I am in the midst of a really bad day.
Turns out my trusty and wildly expensive Eurail pass is not all it’s made out to be. Not by a mile. Even though your fare is covered, as it happens, there are a number of long distance trains where a seat reservation is mandatory. That I knew. There are also three countries whose need for payola is so strong, that they require a reservation on ALL trains – usually from anywhere from 10 euro to 25 euro ($16-$40) a pop. That I recently learned. The jerk countries by the way, are Spain, France, and Italy.
Here comes the kick in the crotch: You cannot make said reservation until you get to the country in question. This involves in waiting in hour-long to multi-hour lines. Then it may happen that you get to the front of the line and you learn the following: You want to go from Barcelona to Lourdes – a six-hour journey under perfect circumstances. You can buy your reservation from Barcelona, Spain to Narbonne, France, but you cannot make your continuing reservations to Toulouse and then Lourdes until you get to France. in other words, you don’t know what you’ll find until you’re in the middle of the trek.
Okay, no problem you think. Upon getting to France, you go and get in a (long and pretty much non-moving line). You write down the reservation you need today, and the other two you will need in the upcoming days in this same country (to get to Paris and then to get to Bern, Switzerland). You get to the front of the line and learn that there are open seats on the train, BUT ONLY A SET NUMBER OF RESERVATIONS ALLOWED FOR EURAIL PASSES. Worse, ALL THREE trains that you need (over the next five days) ARE ‘SOLD OUT’ with respect to Eurail reservations. (You can buy tickets, for about $450 Euro all together, but you already spent a small fortune on the Eurail pass…)
This is when you realize: You have been screwed. You have paid almost $2000 for an open-ended train ticket that is the equivalent of a really, really bad frequent flyer program. The remedy? None.
Either buy a ticket or “ask the conductor for permission to get on without a reservation.” I’ll be frank, and say I’m not even sure what that means. Ask for permission? See if he’s in a good mood? Bring her a bag of candies? Sneak them some cash? Beg? Cry? It’s not like I’m trying to ride for free or anything…
Add to the injustice the treatment by the railway clerk: When I asked if he would please process my other reservations, he looked at me, sneered, and said, “There are people in line trying to BUY tickets.” Oh, if only I were fluent in French and could take his head off – verbally. I would have liked to say something to the effect of, “Dude, this is a Eurail pass. It is expensive. It’s probably not even a good deal. I’m fairly confident you’re making more money on me than you are on them. It’s not like I’m trying to pay for tickets with box tops or soup labels here. Your employer has invented this insane, greedy process…PLEASE HELP ME WITH IT.”
Actually, what I did say was (in the world’s worst French. Although I’m actually amazed at how much I’ve pulled from the cobwebbed recesses of my mind), “I understand. Please help me.” (I would have liked to add ‘anyway’ to the end of that sentence. And maybe something about how i, too, had waited in the really, really long line for my turn…buI don’t know those words, so whatever). In the end, and as I mentioned above, he declared that there were no reservation to be had. He seemed pretty put out, and maybe he didn’t really look. Who knows?
Those are problems that will be faced tomorrow.
Today, I just need to get to Lourdes. I am stressed, but I am trying to control my thoughts and maintain a positive attitude. I honestly feel as though my faith is being tested – a big toe in the waters of the laws of attraction – and I’m trying to rise to the challenge.
On the other side of the train station, I can hear a gaggle of Australian girls who were also trying to get to Toulouse (and have Eurail passes) discuss the situation. There are about seven of them. On the down side, that may make this ‘ask for permission’ thing harder? I figure the one thing I have going for me is that I’m traveling alone. They’re not ‘making an exception’ or however this is crapola is viewed – for a small village, just one small woman and her big bag. One small, bawling, inconsolable woman if that’s what it takes. Thanks to not remotely enough sleep last night and a lack of reserves for this unexpected mess, I am teetering on the edge of tears as it is.
Anyway, I can hear the girls discussing all the other cities they might go to from here while trying to figure out where they are on a map (Avignon, Nice, Bayonne). It sounds like they’ve abandoned all hope on Toulouse, and I’m not sure how to incorporate that into my thought process. Actually, I can’t incorporate that in. I am not a group of six girls who can rent a hotel room and share it or camp together or wing it in relative safety. I am a solo female traveler with with a reservation (the first night of which I will pay for regardless) in Lourdes. I have to persist and think positive and figure out how to see myself to a happy ending.
Plus, as odd as it may sound, I really want to go. Everything I’ve read – mostly the diaries and recounting of nuns and priests and occasional pilgrim (as are called the roughly six million individuals who make their way there annually)– are inspiring. I’m really not a religious person. Not at all. I was raised Catholic until the fourth grade, when my mother married a Southern Baptist and i was suddenly exposed (despite four years of Catholic school) as knowing absolutely nothing about the Bible and a veritable heathen. Let’s just that at the tender age of nine I learned that not all Christians place emphasis in the same stuff. In short, the conversion didn’t go well for me, and I never really came back around to any organized religion.
Anyway, my point here is that although I regard myself as a spiritual person, it’s kind of a weird fusion of stuff, and I’m not a practicing anything. So I admit that it’s odd I feel so compelled to go to Lourdes. But I do. Maybe it’s the idea of miracles. Maybe it’s the child in me that really, realy believed (and still wants to believe?) everything the nuns told me: That they were wearing a piece of the cross around their neck, and god hears you prayers AND cares, and perhaps there are a few places sacred and magical enough in the world, that if you struggle mightily to get to them and you really truly want to believe, that something transcendent might happen for you? And you’d be changed, irrevocably, for the better? I like that idea. It makes me feel a little teary-eyed.
So it is for that reason that I am pushing forward against the seemingly impossible. It will take me four trains and thirteen hours – if I pull this off at all – but I’m not going down without a fight. With any luck – or perhaps with a little grace from Saint Bernadette or the Virgin Mary herself – the update on my predicament will come to you from my little hotel room on Rue de la Grotte in Lourdes.
I hear it’s got neon galore. What a wonderful world…