Slightly different view out of the train window this time around- I've left the rolling fields of France for the rocky mountainous landscape of central Spain, having just pulled out of Madrid and heading to the East Coast. At risk of sounding very cringey, the last 10 days have been almost 2 separate journeys for me- the physical route I've taken, from London, to Paris, to Bordeaux and then Madrid, but also the mental process that comes with accepting life living out of a backpack. You really find yourself dissociating at points, when all your material possessions, the different outfits that you like having, the comfort of your own bed, are worthless to you now and hundreds of miles away. There's definitely points where I've laid back on a hostel mattress at twelve in the morning and asked myself, 'Is this what I wanted? All this time and money, and I'm still having to wait to use the toilet I have to share with 7 other people?'. But, as every TikTok told me I would before coming on this trip, I've learned to appreciate the lows as much as the highs. The mental and physical journeys are much more interlinked than you initially realise.
The change from the big time rush of Paris to the laid back lifestyle in Bordeaux was a big step in that journey for me. If you're planning on Interrailing, make sure you have stops like this to break up the flow of big cities and busy crowds. Bordeaux still had a lot to offer to fill the 3 days we spent there, but worrying about cramming an itinerary full of sightseeing and tours was able to take a backseat in favour of aimless strolls through the streets and markets of this very walkable city. I really enjoyed Paris, but it was intense, and being in Bordeaux put that into perspective. We stayed at Eklo Hostel, around 10 minutes walk from the river, and it had a really relaxed feel to it. Knowing we had a kitchen to go back to meant we could just pick up food from the Carrefour supermarket down the road and eat whenever it suited us, which relieved a lot of pressure on spending and how long we spent out. Even the half an hour walk from the station to the hostel, carrying our backpacks, seemed so much simpler when we weren't worried about the pickpockets on busy avenues. Bordeaux's many monuments in such a confined area, as well as its surprisingly extensive tram network, made it a really appealing visit for a short stay. I wouldn't say there is enough to do in the city to spend an entire holiday there- and it is still very costly, not dissimilar to Paris actually- but I think I'd spend a weekend in Bordeaux again.
If the change of pace to life in Bordeaux brought a feeling of comfort, our journey into Madrid was quite the opposite. Stupidly, I'd decided we would take an overnight bus into the Spanish capital rather than a train, and it was a disaster from the outset. To set the scene- we left our hostel at around 9pm in the evening to walk down to the 'bus shelter' our FliXBus was due to pick us up from. It was dark at this point, we didn't want to have to keep carrying our bags around, and the original address given to us for the bus station took us to the middle of nowhere. And yet somehow, actually finding the 'bus shelter' made us feel even worse. You'll notice twice now I've put those two words in quotation marks; that's because calling it a bus shelter is really giving it too much credit. I think a more apt description would be glorified underpass- or as we dubbed it, 'human trafficky'. So, by the time 11.45pm came around, when our bus was due to arrive, my legs were freezing, I wanted to sleep, and the only food I had were chocolate brownies, not exactly sustainable-we thought we'd either missed it or it just wasn't showing up. Half an hour later, it did arrive, and we thought that might be us saved.
Little did we know the next ten hours over the border and into Madrid would be the most intolerable of the entire trip yet.
Seats directly above the toilet meant the entire journey was accompanied with all its lovely smells, the chairs were uncomfortable, and I didn't sleep the entire way across. To say stepping foot off of that vehicle and onto the solid floor of the Madrid bus station was a relief is an understatement.
Madrid itself pleasantly surprised me in all the best ways possible. After navigating the admittedly more-complicated-than-Paris metro network to our hostel, we were happy to find the best place we had stayed yet- although, being welcomed with a free beer at the bar might have had something to do with that first impression. Even though I'd never visited the city, being in a country where I could speak the language relatively conversationally and understand most of what was being said to me was a massive relief. I took a nap in our dorm to compensate for the insomnia of the night before and then we took a stroll for some food. I'm happy to say we didn't have any fast food in Madrid at all, and the decision to take a gamble on the Tapas bar across the street from the Burger King proved one of our best decisions, Zac getting a taste of his first Paella rounding off our travel-heavy day nicely. Much like Bordeaux, Madrid seemed to offer a way of life geared more towards taking life slowly and appreciating the little things than the rush of Paris, or London, or even at home in my own little town. Our first morning there, I woke up early and took a walk on my own, finding myself in the square of the 'Catedral de la Almudena'; when I spoke before about the physical and mental journeys coinciding, this was certainly a key point in that. Standing there on my own, a view over Madrid, I felt content, like I was on the right path, despite all the anxieties I'd had before (and that I'm still experiencing, to be honest). However stressful or scary it gets, there are always going to be moments like that to look forward to, which gives me a lot of confidence.
After buying myself an Argentina shirt for €4 in a vintage shop and then heading back to the hostel to wake Zac up, we went and bought brunch at the famous 'Mercado de San Miguel'. The empanadas there were absolutely to die for, and I'm not even massively a foodie. It was also, unfortunately, about time for us to do some laundry again, so thats how the afternoon was spent, before going to a rustica pizza restaurant for an adorable dinner date, followed by a few rounds of cheap Cervezas at our hostel bar. I slept very well that night.
I was already in love with the city at this point, but the guided tour we took the next morning has almost convinced me I should live in Madrid. Our guide Diana told us of how all the amazing architecture has stood the same way since it was built, only regenerated, never reconstructed, as the city was not bombed during World War II. For me, the highlight was walking through its iconic 'Retiro Park'; its stunning blue lake, rows of vibrant treelines and the buzz of genuine human joy in every person we passed. People there lived- like, really lived. Not thinking about work the next day, or how long the journey home will take. Just soaking in the sun, a good book in hand, present in the moment. It's the way of life I aspire to have, we all should. And I could really see myself as one of them in a few years time.
The older sibling in me couldn't visit Madrid without trying to make my brother jealous, and I knew a trip to the Santiago Bernabeu was on the cards. The history of the club, its success, is something you can't help but admire, no matter what team you support. For as cheap as €25 at the moment, taking the tour was well worth it as a fan of the sport.
The next day was our last, and as much as I didn't want to leave the city behind, I was really looking forward to seeing my family again- they were holidaying on the coast, and we stopped off to meet them en-reute to Valencia, our next city. Getting the train out of Madrid was, to be frank, a nightmare, and we literally made it on with minutes to spare, but arriving in Tarragona, knowing I was only a bus away from them again was such a great feeling.
I've kept very quiet on my social media over the last 3 days since I started writing this post, because I wanted to experience my time in Salou as Ethan, with my family, not as a journalist or trying to photograph everything- and to be honest, it was welcomed. Waving goodbye to them today was really hard, because this time round I knew it was for good, 70+ days left, as opposed to in London where I knew they were only 10 days away. Once again, the mental side of the journey takes a bit of a hit. But, I look forward to Valencia and the new adventure waiting me there- where my mental journey is struggling, the physical journey is carrying me through. So I sign off this post the same way I started it; on another train, the next chapter awaiting me.
Cheers for the read,
EV
What a fantastic read Ethan. Looking forward to reading your next one. X