November 6th, 2006 - Paris to Bilbao

French Train Travel Day

Paris maintains six major train stations in the city center. To head south to Spain, the Gare Montparnasse was the departure point. There is not much above ground to make the station’s presence obvious, but once underground there is a labyrinth of track housing sleek vessels.



This train will be split in two after reaching Bordeaux, so there are two engines coupled in the middle.



Inside, the coach is reasonably comfortable, but nothing like the leather seated first class of Switzerland. Then my eyes begin to itch, nose runs, and breathing gets a little constricted. Looking two aisles away, a woman has pulled a cat out of her bag and is stroking free-radical dander into the closed environment.  The particles are illuminated by the sun’s highlights coming through the window. Not wishing to be a wreck upon arrival, I change rail cars, only to be confounded that the symptoms haven’t changed. Two hours later, an old man disembarks with his lapdog in toe. Strike two.



The southern French countryside is pancake flat until we enter the Basque region.



Small towns, seated in rolling hills, mark the Spanish boarder.



To finish the trip to Bilbao, I needed to take a bus from the border city of Irun. So, this dome…



… and a camouflaged television satellite dish are my only enduring impressions of this transfer town.



The Spanish spoken is unbelievably fast and the local dialect omits various consonants, even in numbers. My ear will definitely need to adjust.

Arriving in Biblao after dark, I walked up to an older man and asked him if he had heard of the street where the hotel was located. He took pity on the gringo with my attempts at Spanish and walked me right to the door of the hotel. The genuine hospitality was definitely appreciated.