Disclaimer: Leaving the Atocha Station is actually the name of a novel by Ben Lerner. I haven’t read it but I’m sure it’s great-you can check it out on Amazon here.
The title came to mind this week as I was, well…leaving the Atocha Station, probably for the last time in a while.
For the four years I’ve lived in Madrid, I’ve gone through Atocha on average twice a day (it’s part of my work commute). It’s the Grand Central of Spain. As a rabid devoted New Yorker, I am stalwart in defending Grand Central as one of the greatest train stations in the world, but after four years in Madrid, Atocha has earned a special place in my heart as well. Picture of the station below:
It’s worth mentioning that I’m writing this from New York. I “moved” two days ago. (read: had my wonderful boyfriend drag my 140 pounds of luggage to the Madrid Barajas airport, then had my wonderful doorman in New York drag them upstairs, where I threw my clothes in an old dresser then spent 36 hours obsessively, joyfully rooting through all the papers I brought home and playing with my mother’s industrial paper shredder. I LOVE paper shredders.)
The reality of moving has been equal parts exciting, terrifying and sad.
Exciting:
I’m starting a year of unemployment. I’m leaving a city I love, but going back to one I love as well, and taking time to do lots of solo traveling.
Terrifying:
I’m starting a year of unemployment. I’m leaving a city I love, but going back to another city I love, and taking time to do lots of solo traveling.
Sad:
See above. You get the idea.
During the various tasks associated with my move (which consisted of approximately six weeks of totally neurotic activities ranging from “find best trash cans to leave free stuff” to “final walk in Buen Retiro Park”–which I did twice) I would say the above phrase to myself in a variety of tones. My last time leaving the Atocha Station was a “sad” tone. Photo of an Atocha Station sunset below to celebrate. Hasta la proxima.
Banner Photo Credit: Mindaugas Petrutis