Day 6:
Toledo to
Algeciras
Toledo as silent when I slipped out before sunrise. It was Day 6 of the Race, and Mum and I were now only 24 hours away from Africa.
At dawn Toledo was deserted, barely a soul around. I crossed a beautiful old bridge, Puente de Alcántara (originally Roman) and walked to a viewpoint on the opposite side of the river, waiting for the sun to come up and strike the buildings. Toledo is encircled on three sides by the River Tagus, in a deep rocky gorge. The steep river banks were spilling over with May wildflowers, while the rooftips of the old city slowly glowed pink, then gold. What a lovely spot.
On the return walk, I stopped to see the bridges in the early morning light. Although early, it was not deserted, with an occasional jogger or dog walker on the riverbanks. I shared a miradouro viewpoint overlooking the old Roman bridge with a young couple taking selfies.
Back at the apartment, Mum had been out for a short walk herself. She recommended a café she had found nearby for breakfast. The difference with yesterday was striking. Yesterday afternoon, heaving crowds had filled the square and every bar was packed in blistering sunshine. But at this time in the morning, the deserted city streets were deeply shaded, almost dark. Later, the sun would rise and cast the streets into heat, but for now the temperature was pleasantly cool. Top tip to avoid crowds: stay overnight, and go out exploring early.
After our slow morning in Toledo, we were soon back on the late morning train to Madrid, ready to connect with our 3 hour, high-speed train to Malaga, on the south coast. This was a pricey long-distance ticket.
Yesterday, we had transited Madrid Chamartín station, which, due to building work, had been highly confusing and full of strange detours. Today we took a metro across Madrid to reach another of Madrid’s terminus train stations: Atocha.
Atocha turned out to be a huge interchange with cafes and shops spread over many levels. We had some sandwiches and crème caramel in the (quite good) station café and about 40 minutes before departure we took up position near the huge digital departures board, to wait for the correct platform. But although the departure time crept ever closer, our train never seemed to appear there. With memories of our close call in Oviedo – and the new knowledge that other Racers have missed connections through not being able to find a platform – I was getting rather more worried than I would usually.
In contrast, Mum is always worried about missing a train.
Leaving Mum to guard the bags, I found a ticket office hidden in a back corner, where someone explained our train had its own, separate, departures area. It’s rather like turning up at the wrong terminal for a flight – except that there’s nothing to indicate that there even were multiple terminals.
Cue a rather unpleasant sprint across the station 5 minutes before our expensive train was scheduled to depart. Only to join an unexpectedly long queue for a security screening and bag X-ray. Both of us were absolutely convinced that we had missed the train, purely through lack of platform information, even though we had been actively looking our train for nearly an hour.
Once through the bag check, we discovered that our train had not departed yet! I have never been so happy to see a train delay. We joined an anxious crowd of passengers, waiting for information. At least we were now in the correct spot. Well, every travel experience needs some jeopardy, doesn’t it?
The train itself was fast, efficient and comfortable, travelling well over 200kph from central Spain to the brink of Africa. We spent the time discussing our plans for the Moroccan sector of the Race. There was now much helpful discussion in the WhatsApp chat about how to book Moroccan trains. Racers sharing tips on the WhatsApp group was also really useful and definitely saved us some time.
We decided to treat ourselves, and booked first class trains from Tangiers to Marrakech, a £12 supplement – a very reasonable splurge, we both thought.
Meanwhile, the WhatsApp group was also revealing another Race drama: one countrycounter had travelled so far off the path, ramping up their country count, that there was now no way for them to reach all the checkpoints and get to Marrakech before the cutoff on Saturday. They announced, sadly, that they will now have to take a flight to Marrakech. This would disqualify them from the Race, but it would mean they could at least attend the party.
The WhatsApp absolutely overflowed with help. Fellow Racers fell over themselves to find possible routes and connections. The original poster had now gone quiet. In the meantime, even more people have signed up for the same Marrakech food tour after the finish party. That does sound like fun - but our travel plans won’t allow us to join.
Emerging from the aggressively air-conditioned train into the hot Malaga sunshine was something of a shock to the system. I’ve been to Malaga before, although Mum had not. Yesterday, when we had planned the route, I had offered to take her to see Malaga’s Alcazaba. However, in the sudden heat, she found herself more keen for a relaxing sit-down than mid-afternoon sightseeing in the heat.
We sat down with an ice cream and a coffee before heading out to catch our final connection of the day: a 3 hour bus to Algeciras, the major port on the Spanish south coast. For the first time on the Race, I found myself in a very uncomfortable seat. There simply wasn't enough legroom for me, so I spent much of the journey sitting sideway, my shoulders jammed in uncomfortably. I was also unprepared for how busy it was - the entire bus was fully booked. After the first hour, though, enough passengers had disembarked that we could spread out a little.
The coastline from Malaga westwards is the centre of the famous Costa del Sol – the world’s first mass tourism destination. It is crammed with hotels and apartments serving beachgoers. A string of well-known resorts slid by: Torremolinos, Fuengirola, Marbella. The deeply-blue sea appeared and disappeared from view between whitewashed apartments and palm-lined streets. After Marbella, though, resorts were fewer in number. We sped along the trunk road, hugged between the coastal mountains - turning gold in the late afternoon sun - and the navy blue sea. Finally the enormous blue bay of Algeciras was suddenly laid out before us as we crested a hill, and the coast of Africa was crisply clear across the sparkling water in the afternoon light.
Gibraltar, seen from La Linea de la Conception
The bus turned into a town called La Linea de la Conception, and skulked along the seafront. A soft sandy beach ran for miles along the inside of the bay, scattered with volleyballers and families. Behind it all the Gibraltar skyline glowed gold in the sun, and the rocky cliffs of Morocco sparkled in the distance. Forty-eight hours ago we'd been travelling through green rain-soaked Asturias. Now Africa shimmered across a blue bay. Despite the uncomfortable seats, I’d say this is a great way to arrive.
At Algeciras, the hotel receptionist was very puzzled when we asked about the free shuttle bus to Tarifa. They had never heard of such a bus. I am really starting to worry that this shuttle bus might be a myth.
Before bed, time for a quick check on the WhatsApp group. And some good news! The troubled countrycounter has found a connection they can make!! They will be in Marrakech, and not by taking a flight! There are heaps of cheering emojis from the collected Racers. It’s strange to realise we’ll all be meeting in person the day after tomorrow.