On the train ride back to Madrid from Barcelona, only nine hours before my 10 a.m. class, I was surprised to find I was no longer anxious about getting rest. My friend Jenny had dedicated about 90 percent of her backpack to a bright yellow floral sleeping bag for us to share on the train. This alone was indicative of our preoccupation: We had prioritized sleep - booking a night train, spending hours scrutinizing hostel reviews online and packing earplugs and eye masks to block out the unpleasantness of the nine-hour trip. Our goal had been an ambitious one - to visit everything historically, religiously, or architecturally significant in two-and-a-half days. This brief window was all our schedules, inconveniently filled with attendance-mandatory classes, would allow. Rich in history, architecture, outdoor markets, and old Olympic venues, Barcelona seemed the ultimate challenge.
Only minutes before the departure of our night train from the Madrid Chamartin station did we discover the difference between our tickets. While most of us held tickets labeled "preferencia," or first class, two among us had managed to secure spots in the bunk-bed section at a fraction of the price. Much to our chagrin, we learned that the train, and more importantly its coveted sleeping cars, were fully booked. When ticket-counter staff informed us for the last time that downgrading was not an option, we reassured ourselves that our first-class cabin would be just as, if not more, comfortable than any on-board bunk bed could be.
Four hours in and multiple bouts of grumbling later, we shifted positions yet again. This time moving an elbow out of another's face, balancing a leg on the opposing armrest, or shifting a crushed foot out from under someone after an onset of pins and needles. The seats did not recline; but instead slid forward in such a way as to connect with the seat facing opposite, creating what was an intensely awkward joint seat scenario. The bizarre setup, while not conducive to sleep, was just enough to severely inconvenience all but the most agile of passengers. My legs were falling asleep more readily than I was and stations seemed to pass by painfully slowly. Our six-person cabin was sweltering despite the fact that the window was cracked open, as was evident by the shrill whistle that emanated from it as the train accelerated. I cringed to think how much these poor conditions would slow us down the next day.
Upon arriving, we set out to explore each stall at St. Joseph's massive outdoor market; we walked the entirety of Las Ramblas, the city's most famous boulevard, and saw many examples of Gaudi's architectural genius. By the time we abandoned the colossal line at Sagrada Familia in favor of a siesta, we were absolutely drained, physically and mentally. The sky threatened as we hiked back to our hostel, and by the time we dragged ourselves back outside for pre-dinner exploration, it was pouring.
The weather seemed to mirror our tourist experience. By the end of the night, we were soaked from what had been a flash flood and overwhelmed by our rigorous schedule. Luckily, the following two days were absolutely beautiful. My friend Clare suggested a stop by the port, which turned into a day at the beach - absolutely nothing could have been better. People-watching, floating in the Mediterranean, and observing the pace of life in Barcelona reset the tone of our trip. I decided that, weather permitting, I would relax the next day as well.
Mindset is most definitely what makes or breaks these weekend adventures. An urge to see it all, create an itinerary, and generally overextend can be more destructive than enriching. Willing to accept an abbreviated tour for a non-existent line and beautiful lighting, we opted to head inside the Gaudi apartments near closing time. Our sunset view of the city from the roof was the most memorable aspect of the trip without question.
Roman ruins, architectural genius, and Olympic remnants can be a lot to take in, and most are less satisfying than more casual tourism. On the return trip Monday morning before class, instead of desperately trying to sleep as we had done before, we struck up conversation with the two Spaniards in our cabin, a friendly and animated woman from just outside Madrid and an opinionated student from Barcelona. They shared their opinions on the use of Catalan, a minority language spoken in Barcelona, and explained the rationale behind various separatist movements. We shared our statistical knowledge about the dangers of smoking and fielded Obama-versus-McCain questions. This cultural exchange of sorts was certainly a highlight of the trip. I learned more than I ever would have had I obsessed about resting up for a packed day.
I discovered that the true beauty of traveling is more in taking advantage of the moment, rather than in executing plans. Experiencing something exceptional came effortlessly when we were not overly concerned about planning future experiences. Hustling from line to line and site to site results in many pictures, but few true memories. My most rewarding moments were those when I took the time to sit and take in the atmosphere around me, just soaking up the sun or striking up a conversation.
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