Solo to Barcelona

As a single woman of a certain age, I am well used to travelling on my own, which usually involves me catching a plane to my destination. However, in February I was sent on a work trip to Barcelona by train. Okay, no worries. How long did you say it will take? All day? Right.

I wondered if I was going to encounter a murder and a short Belgian detective with an impressive moustache. Yes, that’s right, I love an Agatha Christie story, so I decided to cast myself as Katherine Grey, the heroine in The Mystery of the Blue Train. I must point out now, that there are a few differences between Katherine and I, she’s younger than me and I haven’t recently inherited a fortune from a generous employer. Other than that, we could be twins.

So, early one Friday morning I found myself with an ipad loaded with music, puzzles and books, boarding the 06:35 train from East Croydon bound for London St Pancras. My fellow passengers were a typical bunch of early morning commuters, a transgender woman who was doing everything she could to attract attention, and then huffing and tutting when people stared, a nervous office worker intimidated by the attention seeker, and a few city types smirking behind their copies of the Metro. Thankfully there were no delays, and I arrived with plenty of time for breakfast before my next train.

Suitably sated, I excitedly made my way to passport control, on to the departure lounge for some sweet and magazine shopping and finally the Eurostar to Paris.

Right, this is where my adventure is likely to start, who will sit next to me, a wealthy American heiress, a private detective? No, it was a young Japanese girl who spent the entire journey messaging friends on her phone. Well, at least she was quiet, which is more than I can say for what turned out to be a group of over-excited elderly punks, who were listening to Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift! Well, there obviously wasn’t going to be a murder on this stretch of the journey, unless someone took offence at the music choices of the exuberant Mohicans, so I sat back and gazed out of the window, watching as the metropolis turned into the verdant Kent countryside, before eventually travelling through the channel tunnel.

On arrival in France I looked out for the hordes of refugees that we were forever seeing on the TV news, but all I saw was razor wire stretching for what seemed like miles. Eventually, the fencing gave way to the landscapes of Northern France, where cartoon cat electricity pylons marched across the fields. The passing Norman churches standing proud amongst steep roofed villages bought back memories of childhood holidays where my brother and I would walk around chanting the only French words we knew – “deux glaces s’il vous plaît”. Happy days.

In no time at all we arrived at the Gare du Nord and I now had to make my way across town for my train to Spain. The company had given me a Metro ticket and I plunged underground and joined the RER service to the Gare de Lyon. The train smelt unpleasantly of a teenage boys bedroom, something that neither Katherine nor Hercule had to contend with!

Imagine my delight, on arrival at my destination, to not just find myself in a light, bright and odour-free station, but to discover that the restaurant was called Le Train Bleu. My adventure was definitely going to start here, even though the budget didn’t quite stretch to a meal in the ornately decorated eatery, it was a sign. It had to be.

I settled for a baguette and a spot of people watching to pass the time. The concourse was filled with people saying cheerful ‘bonjour’s’ and tearful ‘au revoir’s’ to loved ones. Opposite was a family who shared a rather tasty looking spicy curry with rice, and there were a few beggars wandering around, but no Americans wearing priceless rubies, or bowler-hatted Belgian detectives. Hey ho.

The 14:07 to Barcelona was announced and I made my way to the platform. I walked almost the entire length of the train to find my carriage, which joy of joys, was First Class! If I were ever going to meet the characters from one of the great novelists books, it would be here, as they would be unlikely to travel in any other way.

I climbed the stairs, yes it was a double-decker, and found my berth – Seat 61. Now those of you who know about continental rail travel, will be aware that this is a much-coveted position for solo travellers, and also the non-du-plume of a train enthused blogger. For the rest of you, it’s a single window seat. I made myself comfortable, sat back and took stock of my travelling companions. Was there anyone who was likely to be murdered?

On first glance it looked unlikely, there was an elderly lady opposite who was asleep before we left the station, and in front of me a very ‘European’ couple, who appeared to be work colleagues. Ho hum, no joy, so I flicked through my pile of magazines and listened to some music, as the train whooshed through France. I got bored very quickly, so I turned off the music, tuned into the conversation of my neighbours and watched the rolling wooded hills, adorned with the occasional chateau speed past the window.

It turned out that the couple were a French man and a German woman, and I wasn’t entirely sure they were colleagues. They didn’t seem to know much about each other, but judging by the amorous embrace when he stood up to stretch his legs, they were rather more than friends. They were both wearing wedding rings, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t married to each other. My interest piqued, and I channelled Katherine and Hercule as much as possible.

The train continued to zoom south, passing hamlets filled with shuttered, red tiled buildings, weathered by time, and it was a good couple of hours before we reached our first stop, where a few passengers gratefully disembarked for a swift Gauloises, before returning to their seats. The same occurred at the next stop, and it seemed to me that there was time built into the schedule to accommodate the habit.

Anyway, back to the couple embarking on an affair in Barcelona. Luckily for me, as they came from different countries, they spoke English to each other, so I could understand everything they said, and more importantly, what they didn’t say! Suddenly, her phone rang, and I learned that she was trying to sell her apartment in Barcelona. Maybe, this elegant German lady sat in front of me was the heiress that was going to be murdered, but if that were the case, the only person who would be able to commit the crime would be her companion, which wouldn’t be very interesting. Oh well, back to looking out of the window.

The further south we travelled, the more interesting the scenery became. The endless hills turned into plains dotted with small towns filled with pastel coloured buildings, flamingo filled lagoons, and yes, the sea! It was about this time that the train started moving extremely slowly, probably so we could appreciate the scenery, and as time was getting on, the sunset. It was beautiful and looked exactly as you would hope, it was here that I wished I was breaking my journey, Montpelier looked like it would be an interesting place to stay, but not this time, I was non-stop to Barcelona. I didn’t mind the train travelling so slowly through these picturesque landscapes, until the sun finally set and we were shrouded in darkness. Then it got really dull, and I wasn’t the only one to think so, as virtually everyone else in my compartment had fallen asleep. There was nothing to view through the window, and worse still, no conversations to listen in to. Eventually we reached the Spanish border, where the train crew changed and the driver found the accelerator!

I’m sure this part of the journey is absolutely spectacular, but by now it was 20:00 and pitch black outside with nothing visible, so I was extremely grateful for the speed at which we rocketed our way to Barcelona Sants.

We finally pulled into our final destination at 20:45, there had been no murders, no Belgian detectives and I was absolutely shattered.

So, my advice should you be considering travelling solo to Barcelona by train, is to break the journey with a night or two in the South of France on the way, or if time doesn’t permit, make sure you pack lots of puzzles, books, music, magazines and a lively imagination!