A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; finale

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-Sometimes, spending the night doesn't mean sleeping...

I was visiting a friend in Barcelona. At the end of the trip, we went to the train station to get my ticket for the night train back to Italy, where I was living at the time. No problems there, I had my Eurorail pass and got a discount.

The problems began when we got to the other train station and my train wasn't on the list... Upon closer scrutiny of the ticket, we realized that I thought the train departed almost 2 hours after it actually did. So I missed it by a long shot. Darn it! I learned my lesson about not double checking times, and to not rely on keeping multiple countries-worth of train schedules in my head.

So we head to the nearest internet cafe, and I book a flight home for early the next morning (I had to be back in Italy the next day). It stretched the bank a little bit, but this was back when the exchange rate wasn't so horrible.

The problem came when we checked the train schedule to the airport, and saw that I couldn't get from my friend's place to the airport in time for the flight the next morning. It was too early, and the trains would not start running in time. Well, no big deal, I've spent the night in train stations before. So I go to the appropriate train station (the main metro hub of Barcelona, nicely populated and well-furnished), say good bye to my friend, and settle in for the night.

Not half an hour later, the guard came over to my section of seats and kicked us all out of the building. Confused, I asked what was wrong. His broken English reply (my Spanish was quite sufficient, there was no call to treat me like a stupid American): "Finished!"

I guess the main transportation hub of Barcelona closes at midnight.

So I shuffle out into the cold night air (it's March, still pretty freezing at night) along with the other travelers looking to weather the night. We cluster around the back door and wait. I head off into the city, to find what I can find, and maybe nap a good place to hole up for the next few hours. I find a big park/slide/lake by Gaudi in the shape of a dragon. Awesome. I explore it, then plunk down and start in on a book that my friend has just lent me. Around 1:30am, I'm too cold to keep sitting there. I pack up and go for a walk around the general viscinity of the station. About three quarters of the way around, I hear a gunshot. That changes my course immediately, and I beeline back to the trainstation.

I rejoin the ranks of frigid travelers, and hunker down to wait for the dawn. I pull out my trusty towel for some warmth, pick up my book again, and munch some cookies for warmth. This lasts half an hour. At which point, I notice a man has sat beside me. I keep reading. He slides closer. I keep 'reading.' He slides closer and tries to engage me in conversation. I am thoroughly engrossed in 'reading.' He stalwartly keeps attempting conversation, and eventually I gather he wants food. No more cookies left. I stuff the bag in my backpack, edge away from him, and keep studiously 'reading.' He edges right on closer. I hurriedly pack up and shuffle off 10', to the other end of the door area. I sit down and read, having made my desire to be left alone quite clear.

And my friend comes back and sits next to me. I immediately pack up and move again. This time no sitting, just standing there reading. He follows. I edge away. He edges closer. I edge away. He edges closer. I stuff my book in my pack and storm over to the other side of the door area, cross my arms and fume.

And he follows me. This goes on for some time, and at one point I went around a concrete block in the entrance plaza to get out of his sight, and there are 5 more homeless men. Oops. Not a good move. I rapidly get through them, outdistance the one chasing me, and return to the cluster of international travelers miserable around the door. No one looks at me.

No one says anything this whole time. I'm starting to get worried, so I'm looking for someone to help me. This homeless guy is relentless. I keep checking my watch and reckoning when the doors will open. It's 3am. Doors open at 4, or at 5?

There's a well-dressed older professor-type who looks British, a very young Asian couple who have somehow burrowed their heads into their armpits for warmth, a family from perhaps Eastern Europe who are coping well with the cold thanks to sitting on their luggage, recruiting extra clothing, and huddling together. There are a handful more people around. No one acknowledges me and my pursuer.

I play cat and mouse for a while. He never gets tired. I glare at him. I nearly growl with animosity every time he gets near. He's ubiquitous. He keeps babbling under his breath, not fully formed words, but his out-held hand makes his intention clear. I have nothing for him.

Finally, at 4am, the building opens again. We pour inside, seeking the warmth and comfort. The homeless man does not follow. I bolt for my train's platform, nearly doze waiting for the train to arrive, and finally get on my way to the airport and home to Italy.