3-10-93 (I think)
I’m sitting here in the train station at Toulouse – long story of how I got here. Got into Paris and no information booths were open. I wandered around for ½ hour, ‘til a man took pity on me. I tried to explain where I wanted to go, Paris-Austerleitz, and he bought me a ticket to the Metro. But Before buying me the ticket he tried to convince me that a night in Paris would be very good. It took some fast-talking before he got the idea that I would rather be in Barcelona with Maiol than in Paris with him. Anyways, I finally got off the Metro and immediately took a wrong turn, ending-up back on a street. By the time I got back into the train station, the last train towards Barcelona was pulling out. I thought about spending the night in the station, but wasn’t sure how safe that was. I saw a train that was heading here (Toulouse) and jumped on it. Unfortunately I got on at the wrong end and had to walk though seven sleeper-berth cars until I got to the one for second class. As I stepped onto the car the rather pungent smell of marajuana hit me. There were three young men, around 20 I guess, who all had joints going. They all offered to share, but I already had a contact high so I passed. One of the guys helped me with my bags (Yes, Mom and Ed, I am beginning to realize that I brought way too much!) and found me a seat (in a room with three georgous guys!) I was just getting settled in when all the men got off the train and an older gentleman took their place. He must have realized that I was very tired because he tucked me in with his coat and patted my hand until I fell asleep – very strange but nice.
I woke-up at about 6 am and sat and vegetated until we pulled into Toulouse. I got off the train and suddenly realized that I had no Francs. I’ve asked three different people and they all tell me that I can’t cash travelers checks at this station – I haven’t eaten since about 5 am yesterday, on the plane – man, am I looking forward to Barcelona!
I am not overly impressed with the French – their train stations are filthy and most of the people, at least those that I have had contact with, are rude. Earlier I sitting here, minding my own business, when this older lady (late 50’s, early 60’s) stopped about five feet from me and started yelling at me. I waited until she was finished, then simply said "English" and she walked off. I would like to know what she said to me – it sounded rather choice. I just looked at the ground in front of me and realized that along with all the cigarette butts and assorted garbage were (or is that are?) two butts of joints (yes, I picked one up and smelled it – it smells good!)
No one here returns a smile, so I’ve summoned up a disgusted look so I’ll blend right in.
One good thing that I can say is that it seems every 10th person or so has a dog – I’ve seen three dog fights so far – Wow!
Am now in a train headed to Barcelona – maybe. I got to Portbou okay – my train from Toulouse to Narbonne was shared with four French women – they never stopped gossiping and I loved the sound of their voices.
Once I got to Portbou I tried to call Maiol and got an answering machine with a number at the bar for Albert. I called the bar number and the man who answered said "No Albert." Yikes! I guess that I’ll try again when I get to Barcelona.
I didn’t care for the scenery in central and southern France, except for the last couple of towns near the border. Those looked beautiful – wonderful clay houses, etc.
Two people just joined me – he’s Italian who speaks a little English and French, she’s Spanish and speaks a little German – the conversation is very involved with lots of hand gestures and shaking heads.
The porter just told me that I was, in fact, headed for Barcelona – he said that I’ll be there at 9:40 – is now 8:00.
I think that my fellow companions have just come to the conclusion that bullfighting started in Barcelona – all I caught was "Uno ____ ____ ____ Plazzo de Torres."
Hyperlinked Information:
the last train towards Barcelona was pulling out, jumped on it, Yes, Mom and Ed, I am beginning to realize that I brought way too much, very strange but nice, not overly impressed with the French, I would like to know what she said to me, No Albert, bullfighting started in Barcelona
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