Madrid Atocha railway station is horrendous. First up, it’s massive, which means they need a lot of signage. The signage competes with itself, making it very confusing. Then, of course, there are all the advertising signs which also claim your attention. Secondly, they have bag x-ray machines, which, naturally, create bottlenecks. It’s surprisingly like an airport.
The best thing is that a very kind station lady, escorted us to the front of the queue for the train because of my trusty stick. While that was lovely, it didn’t really make up for the horror station. It also makes me very sad because of what happened in Seville.
The walk from our luxurious accommodation first thing, though, was pretty easy, downhill then all on the flat. There was the appalling traffic and scores of smokers but, otherwise, it was pretty simple.
Train 9: Madrid to Seville
The journey was all very simple and, at under three hours, a doddle. In fact, we managed to arrive 15 minutes early.
The most exciting to happen was a woman shuffling from leg to leg trying to get to the toilet but held up because of the coffee wagon in the aisle. And the weather was beautiful, all the way to Seville.

Seville is one of our favourite cities. We’ve been a few times and, each time, we have found it beautiful. Well, obviously, we hadn’t visited the bit we found ourselves in this time. Not to put too fine a point on it, it was ghastly. Mirinda often says how she likes to see where the ‘real people’ live whenever we visit somewhere new. Well, we found it today.
Mind you, while it was a bit yerky, the luggage locker boxes are a whole lot worse. Talk about too much tech. It took an age to work out that the QR code was a scam and then it took an age to get inside and lock up our luggage. It was extremely irritating and, in turn, frustrating. Still, eventually we had our stuff locked away and we headed into the thick of it for lunch.
The old part of Seville was painfully out of reach but we did find a very nice restaurant for an exceptional meal. My fried eggs on sausage with potato and truffle was pretty amazing. As was the beer.
Having stuffed ourselves, we headed back to the bastard locker then to the Europcar hire place to pick up the car we’d hired for our trip through Portugal. Yes, having reached Seville by train, it was now time to switch our means of travel.
While we waited for our car, a French woman, who had started to chat to us while her husband filled in their paperwork inside, asked if we were from Stockholm. I was very shocked and surprised. And pleased. I thought, perhaps, it was my newly acquired accent. But, no, it was my Stockholm t-shirt.
There was the usual paperwork and faffing about for us well but, eventually, we had our Alfa Romero packed and we were driving away through Seville. I have to say that Ms Crankypants put in an appearance once or twice but, basically, it wasn’t too bad.
We were driving along all lovely when, suddenly, the traffic stopped. We were on the A49 and there was no movement for ages.

As you can see, the weather was glorious and, the long wait, gave Mirinda the opportunity to form a micro relationship with the women in the car next to us as she danced in her seat to KSP’s exercise mixtape.
The big delay also meant that we were driving into the sun as it very slowly set. Then, of course, Mirinda had to work out how to use the lights on the car. And how to turn off the rear fog light. Too much technology! As it was, we pulled off the motorway and into some big factory yard in order to play around with various switches until we found what worked.
Finally, and it did seem like an age, we pulled up at our accommodation in Santa Luzia, our first port of call in Portugal. And this is where I discovered the awful truth.
Back in September 2022, in Leura, Mirinda bought me a beautiful handmade walking stick. It was made with three different Australian woods and has been my constant companion ever since. I loved that stick. It never let me down. Literally.
I left it leaning up against a pole holding up the roof at the Europcar hire cabin, near car space number 2. I only discovered it missing when I started to unpack the car. To say I was devastated would be a complete understatement. I was distraught to the point of tears.
Okay, Mirinda managed to find me an old broom handle which successfully got me to the restaurant for dinner but, nothing could replace my walking stick. I cried myself to sleep.
My mood was improved slightly by dinner. We went to a local restaurant which specialises in fish. Santa Luzia is a fishing village after all. My sea bass was delicious and Mirinda’s squid was exceptional. Or so she said.
One thing that did cheer me up today was this vision that we passed on the way out of Seville.

It felt like home.