On that note, the train ride from Caceres to Madrid felt like a roller coaster ride in hell. For roughly two hours, I experienced sheer terror.
|This is what sheer terror looks like.|
The area between Caceres and Madrid is mostly mountains and farms. If we werent crossing some tiny bridge (probably built in the 19th century) between mountains, then we were in a tunnel driving through one. At one point I looked to my left and just saw clouds. While the train was wrapping itself around the side of the mountain, I was clutching the arm rest for dear life, as if that would do anything.
You see, I don't like heights. You might think that's ironic since I love skiing, which involves going to the top of a mountain, strapping blades onto your feet, and speeding down. But, I usually cling to the bar on the chairlift until it's absolutely necessary to lift it. I'm generally terrified of being up high. Remember my experience in Disney World? I literally sobbed on the Tower of Terror.
|No es divertido.|
But at least in Disney World, I had someone to hold my hand. Unfortunately, this time, I had no ally. I was just surrounded by a bunch of Spaniards reading and playing on their phones as if we were not on top of a fucking mountain. Meanwhile, I was silently panicking, but decided that crying wouldn't have been received well, so I held it all in.
I thought for sure I was going to throw up, but thankfully I did not. Especially since I can speak approximately six words in Spanish and none of them would have helped me explain that. "Umm, lo siento... Como se dice vomit?"