2nd April 2011

On an April morning a couple of years ago we set off from Newcastle backpacking with a Wheelchair on an easyjet flight to Barcelona the easyjet flight crew were really helpful and the wheelchair was tagged, and two hours later the ‘chair’ was waiting for us at the door in Barcelona.

We had booked the whole holiday ‘boats and trains and planes’ (and hotels) on the internet, so landing in Barcelona we took the train into the city centre, arriving at the Estacion France we consulted the map and set off – in the wrong direction.

The Hotel was ten minutes from the station, if you turn left, I turned right! Duh! Two hours later we arrived in the Place de Palau, having asked directions and received the reply in Spanish, ‘wouldn’t start from here if I was you’.

On arrival at reception I produced my voucher at the desk to be told that the booking had been cancelled on April 13th ( a Friday?) and the hotel was full. Maybe it was the heat, or the two hour walk, or the weight of the back pack or the language barrier but I didn’t have the energy for a fight, ‘not by me it wasn’t’ was the best I could offer.

But it was clearly the right response because, twenty minutes later (don’t ask) we had room 101, and then following a shower, a change of clothes, a short walk to the marina … a cold beer and bliss.

We had decided that within the limits imposed by the wheel chair – restricted access etc we would aim to do one thing every day, so on Tuesday we headed for the Picasso Museum, we then ‘did’ the Cathedral, some shopping, a walk to the Olympic village and a ramble down Las Ramblas.

Barcelona is a wonderful city and because of the pre Olympic investment ideal for a backpacking wheelchair user, access is universally excellent and the green lights on the crossing chirrup like birds … safe to cross … safe to cross …..

On Wednesday we had to get to another station for the train to Madrid. Again access to the platform was excellent (follow the yellow footsteps) there was a lift, a Renfe official took over wheelchair pushing duty and we were shown to our seats.

The train left on time, there was service at our seats, a film (in Spanish) a café bar, lunch and a complimentary glass of sherry, before we arrived at Atocha in Madrid, the scene of the terrorist bomb, at the scheduled time.

In Madrid, the weather changed for the worse, it was raining, and it kept on raining for the whole of our stay. Madrid was noisy and the access was poor and the pavements cracked and broken. We made it to the Hotel but the tyre came off the (same) castor twice and I had to repair it with Araldite.

In Madrid we made our one thing the Passeo des Artes a 14 Euro ticket that gives entrance to the Prado and two other galleries, we stood transfixed in front of the powerful ‘Guernica’ at Goya in the Prado and following a wonderful lunch, more pictures and an uphill push to the hotel, by 4 00 pm I was the one having the afternoon nap … I dreamed about puddles, pushing wheelchairs with one hand whilst holding a brolly in the other and the rain in Spain ………

Friday back to Atocha and on to Algeciras, and the fast ferry from Tarifa to Tangier. Following the advice in the guide book we got our visas on the boat and were able to walk straight past customs and immigration with no problem. Although we took a taxi to the hotel and were grotesquely overcharged, 10 Euros which was about ten times the going rate, but the hotel was expecting us and we were soon very comfortably ensconced in Room 603.

The streets in Tangier were not that wheelchair friendly but we managed to get around enough to see the Casbah, the Medina, the Grand Socco and the Petit Socco and we ate Tagine and drank The de Menthe.

Too soon we were leaving for the ferry and back to Spain. Trying to find the entry to the first floor emigration hall proved a challenge, I asked directions from a policeman who pointed to a flight of about 20 steps I pointed to the wheelchair, ‘Ah! You have this woman?’ I nodded and then to his eternal credit he walked me round to a long ramp which wound its way up to the first floor hall and we were set to go …..

And then it was the return journey by public transport, all local buses, to La Linea where we had lunch with friends who live in Spain and then a return flight from Gibraltar to Luton before heading back to Carlisle.

Would we do it again, possibly is the answer but previous trips with a hire car or our own car were a lot easier but we met more interesting people and had a lot of fun on the way.

The high point was definitely the Renfe train from Barcelona to Madrid, the low point the two hour walk around Barcelona in 26 degrees of heat pushing a wheelchair in the wrong direction ………