In the morning we arrived in Hendaye. This is at the border of Spain and France. We needed to switch trains, but we had some hours of a layover. So we hung out in the small train station lobby.
I looked over at the ticket buying machine and noticed something very peculiar. You see, the controls for deciding what ticket to buy and all that was a sort of knob with a button in the center. It was a little larger than a baseball. But the thing that was weird was the icon on the screen that gave instructions on how to use it. It had a generic hand twisting, or should I say groping, the round thing with the button in the center. Use your imagination.
Another thing I noticed (I notice a lot when I’m bored) was that there was a small conductor’s room in the lobby. It looked as if it contained some basic stuff, like extra coats or clothing, whistles, what not. There was some kind of shift change that happened while I was there, and the door of the closet was left slightly ajar. I was so completely tempted to walk up to the closet and steal a hat, because I completely could have and not been caught. And I would have had a conductor’s hat. But, I decided not to. I have nothing against these people.
We got on the train and relaxed as it sped through Paris. Now, here I have written that I met a French teacher who gave me book, but I don’t remember that part at all. Maybe my memory of that day was more consumed by suggestive ticket machine controls and hats.
We got to the Paris Station, and went from one station to the other on the metro. Then spent quite a while waiting for the other train. Had McDonalds, ah yes, my last Le Big Mac (ala Pulp Fiction). Eventually got on the train and rode until night. We shared a compartment with some french guys that got on and a weird guy who didn’t like us. I think he just didn’t like youngsters.
In the process of traveling, I decided it would be brilliant to take the last bottle of 1 Euro wine and make it taste better by transforming it into sangria. I did this with the help of the cherry liquor, some of the apples and the oranges. This ended up tasting… well… not as I had hoped. And I don’t think it even got us that drunk, not even tipsy.
Night came. But in the middle of the night I suddenly woke up and had a terrible pain in my arm. It was this really dull achy pain, but it hurt so incredibly much. I suspect it was a pinched nerve of some sort. I tried to wait it out, but I couldn’t, and eventually I decided to risk waking people up by pulling down my backpack and scavenging through it until I found the Advil. I was so happy I had brought that. I swigged it down with some train-made sangria, and eventually could get back to sleep.