The clock is ticking. It’s a never-ending, relentless tick, tick, tick… And it’s 5:57 am. And you’ve got a bus to Porto, Portugal from Lisbon to catch at 7 am. But it’s okay, according to Google Maps, the metro will only take you 20 minutes, giving you a wiggle room of half-an-hour (not acceptable in your mother’s standards but sufficient nonetheless).
You heave a sigh of relief as you make your way onto the darkened streets. Today is going to be a good day you tell yourself in-between periodically (and anxiously) scrolling through your phone to see when the next metro is coming.
But then of course, just as it seems as if everything has fallen into place perfectly and you stride confidently to the station, you find what?
That it is utterly closed.
The reason? A strike.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, this partial strike was conducted by the workers of Meropolitano de Lisboa. It constituted only one out of a handful of strikes conducted in 2021/2022 that have aimed at ameliorating “the unruly situation, whether in terms of schedules, lack of workers and poor working conditions and, above all, the great arrogance on the part of the management that leads workers to reach a fatigue limit.”
In early October 2021, 90% of all railway workers at Comboios de Portugal (CP) struck for higher wages and for more hiring. From September 21 to 23 2021, ferry workers at stations in Lisbon and Barreiro also protested the lack of change in their wages. To get a more widespread understanding of general strikes that have been occurring recently take a look at, Workers Struggles: Europe, Middle East & Africa at World Socialist Web Site.
It is important to state that without these essential workers, none of my travels would be possible. They make it possible for me to sleep soundly (though still guarded) in Malaga’s Costa Del Sol Airport when I have a red-eye. When my friend and I had to take an early train from London to Edinburgh, we could grab something to eat from Pret a Manger because people woke up even earlier than us. And when the train workers fought for better working conditions in Lisbon, it was because of a bus driver that I was able to reach Oriente Station in time.
Even so, the critical roles that train workers, bus drivers, ticket attendants, security guards, ferry drivers and other essential workers many times go unnoticed. Even so, their daily work makes life go by more smoothly for not only travelers like me but for everyone. One need only look at pictures of Rio de Janeiro in 2014 when garis, or street cleaners, went on strike to understand the magnitudinous impact essential workers have on a city.
This isn’t to say that I was perfectly content on this early morning or that I was my most socialist self when I saw the sign. Instead, I spent most of my time on the bus trying to convince myself to remember Marx. The less capitalist version of my thoughts went along the lines of:
“labor activism is important and you not only support but enthusiastically support labor activism. I mean your favorite professor in college literally began conversations with “comrade.” If you can’t sacrifice just this little bit, you are just a fraud academic, a part of the bourgeoisie, like you had always suspected you were becoming.”
Also that, “I should have listened to my mother.”
So biting my tongue, I scrambled on board with way too many bags than Raynair’s one carry-on policy allows and…
I have decided it’s best to live in the moment.
This never-ending sweaty sprint to a new destination is the not so glamorous side of travel. It is the tight grip on your passport, ID card and phone. And then of course, the ever-growing dark circles under your eyes as you consider that maybe taking 7 am flights isn’t as worth it as you once thought. It’s the long waits in lines (or queues for the Brits) to buy a ticket for the metro or tube (again, for the Brits). It’s the never-ending blablacar cancelations and the unhealthy habit of not looking at your bank account (or thinking your misplaced debit card).
And yet, I think I’ve grown an unhealthy attachment to these drawn-out commutes. As my ever observant flatmate has pointed out to me, it seems like I willingly choose the most difficult journey.
She has seen right through me.
Maybe there is some kind of underlying masochism in me that enjoys the hustle and bustle of long card rides to long bus rides to thankfully shorter flights. Maybe, it carries from my childhood when luggage trolleys at the airport transformed into personal race cars… or maybe the obsession with pseudo-psychology on TikTok has made me think that everything has to connect to some obscure childhood memory.
Nonetheless, these modes of transportation have now become an experience, in and of itself, each enriched by their own cultural particularities.
In London, you can hear the iconic “Mind the Gap” warning as passengers hop across the “precarious” space between the train and the landing.
The Parisian subway station is one of the oldest and densest systems in the world, with over 300 stations covering 130 miles. Now the faces of Kylian Mbappé, Neymar and Messi decorate its white tiled walls.
In Lisbon, you can take ferries across the Tagus River (Rio Tejo) to reach Cacilhas, Seixal, Barreiro and other neighboring Portuguese cities.
As someone who lives in a small to medium-sized city in the interior of the South of Spain, commuting is also a very particular experience.
The more I travel the more I see the beauty of humankind.
Okay, yes pretty cheesy statement but hear me out!
There is something almost enchanting or rather uplifting about walking through a busy station or airport and getting a peek at a moment that is so private and intimate. It’s the older couple in a Milan bus who couldn’t fight their drowsiness so they held hands as they slept on one another. It’s the too-tight hugs as relatives say a tearful goodbye right before one of them has to go through the security airport gates. It’s someone helping a random stranger get to their correct train minutes before it departs.
I wonder if someone has felt that same way about seeing me and my friends reconnect. Yes, kind of egoistic to think. But, truly, my most precious moments during my time abroad have been when I have see an old friend while visiting new European cities like London, Edinburgh, Madrid, Paris, and Toulouse.
But old friends aren’t the only ones that have accompanied me on these adventures. Along the way, I have had my roommates and new friends beside me. And while I still consider myself a pretty independent person, I have learned how nice it is to have someone by your side on these long journeys. When they aren’t there, the experience just doesn’t feel quite right. It’s like there is an essential piece missing.
Ultimately, there is nothing quite like the delirious conversations that take place at 4 am as you both scramble from a restless sleep into a restless awakening. It’s usually a combination of random things that pop up into your brain and impromptu karaoke that no one in a 10 foot radius asked to hear.
It is promises to never never travel like this again… which are always broken.
Then there is the nodding off onto each other’s shoulders and the soldier-like regimen of who will wait by the bookbags as the other goes to the bathroom. It’s excitedly imagining what new things you will explore, and searching for the cutest (and closest) café to grab a pan-au-chocolat and coffee. It’s having to rehearse and say the same blablacar conversations: “Sí, la comida de España es tan deliciosa!”
(I allow myself one white lie a day).
Unfortunately, travelling is also saying goodbye to dear friends and allowing yourselves just one second more to hold tightly to one another before the train departs. It is realizing that it may be months or years before you see that person again. It is the text sent after they have long gone to say how much you have appreciated the time you shared together.
It is promises to see one another again some day in the future.
Those won’t be broken so easily.
Where in the world 
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