Before I give you my account of my time in Barcelona I must give you the Bus Story that I've been promising for so long. On my way back from Barca to Madrid we stopped off at a random town where something happened (I won't say what as it will ruin the story) to remind me of my own first Bus trip.
What follows is an account that I first impressed my theatre comrades in the belly of what was 'Fuel' quiz night in Plymouth. Now re-named 'Mouse Trap' by the unscrupulous Cuba/Air/Mouse Trap Bar group (unscrupulous because of it's gratifying women's toplessness in Cuba - another campaign for another time). What I tell you probably isn't really about what happened and how I developed a slight fear of travelling alone on busses but how I manage to turn a mundane 2 minute tale into a near novel.
Let me take you back to a time much nearer the turn of the millenium when I was a hapless school girl in Cambridge. One Weekend my parents decided to go celeb spotting near St Tropez with a friend of mine's parents who had a chalet down there. The plan was for me to go to this girl's house for the weekend where we would be looked after by her older brother and his then girlfriend (now wife). But how to get from Cambs to Dunmow where she lived? I was instructed to take the bus from the centre of town.
Off I trundled down Cambs picturesque streets - suitcase behind me (I weekly boarded at the time), School uniform on. First problem - finding the ticket office and purchasing right ticket. 5 mins was spent trying to find this, tucked away behind where all the busses stand. Finally found and ticket bought, checked to right destination. Next task - waiting at right stand for bus. Hmmmmmmmmm, waiting, waiting, waiting. OK - it's definitely late now. Am I at the right stand? Ok I am, it's all ok. Oh thank god - as the bus rolls up. A few people climb aboard. To the driver I present my ticket and double check "This does stop at Dunmow?" To which the driver says yes and then asks me this "Are you one of those Stansted Airport hostesses?"
This is more than slightly concerning as let me describe to you my school uniform I was wearing; My blue V-neck jumper might have had the green school crest on the left corner, might not have but looked very schooly anyhow. My skirt which was regulatory knee-length balckwatch pleated tartan. I think it was summer so I probably would have had horrid blue socks on completing the look with boring black flats. Also this was pre-eyeliner era so I probably looked about three years younger than I actually was anyway. Now the only thing I can think of that might have made him say that was the fact that I was wielding a wheelie suitcase - but it was bright purple for God sake! This worried me together with the glazed look in his eyes that made me decide he was definitely on drugs.
Journey begins. As I didn't really know what stop Dunmow was after I checked and it was the one after the Airport. Trouble is with busses is that you don't know what your stop looks like if you haven't stopped there before. Of course with long distance they announce it or are supposed to. But I knew what the airport looked like so was resolved in just getting off at the stop after that. So the airport we pass. Ah yes mine's the next then. Time passes. I notice a sign to Dunmow pointing one way - bus goes opposite direction. Try not to panic. Maybe low bridges or something I think. More time passes. Friend rings me on my Nokia 5110 asking where I am. I say should be there any moment now. More time passes. Friend rings me again and tells me to go up to driver and ask him - I reply that I do not trust his multitasking skills to do such a thing. More time and then - we stop.
Bus driver announces "Last Stop Chelmsford. Everyone off!" WHAT! OMG. I have it out with the driver asking him why he didn't stop. He says he did and that someone got off. And I'm like 'well no, obviously not coz that would have been me wouldn't it?' You nummbskull. Obviously I didn't say that to him but I did start crying. I was in deepest darkest Essex and no idea how to get to where I needed to be. Back on the changeable cover Nokia phone and friend had solution. Luckily big bro's girlfreind's mum lived in Chelmsford and so it was arranged for her to pick me up. So I wait in a desolate bus station nearing dark not surprised at yet another stranger coming to collect me from somewhere.
A woman turns up and introduces herself and takes me back to her house. Not too long later my friend, her brother and the girlfriend arrive also. I apologise for causing such havoc but all's well that ends well as we settled down to a nice tea together. Apparently the girlfriend hadn't seen her mum for a while so it was a nice excuse to get together. Which was good. Ah but what a journey it was that formed much of my inexplicable fears of travelling to scary places on my own.
So, ehum, around the world without a plane completely on my toddle should be fine then shouldn't it. Tune in next time when you'll get to hear about Barcelona.
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