Tarragona

Pronovias: One of my favorite wedding dress designers.

Looking toward the sea in downtown Tarragona, Spain.

We arrived in Tarragona (a small town about an hour and a half from Barcelona) greeted by a downpour of rain. The locals said it was very uncharacteristic for this time of year and promised me that this would be a small break from the heat. When we booked the hotel it said in the description it was less than five minutes from the station. Because of the rain, we decided that to spend a couple of euro to avoid getting drenched was a good value. We hailed a taxi just outside the Camp Tarragona station. We had taken a train that traveled at speeds exceeding 300 kilometers an hour (186 mph) so we made great time coming from Seville. We jumped in the back of the taxi and told the driver the name of the hotel which he was familiar with. I asked him how far the hotel was and he said it wasn’t far at all. As the euros ticked upward on his meter it was apparent that our versions of “lejos” (far) were very different.

            

            We finally reached the hotel and jumped out very annoyed. The meter had stopped at 22 euro and with a push of the driver’s button on the console he added three more for good measure. As we got out I read on his door where his rates were posted that it was an extra three euro if he’s coming from the train station. The Catalunya Express was the equivalent of a Motel 6 in the states only with marble and tile all over the reception areas. Ernest, the young Spaniard at the reception desk, was pleasant and very informational. He gave us a map of Tarragona, told us of a couple of eateries popular among locals and told us to avoid the taxis. I told him that the hotel was listed as being right by the train station. The Catalunya Express is located a street over from the Tarragona train station – very different from the Camp Tarragona station from which we arrived. Enerst told us that the Camp Tarragona station is reserved for the “rapidos” (fast) trains that come racing down from Seville and other big cities. That small bit of information cost us a 25 euro taxi ride. This is huge for people on a budget of 34 euro a day (50 dollars).

            

            Carolyn came down with vertigo while on the train. All she wanted was a bed and some quiet. Ernest offered her some packets of sugar that he said would calm her stomach. We took the packets and our bags up the several flights of stairs to our room and Carolyn hit the bed. I laid down too and in about 10 minutes I was sound asleep. About 30 minutes later the hammering began. Bam. Bam. Bam. Every couple of seconds the sound would come again. Bam. Bam. Bam. It sounded like someone was hitting our wall with a hammer. It turns out they were. The hotel had some workers there mounting some things in a couple of the rooms one of which was luckily adjacent to ours. Carolyn didn’t hear a thing. From the looks of her fetal position she was so focused on not puking that the hammering didn’t even phase her. It phased me. Although I explained myself in carefully refrained Spanish the girl at the reception desk told me there was nothing she could do but that it would be finished in about ten minutes.

            

            Two hours later the worker was still hammering. I think my concept of time is much different than that of Europeans in general. At first I thought I was impatient. Actually, I know I am impatient and because of this I figured I would cut them some slack. I went down to the reception and the girl told me again it would be about ten minutes. I looked at her, shook my head and went back to my room. In ten minutes the hammering had finished and I closed my eyes to rest. Just as I began to lose consciousness a baby began crying from the bar below. Shit.

            

              I didn’t know how Carolyn could sleep. I decided I wasn’t going to get any so I grabbed my camera and headed up to the main plaza. The walk up to the Roman Cathedral was all uphill and I had a glistening film of sweat over my entire body within ten minutes. I wasn’t the only one either. Men and women passed me with glistening faces, breasts and legs.

            

             Tarragona has two main avenues that were built for rambling. In fact, they are called Ramblas. I’m not sure what this means in Spanish yet but in Tarragona they have a Rambla Nova and a Rambla Vella (the new and old Ramblas). The ramblas were thick with locals walking and enjoying the evening. The walked their dogs, a group of protestors sat in a circle in the square below the cathedral and a street performer juggled. I took some photographs of the square, a couple of the streets and largely felt uninspired. It may have been the energy it took to deal with the people at the hotel or I could have been exhausted, either way, I wasn’t feeling it.

            

             We awoke the next morning and booked a sleeper train from Barcelona to Milan. They were more expensive than ones I had taken in the past from Paris to Rome. Use the same strategy in dealing with the train company Elipsos as you would when defending yourself from pickpockets in the metro – keep your hands in your pockets because they will take all your money. When I plan another trip I’ll be sure to avoid this company.