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I've been to Biarritz in the southwest of France only once with my school, but that was by bus, not train. Going by rail wasn’t really my expertise. When I usually thought of Europe I would think of a Eurail pass and jumping on the next available train via Paris for the weekend! But now, looking at the map of Western Europe sprawled on the stations wall with its web of tracks bolded in different yellows and greens, I wasn’t so sure of myself or my train-locating skills.
After sitting in the station for a while, trying not to look too much like a scared traveler, I saw that the blue trains were starting to gather with commotion. I was leaving the city, but many people were arriving for work. San Sebastián is also named Donostia in Basque. I learned this only after moving to the beautiful resort town.
I should have done better research on places to study abroad, but all I cared about was that it was far away from anywhere and by the beach. I needed to have some Spanish credits for college, so I thought - why not Spain? If I had read up on San Sebastián, I probably would have noticed Spanish was not the only language spoken. There is also Euskara, an ancient language with no trace of its ancestry.
The Basque people, who usually speak Euskara along with French and/or Spanish, are not of Spanish or French decent. Spain and France only took over their region around the Bay of Bisque a few centuries ago, and the fighting of territory hasn’t let up since.
There is a long history of rebellion and even terrorism against Spain and France involving the Basque Nationalist and Separatist group called ETA. And now, I was about to cross the Spanish border into France where I would still be in Basque Country. Too bad I didn’t learn a little Euskara for my travels.
The train ride out of the city and into the countryside took only a few minutes, because San Sebastián is located about 10 miles south from the French border. If logic had its way, then the train station at the Spanish-French border would be one in the same, but logic as I very soon would learn, had nothing to do with my journey; most especially with France. The last station in Spain just ends, no connection to France. On the map, which I printed off a computer, the train route looks as though it just keeps going through France without a hitch, yet the tracks just stop. Walking down the stairs into the morning, I had to find the French station across the border. It only took a few steps and a gate to get there, but there was definitely a distinction drawn between the two stations.
The reading of the Spanish train routes is fairly easy because I am a student of Castellano (the Spanish spoken in most parts of Spain). But the French schedules seemed to be more than just a familiar Latin based language, seemingly fighting against all logic. The French station was immaculate in its construction and design yet confusing. I knew the next train to Biarritz would be leaving within a matter of minutes, but I couldn’t even find the proper window to buy a ticket. The schedules weren’t organized by time, destinations, or directions. I honestly couldn’t tell how it was organized, so I stepped up to the nearest window, which had an older, fat lady behind it and spoke into the black microphone in bad Spanish, “One ticket to Biarritz, please.”
She gave me a blank stare, then I tried in English “Next train to Biarritz please.” This time she looked angry for me not fluently requesting my ticket. I held up my printed map and pointed to Biarritz where she rolled her eyes without a facial expression and looked down at the computer while mumbling something very fast in French.
Hopeful for success, I pulled out 20 Euros stashed away in my passport pocket and placed it in the drawer. I luckily picked the right move and received my change and ticket though the same pullout drawer. I turned to leave and yelled out a loud “gracias!” I went out the glass doors to find my train.
The confusion of French labeling continued, and after a furious five minutes of worrying if I was on the right train I got the nerve to ask a cute, dark-haired girl around my age. The problem with having a giant bag on my back and being blindingly blonde was that I was an obvious outsider. The girl was nice though, and I think she felt my desperation. After talking in bad Spanish and then in English, she finally took my ticket out of my hands and nodded a confirming gesture, saying “yes” in a very thick accent. I was still getting over the weird fact that even though I was a short distance from my apartment in Spain, people didn’t speak Spanish in France. I wasn’t so much surprised as amazed that an entire language could change with only a line.
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Osprey - JournAlum - The Lumberjack - KRFH/610 AM - Travel
Surprise Logic Transit:
GETTING OUT OF SPAIN BY TRAIN
Words & Pics by:
The cold morning was dark, and the brisk cardiovascular walk wasn’t more than 15 minutes but it felt like another day by the time I arrived at the station doors. I was early, by at least 45 minutes. The doors were open and I was able to find a good sturdy bench made of slates of polished wood to put my stuff on. My journey home to California from Spain in hopes of surprising my mom for the holidays had begun.
I planned this trip back to northern California a month before. I broke down and bought a ticket home after a phone call I had with my sister where she described my nephew taking his first step and a family party where something funny happened. I was so teary eyed that I just ended the phone call. I thought I would be fine with spending my winter vacation traveling to all parts of Europe, but those plans changed. The need for familiarity and family had never been so strong.
I still had a long way to go to make it home, and already I felt unsure. I knew I found the proper schedules for trains in both Spain and France, but after that I wasn’t exactly sure how to get from the train station San Sebastián to the airport once I’d arrive in the ritzy coast town of Biarritz, France.
