London Part I of IV

Saturday, October 23, 2010

This is not a good idea. This is not a good idea. This is not a good idea.

Clenching a lidded bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other, I am running from my flat to the university train station, backpack jerking my entire body from side to side with every step.

This is not a good idea. This is not a good idea. This is a terrible idea.

I look down at my watch. 7:45am. Shit. 

Awkwardly cradling the bowl and spoon in the crook of my elbow and running like a three-legged dog, I manage to buckle the chest and hip straps of my backpack. Straightening up, I see the apple tree next to the roundabout. Almost there. I keep running, backpack now only slightly swaying.

Winded, I stumble into the train station.

“I’m here!”

“There you are,” Wren* says.

“Hey,” Tom* says.

“I’m so sorry I am late! I’m…” then I notice that we are the only people in the station. Wren is standing near the wall. Tom is leaning against the counter. The metal barrier behind the ticket booth is down.

I take a breath. I didn’t make anyone late.

“So…how do we get out tickets?” I ask a little too casually.

Wren shrugs. Tom points to the metal barrier.

I settle against the wall to wait. Opening the lid on my bowl, I find what was once strawberry crunch clusters has blended into soggy crumbs floating in pink milk. That’s what you get for sleeping in. Breakfast of champions, I think to myself, raising the bowl to my lips and tilting my head back.

Finishing the bowl and stuffing it into my backpack, I pull out my ticket voucher. £10 for any midland train. There is still time to turn back. You would save £10. Shut up, Anna. You are in England. You need to travel. Stop wringing your hands.

I have such a bad feeling about this.

With a grating noise, the metal barrier rolls up, revealing a balding man sitting behind the ticket counter.

“One ticket to Euston,” Tom says, handing the man his voucher.

“One ticket to Euston,” Wren says, handing the man her voucher.

“One ticket to Euston,” I say, shoving my voucher under the glass before I can grab it back.

Without a word, the man hands me my ticket.

I take it and walk through the barrier towards the platform and onto the train heading to London.

Wren sits next to me. Tom sits across the aisle.

What have I gotten myself into?

I pull out Strindberg’s Dream Play, congratulating myself on beginning my Modern Drama homework earlier than three hours before the class. But before I open the book, I rest my head against the window as the train pulls out of the station, watching the university shrink until green fields start flying past.

“Anna Rose, wake up. We’re here.” I hear Wren say, nudging me awake.

I open my eyes to find my cheek attached to a foggy window and a tangled bird nest of hair surrounding my head. Strindberg lies unopened on my lap.

“We’re in London!” she says, smiling excitedly.

Detaching my cheek from the window, I push my hair out of my eyes and expectantly look out the glass but only a stonewall stares back.

Gathering our bags and me attempting to tame my hair, we maneuver off the train and through the station. Then walking out the doors, we step into the city. A tall white building rises above a wide street bustling with people and cars. Black taxies and red buses motor past. People stream in and out of the station and down the sidewalk. Green trees sway in the slight wind and pigeons fly against a blue sky.

Maybe it is the fact that I just woke up, maybe it is the street exhaust, maybe it is the warm sunshine or the musical notes of English accents, whatever it is, the energy of the city hums through my body, and in a rare moment, I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Buzzing from the vibes and looking around, I know that I am going to live in this city one day. I do not know how. I do not know when, but one day, if only for a year, I am going to call London home. I have been here two minutes and I have never wanted to live in a city, but love at first sight just became a reality, sweeping me off my feet.

“Where are we going?” Wren asks, breaking me out of my trance.

“Where are we?” Tom echoes.

Suddenly, I realize what they have already grasped. We have no idea where we are. We stare at each other for a moment and then turn around and walk back into the station to search for a map—something that none of us thought to bring to a massive city that none of us had ever been to.

What we did from there on our first day in London:

Ate lunch (yum)

Took pictures

Natural History Museum— Word to the wise, use the side entrance. There was a three-hour queue (line) at the front entrance. There was a thirty-second queue at the side entrance that we found only after we gave up on the front entrance. Moral of the story—quitters can succeed.

Navigated the underground

Took pictures

Saw the London Eye

Bought postcards

Took pictures

Saw the Parliament building (which includes Big Ben)

Saw Westminster Abbey—the most beautiful building I have ever seen.

Took pictures

Got snacks from Tesco—the store was composed of a single aisle. I had never seen anything like it. When I took a picture, I was asked to leave.

Parted ways until the morning—I went to meet my friend Michael*. Wren and Tom went to a hostel.

*Names have been changed.

Outside the Natural History Museum

Inside the Natural History Museum

Buying postcards-- just doing my part to support the tourism industry

Outside the Parliament Building

Outside Westminster Abbey