The train coasted into the small border town of Irun, in the northeast of Spain, sometime after 6 PM. Outside it was cold and pouring rain. Commuters scattered for cover, most holding limp bags above their heads to shield themselves from the downpour as they hopped growing puddles towards taxis waiting outside in the gloom.
Inside, the station was eerily quiet. A dreadlocked, barefoot traveler with an unstrung electric guitar at his feet rolled a cigarette on the knee of his tattered jeans with a focus that suggested it was the most important thing he’d done all year. A broken vending machine, closed ticketing windows, and an empty station platform did not bode well for the first stretch into Spanish territory by train.
All photos are the author’s.