3 years ago ⚑ for day 23, 2019 with 619 words.


Yesterday did not go to plan. It started well. I woke up early, and actually followed through on my intentions to go for a morning run. The sunrise was a beautiful start to my day. So far so good.

I got back to the hotel, with enough time to shower and get ready before catching a train to Caminito Del Rey, once the worlds most dangerous trail. I'd booked the entrance ticket the night before and this was one of the main reasons for coming to Malaga. Exciting!

I grabbed some breakfast and bought a sandwich for lunch and set on my way. I was cutting it a it fine, due to arrive at the station 7 minutes before my train left, and I still needed to buy my train ticket. So I jogged some of the way there, arrived 10 minutes early. All good, I thought.

Entering the station I spotted the ticket office. No queues. No drama. I glanced up at the departures board and saw the 9:40 to Ronda on there. That's my train, I thought to myself.

But this is Spain. People do not move fast. About 5 minutes into my wait, finally one of the two ticket clerks became available. I step forward ready to order my ticket, but so does a Spanish lady. Oh, there's one of those queue ticket machines here? Oh no.

I rush to the electronic ticket machine now realising I'm running out of time. I quickly switch it to Spanish. I enter my destination, and it says the next available train is at 4pm that day. No, this can't be right? They must stop selling tickets for trains when you're only a couple minutes from departure time?

With my plan B failing, I go back to plan A, this time armed with the knowledge that I needed to get a ticket to queue up. I'm now armed with my queue ticket. I'm not armed with time. My train leaves in two minutes.

A minute later, after muchos pacing up and down waiting for leisurely Spaniards to finish their business, a clerk becomes available. I rush over to him before he can even invite me over, blab out my go to "lo siento no hablo EspaΓ±ol" and ask for a ticket to El Chorro, pronto.

He tells me the next train isn't until 4pm. But what about that 9:40 that's on the departure list? That's flashing, and has some red text over on the right. Oh, what is that red text? Something-something-spanish-something-something-bus? It's a rail replacement bus? That doesn't stop at El Chorro?

Oh my.

The kind man then says my only option is to go and get a bus. So I run off to get a bus. Turns out, busses don't go there either. I'd have to get a bus to a town 30 minutes away, then taxi from there. I wasn't going to make my 11:30 slot I'd booked the night before. I wasn't going to Caminito Del Rey.

Instead, I spent most of the morning feeling sorry for myself. I ate my packed breakfast, then packed lunch. Then moped around my hotel room.

I ended up slowing down for the day. I didn't do a whole lot.

Yesterday morning I wrote about slowing down. Then I went off and rushed about like a madman. In the end I was forced to slow down, and I had a really good day thinking through some things that have been on my mind, reading a book and wandering through Malaga.

Life doesn't always go to plan, that we can be sure of. But sometimes plan B isn't as bad as we thought.

User Photo

By Fred Rivett ⚑

Developer πŸ‘¨β€πŸ’» β€’ Hobbyist designer 🎨 β€’ Maker πŸ›  β€’ Runner πŸƒβ€β™‚οΈβ€’ Explorer 🌍

Get Fred Rivett's newsletter

Almost there! Check your inbox and click the link to confirm.

Subscribe to Fred Rivett's latest writing to get it right in your inbox.