The End Is In Sight

So, I had finally reached Europe and I thought my traveling troubles were over. Oh, cruel fait how you mock me.

The French know how to protest, and they like to do it whenever they get the chance and they were at it again when I reached Europe. My plan had been to take a train from Barcelona to Paris and then the Eurostar to London and be done with it, but this was not to be the way. No trains were running from Spain to France and the busses were booking up quickly, I got the last seat on a bus that night running to Paris. It was going to take a lot longer and not be as comfortable, but it was my only option. So now all I had to do was wait.

Europe was cold, and I had no long-sleeved shirts, so I hit up the nearest H&M and got two hoodies to see me through. Duetchy lives in Barcelona now and it was great because I got to catch up with him over a few beers. It had been a couple years since I had seen him, so it was fantastic to be able to sit down and chat, even if it was only for a few hours. Unfortunately, he had to go back to work all too soon and I said goodbye to him once again and headed to the Bus station.

The ride to Paris was an uneventful one, I sat next to an Aussie guy and we chatted to kill time. The bus pulled in to Paris around mid day and I got a ticket to London on the last bus that day at 23:30 so again I had to wait. I met an English guy who had been working in Spain, so we played cards and had a few beers and finally the bus was ready to leave.

I think I jinxed the whole voyage thinking I was home free and all. The late bus was supposed to take the Eurotunnel car train and, so we pulled up at the French border and we had to unload. Our passports were checked, and our bags x-rayed, and we were checked, while all this was happening the pus was going through a thorough check and this is where things were going to go wrong. While checking the engine compartment they for some reason removed the belts and in the process, broke one.

Its 3:00 in the morning and you are stuck at the French border what do you do? By this time, I had made friends with some people on the bus and we had taken up resident in the duty-free waiting area. So, we played cards, pretty much the only thing we could do. I spent my last Euros on a sandwich and we settled in for the long haul.

As the hours rolled on and the shops opened in the waiting room and other travelers started to come and go we knew it wasn’t going to be a quick stay. Three hours past and some of the passengers were getting annoyed and some intense arguments had happened, but nothing was happening quickly due to the strikes.

I had been talking to a couple traveling back to England and we had been joking around while we played cards. I had joked that I had spent my last Euros and if I had to stay here much longer I would starve. When their train came they said good bye and the woman handed me a handful of change and insisted I take it, so I could eat. She said she had lived in Vancouver and love Canadians, being Canadian paid off again.

After five hours of waiting we were all getting a bit tiered and the duty free was open, so we spent the change on some cheep beer. It may have been at 7:00 in the morning but we needed it.

Finally, after six and a half hours the bus were ready to move. We got on the train and the rest of the trip couldn’t pass quickly enough. But unfamiliar streets soon began to look familiar and then became one I had walked many times before.

After over 6000KM in five buses, two trains, two ferries, one motorbike, by foot, eight Mercedes 190s, five mini vans, two private cars, one small boat, 15 taxis and one well tempered camel I found myself greeting my friend James outside is flat in London ready for a bit of a rest.