Day 46- A story for the grandkids

Yesterday began quite early. In the still-dark morning, around 6am, Hannah and I awoke in her friend Meghan and Jennifer´s room (who had stayed overnight in Aix). We dressed and packed our bags and headed back up the dirt-and-rock path to the chateau, and out the little paved road, and to the "bus stop" where we had been dropped off two days prior. The bus was scheduled to arrive at 6:50am, but after about 10 minutes of waiting in what was now not only dark but also rain, we realized it may not be the most consistent bus to exist, and we may have to find a plan B.
There was a little fenced in house to our right and I saw a light on and could hear some plastic porch furniture being slid around. I suggested that we go ask for help, and Hannah agreed, so we went up to the gate and said, "Pardon, Miseour," which I later was told by a French guy on the train should have been, "Excusez-moi síl vous plait," (the French are very polite with their conversation). A little weathered old man, of about 68 came to the gate, "mademoiselle?" He opended the gate and through my non existent French and his non existent English, we were somehow able to communicate that we needed to get to Cavaillon, the train station town about 25km away. He agreed, and we piled into the front of his white beat up van after the snarling dog that had a home there was relocated. He took us down the hill slightly, where he stopped by a hillside, where he removed some tabac from the rocks there...Hannah and I laughed and we continued down to another small town where he had planned to let us take a minibus from. The place was closed, and after offering him 10 EUR, he agreed to take us the whole way to Cavaillon in time to catch our 8:03 train. We gave him the money and a hug, amazed that we had made it.
We had time for a cup of coffee (yes, I drink it occasionally now, and I´ve also eaten tomatoes and olives, all of which I previously despised) then boarded our train for the short 30 minute ride to our connecting town of Avignon.
Avignon is famous for its bridge, which only spans half of the river that it must have been meant to cross, though I don´t know the exact history of it. It is also in a children´s song. Google time! We had two hours to explore the town before our connecting train to the Spanish boarder, so we went and saw the bridge, the Palais of the Popes, and the marketplace. Hannah ordered half of a "bird," by which time we had only 3 minutes till our train departed. We were sporting our mother load backpacks once again (which haven´t lightened a bit since the journey began), and had to run with them on for at least a quarter mile through town back to the train station. I kept yelling to Hannah to keep up and had to envision myself in some kind of backpack race to keep running faster. I just told myself that as badly as it hurt at the time, it would be a so much of a hassle to miss this train.
Just as we ran into the station, I saw a train across the tracks begin to pull away and, without even knowing if it was the right train, jumped down and ran across three sets of tracks, pushed the door-opening button, and climbed clumsily aboard. We both made it on, then were frantically asking "Is this the train to Portbou?!" Luckily it was, and we slumped into our seats for the 4.5 hour ride. Hannah ate her "bird" and I slept most of the way. Adrenaline is powerful stuff.
At Portbou, we had a 4-hour layover, so we rented a locker to ditch our packs at the station. We set off down a steep flight of stairs into the little train/port town and eventually came around a corner and found water, which alwasys makes me happy to see and is liberating in a way. Just opposite of the bay area was a little bar called Riky´s, and we decided to go in and grab a beer. I feel so much more comfortable and competent in Spain knowing some Spanish, even if it is terribly elementary. (Hola, dos cervezas y una grande agua, por favor.) The beer came with tapas-olives and fried potato chips- which originated by bartenders covering beers with a small plate to keep the flies out, and over time, beginning to add some food (tapas) to the tops of those plates. Not a bad idea! The idea obviously took off, as now one can find tapas anywhere, even in small town Georgia.
After our beers and small talk with the friendly bartenders, we took a quick stroll along the water and were both in great moods. I´m so excited about Spain, my ninth and final country.
After a bit, we headed back early, having learned our lesson the hard way a fewe hours earlier. We boarded our 12 hour overnight train, and found our sardine can, I mean, cabin. It somehow had 6 beds crammed into it, so tightly that you couldn´t even sit up without hitting your head on the bunk above. I took a nap before we picked up 2500 people (exaggeration) in Barcelona while Hannah painted in the dining car. I joined her after our cabin filled with people and chatted with a guy from southern France about Paulo Coehlo and the Petit Prince.
In the morning, we were given a bright and early wake up call around 6:30, and arrived in Madrid at 7am.