passieg de gracia station.
the stop looks nothing like the one i originally alighted at, but i don’t think about the discrepancy immediately and instead, board the first train that arrives. as the doors slide smoothly to a starship enterprise close behind me and the car pulls away into the black tunnel, i stand nervously watching the passing darkness through the windows, which has become nothing but a blur behind my own reflection. emerging back into the light, the train stops with a gentle halt, and i quickly jump out to scan the platform. the deserted place is unfamiliar, and i realize this was not the train platform i was standing on, but rather the metro platform. making my way through the underground labyrinth of tunnels, stairs, and turnstiles and unable to find a way to the train platform below – even if it meant jumping any gates, i find myself exiting into the “lobby” area of passieg de gracia station, with its ticket windows along one wall. i ascend a set of steps to see where it leads, and poking my head up like a wary gopher, i see nothing but tall apartment buildings side by side and the clear blue sky above. a rumble of cars suggest a large street nearby, but i pull my head back down before curiosity got the better of me and head for the ticket windows.
habla ingles? i ask one ticket vendor. un poqiuito, he replies and once again, i try my broken-spanish account of what happened. asking if i could just be let down to the train platform to look for my friend, my request is declined. i had to purchase a ticket first. defeated, i acquiesce, pay the fare, and get a train ticket. checking the wall maps to make sure i was headed to the barcelona sants line, i arrive at the empty platform. this was without a doubt the same platform, which whizzed out of sight about two hours earlier – the ambient lighting was the same old-fluorescent beige, the walls had the same tile pattern, and the benches were of the same polished-metal my friend had placed our luggage beside before i ran back onto the train. my friend however, was not here.
despite the fact that it probably would have been easier for my friend to stay put, since he had all our luggage, leaving me to find my way back, this did not happen, and thinking my friend might simply had boarded the next train after discovering passieg de gracia was not the station on our ticket, i boarded the next train and returned to sants. after the train pulled into and stopped in the station which had now become familiar, i step off and look for an exit different from the one i used the first time in an attempt to cover all the routes my friend could have used if he passed this way. taking an escalator to street level, i exit fifty meters or so from the station, across from a large parking lot. walking across the lot, i notice several taxi zones and it occurs to me that my friend might simply had taken a taxi to our hotel since he had my backpack with all our maps and hotel information. i make a mental note of where to return for a taxi, should i need it later. entering sants station again, i smoke and stroll around the large hall to search for my friend. unable to locate him, i go to the passenger services office and speak to an older woman who tries the best she can to help me. understanding more than just un poquito english, she listens with squinted eyes and utmost attentiveness as i slowly convey to her my situation. i ask if she would be able to put out a call across the loudspeakers in the station and let my friend know to come to the passenger services office. she says ok, it will take a few minutes, and i write down my friend’s name on a small piece of paper before thanking her and going back into the main hall to search and wait some more. the announcement is in spanish, and my friend’s name comes across as only a staticky heavily-accented attempt. nevertheless, i cross my fingers, light another davidoff and wait.
after a good while of waiting with no sign of anything fortuitous appearing suddenly, i decide to leave the station to look for the hotel. perusing the station gift shop’s scant bookshelf of barcelona maps and tour books, i am unable to find any that can tell me the location of my hotel. i go back to the passenger services office and ask a woman (different from the one who helped me earlier) if she knew where the ac diplomatic hotel was, and if not, if she could search for it on her computer. she says yes, she does know [or thinks she knows, from what i can gather] where the hotel is located and sends me to a metro station called uriquinaona, writing down the name and metro line on a small rectangle of scrap paper. walking back to the huge lighted map of the city with its crisscrossing rail lines in bold colors, i search for line four and follow its yellow path with my eyes from barcelona sants, through the city, and to a circle marked uriquinaona. as certain as i could be regarding the whereabouts of my hotel, i take the familiar escalator back beneath the city to begin a new search...
the stop looks nothing like the one i originally alighted at, but i don’t think about the discrepancy immediately and instead, board the first train that arrives. as the doors slide smoothly to a starship enterprise close behind me and the car pulls away into the black tunnel, i stand nervously watching the passing darkness through the windows, which has become nothing but a blur behind my own reflection. emerging back into the light, the train stops with a gentle halt, and i quickly jump out to scan the platform. the deserted place is unfamiliar, and i realize this was not the train platform i was standing on, but rather the metro platform. making my way through the underground labyrinth of tunnels, stairs, and turnstiles and unable to find a way to the train platform below – even if it meant jumping any gates, i find myself exiting into the “lobby” area of passieg de gracia station, with its ticket windows along one wall. i ascend a set of steps to see where it leads, and poking my head up like a wary gopher, i see nothing but tall apartment buildings side by side and the clear blue sky above. a rumble of cars suggest a large street nearby, but i pull my head back down before curiosity got the better of me and head for the ticket windows.
habla ingles? i ask one ticket vendor. un poqiuito, he replies and once again, i try my broken-spanish account of what happened. asking if i could just be let down to the train platform to look for my friend, my request is declined. i had to purchase a ticket first. defeated, i acquiesce, pay the fare, and get a train ticket. checking the wall maps to make sure i was headed to the barcelona sants line, i arrive at the empty platform. this was without a doubt the same platform, which whizzed out of sight about two hours earlier – the ambient lighting was the same old-fluorescent beige, the walls had the same tile pattern, and the benches were of the same polished-metal my friend had placed our luggage beside before i ran back onto the train. my friend however, was not here.
despite the fact that it probably would have been easier for my friend to stay put, since he had all our luggage, leaving me to find my way back, this did not happen, and thinking my friend might simply had boarded the next train after discovering passieg de gracia was not the station on our ticket, i boarded the next train and returned to sants. after the train pulled into and stopped in the station which had now become familiar, i step off and look for an exit different from the one i used the first time in an attempt to cover all the routes my friend could have used if he passed this way. taking an escalator to street level, i exit fifty meters or so from the station, across from a large parking lot. walking across the lot, i notice several taxi zones and it occurs to me that my friend might simply had taken a taxi to our hotel since he had my backpack with all our maps and hotel information. i make a mental note of where to return for a taxi, should i need it later. entering sants station again, i smoke and stroll around the large hall to search for my friend. unable to locate him, i go to the passenger services office and speak to an older woman who tries the best she can to help me. understanding more than just un poquito english, she listens with squinted eyes and utmost attentiveness as i slowly convey to her my situation. i ask if she would be able to put out a call across the loudspeakers in the station and let my friend know to come to the passenger services office. she says ok, it will take a few minutes, and i write down my friend’s name on a small piece of paper before thanking her and going back into the main hall to search and wait some more. the announcement is in spanish, and my friend’s name comes across as only a staticky heavily-accented attempt. nevertheless, i cross my fingers, light another davidoff and wait.
after a good while of waiting with no sign of anything fortuitous appearing suddenly, i decide to leave the station to look for the hotel. perusing the station gift shop’s scant bookshelf of barcelona maps and tour books, i am unable to find any that can tell me the location of my hotel. i go back to the passenger services office and ask a woman (different from the one who helped me earlier) if she knew where the ac diplomatic hotel was, and if not, if she could search for it on her computer. she says yes, she does know [or thinks she knows, from what i can gather] where the hotel is located and sends me to a metro station called uriquinaona, writing down the name and metro line on a small rectangle of scrap paper. walking back to the huge lighted map of the city with its crisscrossing rail lines in bold colors, i search for line four and follow its yellow path with my eyes from barcelona sants, through the city, and to a circle marked uriquinaona. as certain as i could be regarding the whereabouts of my hotel, i take the familiar escalator back beneath the city to begin a new search...
sants station, barcelona, spain.
No comments:
Post a Comment