England, Part 1: Escaping London
My plane landed at 7AM, English time. The Admiral had dropped me off at the airport sixteen and a half hours earlier; I had managed to get two hours of sleep on the plane, but that was it.
I was tired.
Thankfully, I had apparently been thinking when I set an itinerary for myself, because my first objective was to get out of London. After about 45 minutes of customs and immigration, I hopped onto a Tube train.
From my journal (written in Paddington Station):
For being the busiest airport in the world, Heathrow didn't seem like much. But then again it was early and the terminal we appeared in is under renovation. All I experienced was underground and involved only the passengers from my own flight ... and immigration agents.
I have to wonder how tiresome their jobs must be. They hear everyone's travel plans in more detail than they would probably get from some of their own family members, and they don't even get the luxury of feigning interest. A one-minute barrage of questions, a stamp, "Next!"
I'm dead tired.
Roughly hour 17 of the Great English Adventure, I cleared immigration. After some unnecessary deliberation, I added to my Oyster card (borrowed from the fantastic Brit) and hopped onto the Tube. Two Kenyan men sit down across from me, chatting with each other in Swahili. The minutes pass; I try not to doze off.
Finally, the doors close, the train departs, and I start my adventure for real.
I spend the next hour accidentally exploring the Tube. I hop on the wrong train at a junction; suddenly I am a clumsy tourist. It takes some finagling, but I get turned back the right direction. My first true view of London is at a random stop -- Temple on the District line. I surface, pause, look around, and head back underground.
The subway is awkward. I feel greasy and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to smell pretty funky. Oh, how I hope they let me check in early; I'd like to shower before I go to the Jane Austen Centre.
Plus I would love walking somewhere without my luggage in tow.
Londoners are a little different than I expected. Quite, polite, yes. A bit standoffish, yes. But they're less guarded -- physically -- than I anticipated. They smile a bit more and there isn't a pervasive fear of pickpockets that I'm used to seeing on subways.
Then again, Moscow was a different kind of city.
At last, I make it to Paddington Station. It's huge, open, kind of beautiful. I'm obviously thinking about the last time I was killing time in a train station -- St. Petersburg, also huge and beautiful. My memories of it are all dark, though. That was the last time I saw Tanya and Sasha. Now I'm only about 30 hours from seeing them again.
I grab my tickets, once again singing the Brit's praises.
(Written on the train)
Row houses and lifeless flats flash by ...
24 hours after I awoke to start this madness, my train left Paddington for Bath.
I am tremendously relieved I decided to splurge on a first class ticket. Not that it was much of a splurge, but it was worth it.
It's quiet. Gloriously quiet. And for the first time today, I'm in a genuinely comfortable seat with no threat of my bubble being invaded.
At least, we see greenery. We're outside London's pointy fingers -- now there are rolling hills outside my window, trees and grass that remind me of home.
And beautiful stone churches that don't.
Considering that I am regularly terrified at the prospect of calling customer service, the fact that I am where I am right this moment is a little astounding.
I was tired.
Thankfully, I had apparently been thinking when I set an itinerary for myself, because my first objective was to get out of London. After about 45 minutes of customs and immigration, I hopped onto a Tube train.
From my journal (written in Paddington Station):
For being the busiest airport in the world, Heathrow didn't seem like much. But then again it was early and the terminal we appeared in is under renovation. All I experienced was underground and involved only the passengers from my own flight ... and immigration agents.
I have to wonder how tiresome their jobs must be. They hear everyone's travel plans in more detail than they would probably get from some of their own family members, and they don't even get the luxury of feigning interest. A one-minute barrage of questions, a stamp, "Next!"
I'm dead tired.
Roughly hour 17 of the Great English Adventure, I cleared immigration. After some unnecessary deliberation, I added to my Oyster card (borrowed from the fantastic Brit) and hopped onto the Tube. Two Kenyan men sit down across from me, chatting with each other in Swahili. The minutes pass; I try not to doze off.
Finally, the doors close, the train departs, and I start my adventure for real.
I spend the next hour accidentally exploring the Tube. I hop on the wrong train at a junction; suddenly I am a clumsy tourist. It takes some finagling, but I get turned back the right direction. My first true view of London is at a random stop -- Temple on the District line. I surface, pause, look around, and head back underground.
The subway is awkward. I feel greasy and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to smell pretty funky. Oh, how I hope they let me check in early; I'd like to shower before I go to the Jane Austen Centre.
Plus I would love walking somewhere without my luggage in tow.
Londoners are a little different than I expected. Quite, polite, yes. A bit standoffish, yes. But they're less guarded -- physically -- than I anticipated. They smile a bit more and there isn't a pervasive fear of pickpockets that I'm used to seeing on subways.
Then again, Moscow was a different kind of city.
At last, I make it to Paddington Station. It's huge, open, kind of beautiful. I'm obviously thinking about the last time I was killing time in a train station -- St. Petersburg, also huge and beautiful. My memories of it are all dark, though. That was the last time I saw Tanya and Sasha. Now I'm only about 30 hours from seeing them again.
I grab my tickets, once again singing the Brit's praises.
(Written on the train)
Row houses and lifeless flats flash by ...
24 hours after I awoke to start this madness, my train left Paddington for Bath.
I am tremendously relieved I decided to splurge on a first class ticket. Not that it was much of a splurge, but it was worth it.
It's quiet. Gloriously quiet. And for the first time today, I'm in a genuinely comfortable seat with no threat of my bubble being invaded.
At least, we see greenery. We're outside London's pointy fingers -- now there are rolling hills outside my window, trees and grass that remind me of home.
And beautiful stone churches that don't.
Considering that I am regularly terrified at the prospect of calling customer service, the fact that I am where I am right this moment is a little astounding.
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