A train ride of awesomeness

Our earliest morning in Spain proved to be the most, well let's call it, Interesting. We went to the Madrid Train Station to buy a ticket for the next train to Barcelona, a presumably easy feat. Upon arrival, however, the tourist class (2nd Class) was sold out until 3 o'clock in the afternoon. This was no good as we had a limited time in Barcelona as it was. So Scott suggested the next class up (Preferente (Business)), to see if there were earlier seats. "Arriba Clase," I said with an unsure grimace. The man looked us over briefly and then checked his computer. He said (more like pointed to his computer) there were tickets available on an 11.30 train for €160. After a brief choking fit I looked at the other two with as much a pleading face as I could muster. But budge they would not, and "I think it's okay,' passed seamlessly from their lips. 'Alright let's do it,' was finally administered and the purchasing process began.

My Spanish somewhat escaped me in the heat of the moment and I could only find the words, "Solo, no juntos," in my vast English-Spanish Dictionary in mi cabeza. These words were uttered in an attempt to explain we wanted to pay seperately, not together. "Seperado" he finally said, which made me nod my head slowly, but proved another meaning than I had anticipated. I gave up my (parent's) credit card and waited for the receipt. When it came back at €479 I nearly keeled over in sheer unabated agony. "No" I practically screamed (slight exaggeration, as in reality it was more a soft anguished whisper). But when he saw Dave get his credit card out as well and my shocked disgusted face, he realized his mistake and fised the bill. Though €160 still seems broken to me.

However much we paid, one could almost (almost) say it was worth it. The seats were comfy and the train was fast and smooth. I was not too happy, though, at the fact that I had to sit across from a giant businessman who consistently tried to overtake my leg room. Meanwhile Scott and Dave had seats to themselves (a fact we realized on route to the train after purchase was Scott asked what seat I had. "16A," was my number, "2A," was Dave's, "3A," was Scott's; behold the meaning of "Seperados"). But by the time the free (free) lunch came (and after my colosses of clout scarffed it down in the time it took me to butter my bread) I was as happy as a fish, or maybe a duck (wait for it).

Our meal was served most genially and it consisted of a rather edlictable duck mousse with an orange sauce, a superbly cooked and not altogether surprisingly tasty Hake with a marinara sauce and wild rice and fesh peas, a touch of soup, nice fresh bread, and lovely creme puffs comleted the ensemble with perfection. Then a choice of beverage enlightened me and I could not help but smile at the country side that flew by.