For those who are not familiar with the term, Rodalies de Catalunya is the name given to the Cercanías, Regionales and Media Distancia trains there, managed by Renfe and the Generalitat. In this counter-chronicle of «Days of the road», or rather of the railway, I will tell you about the adventure of a rayista who sought the most modest trip possible to see the reunion with Míchel in the Cup, and who was about to get lost the party in Montilivi because of an unforeseen unimaginable event.
The trip starts with your planning. Seeing that he did not work that weekend and that fate was once again crossing Rayo and Girona in Montilivi in an all or nothing, he began to look at how to go and gain entry. I ask the rayista people if someone would get in a car and had a free seat. But it is the next day, when talking to the Federation of Supporters Clubs to get entry into the visiting area, when the great Óscar Herrero gives me the idea that I finally carried out: go by train and get accommodation in Barcelona, and then from there, reach Girona in some Cercanías, or as we said at the beginning and we will call them from now on, Rodalies.
I'll get to that on Monday. The first step, train and accommodation in Barcelona, is simple and cheap. Ouigo (low-cost French high-speed train) round trip and a bed in a hostel (not a hostel) so it would only cost me one way in Alvia. From there, I look at schedules to get to Girona well. A Rodalies de Sants leaves at 14:16 and with frequencies of one hour, and the trip lasts approximately 90 minutes. Also, without electronic sales, you have to buy the ticket at the station itself, which is not a problem. The original plan was to arrive in Barcelona on Saturday at 12:50, locate the hostel and eat until we could check-in at 2:00 p.m. calmly and take the train at 3:16 p.m. to arrive on time for the price. with all the rayistas displaced. That was the theory. The practice would be quite different.
D-day arrives. On foot before 08:00 to go calmly to Atocha and check-in for the train there, which is already like in airports, with baggage control. And being low cost, just a small suitcase or backpack as in my case, and a handbag like the one I always carry as a shoulder bag with important things. In the backpack, another smaller and empty one to take to the stadium, 4 scarves (they are never enough) and a flag (without a stick, I sold it to a man from Seville or something like that), a change of clothes and a towel to wash up the next morning and the technological equipment, consisting of a mobile phone, wireless headphones, a plug for charging, a portable battery and cables for charging. Dressed in the 7Kelme shirt from the 16/17 season that I won in a raffle and that I have worn on every day of the Cup tie, respecting the cabal, I arrive at Atocha. The train I have to take is the double-decker, gabacha version of the AVE. My assigned seat, both for the outward journey and for the return, is on the ground floor at the back of the car and with a folding table for 4, ideal if I had gone with colleagues to play several pochas. As it was not the case. It served to support my sweatshirt and put on a movie that I had downloaded on Netflix and could watch with my mobile in airplane mode.
Just a brief stop on the way, in Zaragoza-Delicias, until you reach Barcelona-Sants. Going down, on the platform I see some guys wearing a tracksuit that is familiar to me, among them an Argentine saying “we don't play pocha, we play trick”. It was obviously a rugby team. Doing some research, I see that it wasn't just any team, but the first team of CR Complutense Cisneros, who that afternoon played a Division of Honor league match against UE Santboiana. Curious that a team from the highest category of Spanish rugby travels at high speed «low cost», now that I know of a team from the highest category of women's football that already wanted those conditions. At the exit of the Sants station, the next step is to locate the accommodation.
In this case it is the Hostel One Sants, ideal for backpackers and young people passing through Barcelona. It is of the hostel type, with a shared room and a common bathroom on each floor. The workers at the site, volunteers from outside the majority in exchange for housing and seeing the city, are young and friendly people who try to help in any way they can and organize free dinners and activities for the afternoon-evening. That yes, it is necessary to speak in English, because if you go to Barcelona you can be sure, although the media do not say it like that, that the least spoken is Catalan. When checking-in, there was fear of marking me an involuntary Djokovic, because coming from Madrid, the region of """freedom""" and "anything goes", I did not realize that in other regions they are still worried about the Covid . They asked me for my passport or a vaccination certificate, luckily I had with me the piece of paper they gave me at Zendal with the first dose, and that and signing a responsible declaration was enough to access my bed. Specifically, the one below a bunk bed, with a drawer to store anything, a curtain, a lamp and a plug with a mini shelf to leave anything. Already settled, and checking-in earlier than planned, we take the backpack, eat and stop at the station to catch the Rodalies.
The Sants area was lively at noon on Saturday, with the market open and the adjoining avenues closed to traffic so that people could walk around. In the shadow of the Mercat de Sants, which is the same as the one in Villa de Vallecas except for its nineteenth-century façade and for housing a Mercadona, I sit down on a terrace to have lunch. The bar in question, called Monte Rosa on the façade and Rosa & Víctor on the awning, is the photo that comes up on Google if you search for a neighborhood bar: small, metal bar, homemade food and family treatment. With a pagés sausage sandwich and two Estrellas Damm my lunch was completed and I walked towards Sants station, located a quarter of an hour's walk from the market. It arrived so early that the platform on which my train was going was not even set, which was, yes or yes, on the R11 line. Asking an employee, I went down to the platform of tracks 13 and 14, where at 15:16 the Rodalies should leave for Figueres with a stop, among other stations, in Girona.
It should, but it didn't. At departure time, without notice or anything, on the screen that announces the next departures I see that my train is cancelled, and after that, it disappears from the screen. Stunned, I go up to ask for explanations, and for that I have to get out of the turnstiles. After they sent me to three different places, at the ticket offices they finally told me that the only thing they know is that there is a lack of drivers, and that they either reimbursed me for the ticket or stamped the one that had already punched to go through the turnstile again. and wait for the next one, which didn't come out until an hour later and would catch me in the field, but at least it did. At a stroke of the pen, and due to the ineffectiveness of whoever directs the Rodalies de Catalunya, I had been left without prior notice or courtesy to the stadium. Although it was not the main course, it also sucks to run out of starters. There was nothing left but to kill time, so I sat down on a terrace near the station and ordered a beer. I went looking for copper and found gold, because I literally said “una cervesa, si us plau” and they gave me Moritz 7 100% Malta, similar to Voll-Damm but notably smoother and just as rich. This made the wait better, the anger at the cancellation and the anti-vaccine talk from the next table.
I went back to the station praying that there would be no more trouble, and there was not. I got on the train, a mid-distance train that was going faster than the suburban train that I was supposed to have taken an hour before, although, yes, making the stops of the previous train. At least, since I was going late and with the hour caught, I was going with a padded seat and a tray to support the things. To see a positive side. It was the first of my two longest 90-minute intervals throughout the day. I watched the sunset as we entered the towns in the mountains, with the coverage coming and going and observing that there is not a Rodalies train that does not have at least one piece of graffiti. In those, and already with the sky darkened, at 17:50 the train arrives at the Girona station. Seeing the distance to the Estadi Montilivi and hearing that the wait to get in would be long, I decided to take a taxi. It is more expensive, but I arrive on time for what I had come to Girona for.
During the journey by train and by taxi, I keep in touch with Óscar Herrero, who is in charge of managing the tickets. He tells me that they are at gate 2 of Montilivi, at the visitor access, next to the Mossos vans. And there they are, where he had said, practically the entire Vallecano contingent displaced there, given that the searches were being tremendously exhaustive and the entry of people into the field was quite slow. He gives me my ticket and we stand last in line, which hardly progresses at all until there were less than 10 minutes left before the game started. Already there 28 the thing hits an acceleration worthy of formula one. I get to the turnstile, I give my name to the person who is at the door with the list of visiting fans, as if that were a reserved nightclub, I pick up the entrance, the search arrives, practically the only thing left to do is to do a PCR and colonoscopy, and after the gate, which was nothing more than a fence separating the stadium from the road, we reached the stands. The visiting sector is located on the left corner of the main grandstand, the one seen on the television broadcast, well marked and separated from the rest by fences almost like circus beasts. While leaving the backpack on a seat in the highest part, since most of the rayistas were in the first rows, the players went out to the field.
"Waaaah..." She breathes out in admiration, looking away from the keyboard to give him big eyes full of praise. "Th… https://t.co/WUOrj7FNUW
— Kay Mon Jun 21 19:54:27 +0000 2021
During the game, between chants and taking photos and videos to send to Matagigantes's Twitter, I comment on the plays with Óscar, who stands behind me. He places, that he does not sit down, or he sees football standing up or he does not see it. One of my biggest concerns, which I mentioned to Óscar and which had been hanging around me all week, was how the hell was I going to return to Sants if there was an extension and the last train left Girona at 9:23 p.m. Thought that dissipates a few minutes when the Gironí goal arrives. Being in the opposite goal to our sector, I only appreciate seeing the crowd on the ground in front of the striker Bernardo, and immediately after the goal, all the Rayo players protesting a foul in attack. Cordero Vega, which I will later rename as “Paletilla” or “Lechal Vega”, ignores it. He was rowing. I did not want an extension, and halfway through the first part I prayed for it. Luckily, the one that Isi didn't have when sending a free kick to the post, Sergi Guardiola took a left-footed whiplash when people were taking positions to go to the bar at half-time. Classic avalanche in the visiting stands to celebrate the psychological goal and the tables at halftime.
The interlude is spent in the queue for the bar and the bathroom, which, to make us feel at home, is also one of those "polyclinic" for works and festivals. Already with the soda and relieved, the second part started. If it weren't for the fact that they give it to you already uncovered, more than one would still be opening the bottle when a blunder by the local defense caused Juan Carlos's clearance to be blocked by Sergi Guardiola's goal. Due to the perspective of the goal, many of us pounced on the barbed wire that separated us from the main stand, something that was not well understood by some Gironí fan. With the 1-2, we sang "Txus" and bounced, either for joy or to drive away the strong cold it was. After a few moments of pressing but without managing to make the third, and coinciding with Stuani's entrance to the field, we came back, and again the minutes seemed eternal.
The action of the penalty arrives, which obviously is not, but seeing how the premises fell like a bundle after noticing Catena's breath, I say "this is going to be whistled." So it was. Óscar tells me convinced that «Luca stops him». The Frenchman was having a great game, but Óscar was also convinced that the 1-2 was scored by Baby... When Stuani stopped the penalty, Isi finished it off and the consequent corner was cleared, if in that 90-second period miscounted I don't yell, sorry "my cock with a wig" 20 times, I don't yell at all. The outburst is dedicated to all those vultures in the fans waiting for "Pétit Zidane" to make a mistake and go for his jugular just because his father was a world football figure who played for Real Madrid.
The suffering did not pass, and the poster with a 5 discount only increased it. Let's not even mention the disallowed goal against the home team in minute 92. Like the linesman, Óscar is convinced that it is, although with a much larger margin than the VAR lines showed. My partner did not know that in this round there was already VAR, which here corroborated the millimetric offside when before the longis was made in the penalty. The 5 added become 7 and a half, with the fever of the home team at high levels, but in the end the pass to the quarterfinals went to Rayo. I don't know if it was celebrated in the same way as the promotion achieved a few months ago in that same field, but of course it was similar and by many more people than then. The public address system asked the visiting supporters not to leave the field until security told us to. With the victory, he didn't need to. The players grabbed the “Crazy for the Cup” banner to take the required photo with the stands in the background, and later, despite the fact that the few people from the local fans who were there wanted to avoid it by throwing bottles of water at them, they joined the celebration of its people giving the replicas of «The Pirate Life», as I recorded for posterity and for the Matagigantes YouTube channel. Yes, that video of "The Pirate Life" that circulates around, they have "joseado" me. After some brief impressions with people from La Franja Vallekana, La Resistencia Vallekana and Rayistas por Catalunya, singing "He took us out of the Second Division-But not from the Cup-Míchel with you always", and after asking them to take the required photo showing the last Bukaneros scarf, began the return trip.
Montilivi's return to the station was on foot. Quiet, smoking a cigar that he had for a special occasion, like being in the Cup quarterfinals for the first time in 20 years. But at the same time in a hurry, because the road was long and the last train passed soon. I reached it with a margin of 3 minutes, and once inside, I stopped and breathed. The train back from Rodalies was, this time, like the Regional we all know. Packed, yes, so I spent a large part of the journey either standing or sitting in some hole I found. The hour and a half journey was based on seeing reactions to the game, commenting on the feat, passing photos of the event to my friend Natxo from the Agrupación Rayista Argentina, talking to the people at the hostel to see if they could have a drink upon arrival, seeing what He had interrupted Betis-Sevilla and asked me if they had killed someone... Typical, go.
It was time to catch the metro (€2.40 for a single, tremendous sablada) to get to the Rambla area, where near the Liceu, the people from the hostel were in a joint with an appropriate name for the purpose and the day, «Rei of Copes". However, the high influx to the place and the proximity of the curfew time in force since Christmas made me, another boy and two girls choose to start the way back to the hostel. Metro again, now with transfer, and we quickly arrived. There we each took our food and drink for an impromptu dinner, we had brief conversations about what brought us to Barcelona, and after a while I got up, because we had to get up early to take the Ouigo back.
The next morning, shower in the communal bathroom, free coffee offered by the hostel, farewell with a tip for the people who take you to the station. I hoped that I would be able to have a solid breakfast on the way, but the only thing that had opened at 09:00 was the kiosk where I bought «L'Esportiu», a sports newspaper in Catalan that does not reach 10 pages, costs €0.50 and reports at the same level as the giants of the sports press, if not better. The thing about the bars being closed in the morning wasn't because it was Sunday, but rather because in Barcelona they don't open until noon, for whatever reason. I had to have breakfast at the same station, and seeing that sablada was coming, I ordered a combo of Iberian ham sandwich and Coca-Cola to enjoy the extravagance. Already well eaten and drunk, all that remained was to get on the train and spend the return trip.
A trip that will remain in the memories of all the rayistas who were there because of what we saw on the pitch. But also, it will remain in mine because of the way it happened. For setbacks, I hardly see a match called to be epic and historic. And despite how badly the Rodalies are managed, despite the cold, despite the beating of walking through 3 provincial capitals in one day to watch a soccer game, we managed to see it, and we also won it. It was absolutely worth everything I experienced, I would do it again a thousand times. Being in the quarterfinals of the Cup is not for everyone, and poor of those who want to steal our illusion.
Text and images by Jorge Morales García.
