Now when I travel by train or bus it's difficult to make friends, or rather acquaintances. Years ago it was easy, mainly because of the hours the journeys lasted and the adventures you went through, the long bus stops, etc.
The fact that we were divided into compartments of eight people on the trains was also a big help; it was a kind of forced Big Brother, where you unwittingly learned everyone's stories. There was always a moment of high tension: who would start eating first. As soon as someone pulled out their sandwich, lunchbox, piece of chorizo, etc., and the famous phrase "if you'd like some" was uttered, it was like the starting flag, a gastronomic feast. A mix of smells began to mingle, some good, some bad: Spanish omelet, cured meats, and the typical smell of bananas. I don't know why, but someone always brought a banana for dessert; apparently, it's an easy dessert to transport. Someone would swig a bottle of wine straight from the bottle, and of course, at the end of the meal, to finish like a gentleman, they'd pull out a cigarette. Even though kids like me were inches away, they transformed the small compartment into an impromptu London, so that by the end of the journey it felt like you'd just come from a night of revelry in disreputable bars. Sometimes you'd even grow fond of someone, and it was sad when they got off before you, knowing you'd never see them again. We have to remember that back then there was no Facebook, and you couldn't give your email address to anyone. All of this made the 12 hours in that tiny cubicle, with the occasional stroll down the corridor if you could manage it, seem quite pleasant, as conversation is very encouraging. The other option was counting the posts along the tracks, an option not recommended for the sake of our mental health.
Everything's changing now. Last week I rode the AVE high-speed train and all these stories came flooding back. Two hours already limits conversation, and sitting with only one other person limits it even more, because you have no choice. Plus, we all pull out our headphones, iPads, phones, etc., and retreat into our own little worlds. And naturally, the thought of bringing out your delicious chorizo sandwich from home never even crosses your mind. Even so, I try, if I see an opportunity, to strike up a conversation.
Last week I met an older man from La Rioja, his hands calloused from working in the vineyards, and we had a fascinating two-and-a-half-hour conversation. Naturally, the conversation revolved around wine—what a course, free of charge and taught by an expert! I also shared some basic knowledge about hams, and we were all delighted. He really opened my eyes to the world of wine. Even though we're often engrossed in our electronic devices, it's nothing like having an engaging conversation. You're sorry when the train leaves, because you're always left wanting to know more.
It's not that I miss the days of long train journeys; it's just that memory is selective, and you only remember the pleasant things. I know for sure that traveling on a modern train is much better, without being smoked like Norwegian salmon, with the aroma of Canary Island bananas and subtle hints of Salamanca chorizo. What remains the same, though, is that counting trackside posts is not advisable, especially at 300 km/h.
Greetings and see you next week.
basiliogrande@hotmail.com
