We're sitting in the Gare de Lyon train station, being dirty Americans and sitting on the floor. The workers at the help desks are, in actuality, the least helpful people I have ever met. All I know is that we WILL get to Barcelona tonight. They keep telling me no. "No, your Eurail pass wil not get you on this train," "No, you cannot get a ticket!" "No I cannot help you." Well fuck that, we're going to Barcelona!
2/14 4:15pm
We're on the train to Montpellier ... which hopefully means we're headed to Barcelona! This has been the most beautiful train ride I have ever been on, the clouds are dancing into these colorful formations just for us. We've passed trees weighed down with snow and hilltop villages sprinkled with small homes and steeples. We've passed snow-capped foothills and fields of trees all in neat rows, vineyards preparing for summer, tall thin evergreens and meandering dirt roads. The Birch trees wait still and patiently for spring, while the greenhouses bathe in the sun as it slips through the clouds. I feel dirty and ugly from travel but it bothers me less than ever before because I am still here, and that matters most.
Many of the young women have single red roses tucked into their bags. I watch them scurry through the train after long embraces beside the closing doors, and I don't know what that makes me feel.
8:03pm
We just crossed the border into Spain. A frightening man came onto the train and spoke words that we did not understand. We were nervous for a moment but soon noticed the medallion on his neck that meant he worked for the government. He checked passports and we were on our way.
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