Sitting in the train cafe gulping down a cafe con leche after a wended way from my accomodation the opposite side of Cordoba, I’m pondering again. My last blog was about fear and confronting change (On Being Brave….). More on this theme.

This blog will not have many photos.I have been preoccupied with getting my rucksack down the steep stairs safely, unlocking doors, finding my way, and, now, watching for train times and sudden changes .

I just looked at other people in this station cafe and they seem as harassed as I feel. Only many of them have those wheelie suitcases they’ve dragged all the way along the cobbled streets of Cordoba. All tentatively ordering a coffee and eyes on the departures board glimpsed outside. All well dressed, mostly.

So has travelling changed or is it just that I’m older so find it more stressful/ difficult/ time consuming ? To begin at the beginning of my journey today : just to get to this platform no 5:

To return to my account of a typical morning departure. I won’t bother with the tale of negotiating the lethal staircase down from my otherwise quaint attic room with a backpack. I’m in good time ( allowing double expected time to walk the twisting disguised streets to the opposite end of Cordoba). There are now 3 doors to unlock before I head off. Not very good at this as I have to try each key in each lock.Yay, I’m out and now I’m finding my way with the help of Maps. A few wrong turns but I follow my nose. And there I am at Cordoba Train station. On time. Check board. On time. Check board. Delayed .Check board. Still same time. Check platform number again. Check ticket. Coffee.

And thats as far as I’ve got today. I’ve found the correct carriage. Some of them disguise their number behind an open sliding door. Correct seat. Ronda here I come.