MacsTravel Blog

The morning went smoothly.

We woke up in our tiny Ibis Budget hotel room, squeezed our way into the hallway and made our way downstairs where we lingered over a shockingly good breakfast before collecting our luggage and making our way to the bus station (“Estacion de autobuses!”). Feeling somewhat restored by a decent sleep and plenty of coffee I began to reclaim some confidence in my ability to follow simple (and slow) conversations in Spanish.

We successfully navigated the signage and terminal announcements at the bus station and found our platform. When the bus arrived I loaded our luggage and prepared to board the bus.

After 15 minutes in line the driver descended from the bus, gesturing at us with his hands and yelling “Baja tus maletas del autobús!” I cleverly inferred his meaning from the stampede of fellow passengers who were pulling their maletas out from beneath the bus and joined in. After overseeing what seemed to be a Spanish baggage drill, the driver hopped in the bus and drove away.

15 minutes later the driver returned with a new bus. The passengers loaded their bags (I was initially somewhat sceptical – was this another practice round or the real thing?) and we boarded the bus and departed on our 2.5 hour direct trip to Sevilla. I texted Darren and Truus, warning them that we might be 30 minutes late, and settled in for the journey.

The bus was comfortable, the highway was in great condition and traffic was light. We zoomed through the hilly countryside, past olive groves and orange trees and occasional reminders of Spanish culture.

The good bus vibes were short lived: flashing lights and pylons ahead forced us onto an off-ramp where a police officer had a brief discussion with our driver. It appeared the highway ahead was closed. We drove into a small town where the driver stopped the bus and exited, phone to his ear, free hand gesticulating wildly. Upon returning to the bus, he levelled a barrage of rapid Spanish at us (Something about cats and cabbage? That can’t be right…) before returning to his seat. After sitting there for another 15 minutes he started the bus and we headed back on the highway, this time in the direction of Malaga.

It soon became apparent that we were looping around to take another run at Sevilla, this time via Córdoba, which would add another hour to our trip. At that moment Robin spotted a tractor chugging along a country road with a flag hanging off the back and started speculating about farm protests being a cause of the closure. “That’s in France”, I declared with conviction, before googling “closed highway, Andalusia” on my phone:

We rolled into Sevilla after 4.5 hours on the road to find Darren and Truus chatting away with a large group of people patiently waiting for the return bus to Malaga.

Truus is a compulsive people person, and in the wait for us had made conversation with Palestinian students from the West Bank, senior cyclists from the Netherlands and a number of employees at the bus terminal. She and Darren collected us from the bus and we made our way out of the station to a chorus of goodbyes from Truus’s new friends. We walked along the canal for about 15 minutes to their bright and spacious rental apartment.

There is that tipping point moment when travelling as you transition from “We are trying to get there” to “We are here!” In that moment the “logistics” of travel give way and room opens for appreciation of where you are and who you are with. Settling into the apartment, exploring the neighborhood, enjoying drinks and tapas, and being treated to a meal of charcuterie and homemade soup was a wonderful welcome to Seville.