Arrived in Spain

Flight long and irritating. Didn’t watch the movie; tried to sleep the whole time. Didn’t succeed. Didn’t sleep enough the night before I left. Ate weirdly the evening before I left. Arrived more or less miserable.

Called Eric from Heathrow and found out... oh, but here the story gets long. Let’s go back in time:

About a week ago, student protests erupted in France (the land of the student protest) over a proposed change in labor laws (as I understand it) making it easier to fire (and therefore to hire) people under 26. The goal was to decrease unemployment among the young by giving them the same labor rights as every American enjoys – that is to say, virtually none. Well, the student population, who are young themselves, but generally don’t hit the labor market until around 26 anyway, were having none of this, and took to the streets.

In the days since, there have been countless manifestations everywhere. Yesterday, when Eric was taking a train for Cognac to Angoulême, to catch a train to Bordeaux, to catch a train to Irun (on the French-Spanish border), to catch the overnight train to Madrid, to catch a train to Málaga, to take the train to the Málaga airport, to meet me after my flight... French students took over the Angoulême train station, delaying trains. The protest dispersed in time for him to leave at the appointed time, on a train that was supposed to have left earlier; but when he got to Bordeaux, he discovered that the train he was catching there was also delayed, and he would miss his connection to Madrid. This would throw off his travels plans to the point where he wouldn’t be able to arrive in Málaga until 10:47pm, 2½ hours after my flight arrived. Finally arrangements were made to put him and the few others who were traveling to Madrid that night on a special train from Hendaye (on the other side of the border from Irun). So they arrived in Hendaye at 1:40am and were shoved into tiny couchettes that Eric, being claustrophobic, found to be utterly miserable. Arriving on Madrid in time to catch an early train, Eric discovered that, in contrast to every single train he had taken so far, these trains were already booked up, and the earliest train he could get on would arrive in Málaga at, you guessed it, 10:47pm.

Meanwhile, Mila and Eli had nearly missed their connection in Heathrow, and Mila’s luggage did miss the connection. The airline failed to deliver the luggage to their hotel in Aranjuez the next night (it was finally delivered to our hotel in Estepona the following morning). They also overslept – poor Yelena took a long time to go to sleep, the room had no clocks (the hotel is associated with a casino), and they’d pulled down the blinds for a total sun-block, the result being that they woke up at noon, an hour past checkout time. The hotel was nice about it, and they hit the road an hour or so later, but only had time to go directly to the airport to get me. My flight was a little delayed, by the time I got out of the baggage claim, it was 45 minutes later than my flight was supposed to have arrived, and Eli and I proceeded to spend another ½ hour not finding each other.

Finally we hit the road to Estepona, stopping on the way for some roadside food – to go, but with no plastic forks, so we could eat much in the car. The hotel took some time to check into – more than average – and then Eli and I left Mila and Yelena to drive to Málaga. I thought my memories of Málaga would make it easy to find the train station (coupled with the map I was carrying), but in fact it was quite difficult, owing to the not-uncommon situation of their being clear signs for the train station everywhere but at that last turn. So we got a bit lost, and by the time we picked up Eric, it was five minutes to midnight.

We finally got to bed at 1 or 1:30 in the morning. We have promised ourselves massages tomorrow. What’s the point of staying in a fancy shmancy resort if you don’t get a massage?

Labels: journal, personal, spain

posted by Tony at 11:59 PM