Arriving back in Spain, navigating Madrid’s trains, and finally returning home to Los Alcázares after 36 hours of travel.
Arriving in Madrid.
After landing in Madrid, I made my way off the plane and headed toward immigration. I checked with a security officer to make sure I was in the right queue, being a Spanish resident with a UK passport can be confusing. She told me to use the non‑EU line but then opened a separate lane and took me straight through. People really had looked after me throughout this entire trip.
Collecting Luggage and Saying Goodbye.
As I approached baggage claim, I spotted Gail waving. She had already taken my suitcase off the carousel and was waiting for her own. Once she had it, we walked toward the exit and said our goodbyes. She was flying to Alicante, and I was heading for the train to Torre Pacheco.
Changing My Train.
I went to the train helpdesk to change my ticket, my original train wasn’t for another six hours. The only available seat on an earlier train was in first class, so I paid the extra €60. It was a cheaper first‑class ticket but didn’t include food or drink.
The ticket seller pointed vaguely behind me toward the station entrance, so I followed the signs and ended up on a platform with no indication of where I actually was.
A Helpful Stranger.
I saw an air hostess from my flight and asked if I was in the right place. She explained that any train from that platform would take me to the central station I needed.
When the train arrived, I struggled with my suitcase, and a young man helped me aboard. He spoke perfect English, having lived in England for years, and told me how many stops I needed. When we arrived at my station, he reappeared, carried my case off the train, and pointed me in the right direction before getting back on his own train. A genuinely kind person, a reminder of how helpful strangers can be.
The World’s Most Expensive Sandwich.
I bought a sandwich and a drink at the station. It was dry, tasteless, and cost €20 for a ham sandwich and a can of Coke. Daylight robbery. I walked to the gate for my train, but the guard told me I was at the wrong one, even though the sign above his head said otherwise. He pointed me to the correct gate, and I made it there, breathless but relieved.
First Class to Murcia.
The first‑class seat was excellent, loads of legroom and more like a reclining armchair than a train seat. We sped across Spain at over 330 km/h, and I was almost sad to get off in Murcia to change to the rickety old train for the final leg.
I messaged my friend June with my arrival time, and when I stepped off the train in Torre Pacheco, she was waiting right outside the station.
Home at Last.
It didn’t take long for her to drive me home to Los Alcázares. I left my suitcase unpacked and went straight to bed, exhausted but happy to be home after roughly 36 hours of travelling.
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