The Journey to London

I started in Leipzig, in the afternoon after my literature seminar. Incidentally, I had been teaching a comparison of A Study in Scarlet and A Study in Pink that morning, so my students asked if I was actually going to see a film with that Sherlock Holmes guy in it. Well, indeed.

So I packed the rest of my bags in anticipation of an amazing week in London. I caught the train to Berlin, which happened to be on time, which in itself was a small miracle. It was, in any case, a sign that the journey would go well. If the first train is on time, the rest usually is a piece of cake. That’s the German train system for you.

The journey was fairly uneventful, but I knew I had to catch another train in Berlin to get to Schönefeld, so the adrenaline was still in my system. I did catch the right train, but on the train I encountered a young man from London who was experiencing something which I always dread when I travel. He misread the departure-time on his plane ticket and was now going to Schönefeld to arrive there at 9 in the evening, while the flight had already gone at nine in the morning. I was the one to break the news to him, because he had been asking pretty much everyone on the train, but he had a strong Italian accent, so people simply did not understand him.

He was also very anxious to miss the stop to the airport, and even after I told him that we still had twenty minutes to go, he asked again at every single stop. I felt so bad for him, but somehow any anxiety that something could go wrong with my own journey (like going to the wrong airport, which might just happen in Berlin) was swept away. So I took the guy along to the airport but had to leave him there to sort things out, because I had my own plane to catch.

I love travelling by myself. It's not that I don't like company, and I do love having travel companions, but I always feel responsible for the people I travel with (and my parents constantly run off into opposite directions, so I'm always running after them, just to name one example), and when I am alone, I can just silently enjoy the journey and pretty much do what I want.

After check in, I saw the wheelchair waiting to be put on the plane. It belonged to one old lady who travelled with three other old ladies. I found that very endearing and also slightly ironic, considering the cause of my journey. Life imitates art, I guess.

I love airports. They are a place of in between-ness. A non-place. Not quite on the ground but not in the air yet. International and at the same time belonging to no nation at all. There are international newspapers and horrendously expensive water bottles for purchase. People wait. Some are anxious, because they have never been on a plane before. Some are anxious because they have been on a plane before and didn't have such a good time. Some are just plain bored and others, like me, excited, because they love flying, or because they can't wait to get to the place that they fly to.

One the way to the gate they had these rather funny caricatures of politicians (and the pope). I can't get over how cute Angela Merkel looks in this one. I was giggling to myself all the way down to the gate.
 

I love flying with people who have never flown before. Some are scared, but most of them are in awe. I adore the feeling right after the start; being pressed back into the seat, seeing the world slowly fall down underneath, the horizon getting lighter again, and sometimes to even see the sunset twice, once before the start, and once up in the air.

When we crossed the Channel, the moon reflected on the water while the horizon was still lightly red. It was absolutely beautiful. Having booked with Ryanair, it was only to be expected to be greeted with the Scottish voice announcing that this was yet another flight on time. I can't help but laugh every single time I hear it. I adore the accent of that voice. 

What I didn’t expect, were the masses of people at Standsted. Usually, there are a few people in the queues, but this time it seemed as if an entire country was trying to travel to England. I stood in line for almost as long as the flight had been. Just after midnight, I caught the bus to London. It’s another thing which I absolutely adore when I come to London. Entering the city and then driving along the Thames, catching a glimpse of the Globe and then passing the National Theatre and on the way up to Westminster Square, being told by the clock on the bell tower that it is rather late, but you just know that it’s only a few minutes until Victoria. (That part is on the video in the video post)

As soon as we had arrived, the next challenge awaited me: How to avoid the guys who are trying to force their taxi on you. Because you "obviously don’t know your way to your hotel. You will get lost. London at night is dangerous. It really is, knife crime, you know?!" (Yes, we're talking about Pimlico here, centre of crime in London...)

I successfully circumnavigated the modern horror story tellers and made my way down Belgrave Road, to the hostel which has been my London residence a few times during the last few years when I went to London to do research at the British Library. Stumbling into a room full of sleeping people at three in the morning is always a challenge. I felt really bad for coming in so late, but that’s just the way it is. I woke up pretty much knackered and dragged myself down to breakfast.

Apparently it started raining in London just on the day when I got there, and it pretty much wouldn't stop for the entire week. Oh well, I thought, at least I'm living the stereotype.

I love walking through London. There are always new places to discover, new streets to walk down, and always, always new faces to see. Since I was alone and know my way around Pimlico by now, I was asked for directions by three different people on the way to Victoria Station. I love being able to help. It's weirdly satisfying to be thought of as a Londoner. Maybe one day...

But I wasn't by myself all the time. I have quite a few friends living in London, some friends from University to moved there to work, others I've know from online forums, and friends of friends who turned into proper friends. I love being able to just meet up for lunch somewhere, or for drinks. I had promised a friend to get her one of the Breakfast Club mugs...not because of the place itself, but because of a rather funny revelation which Vaughan Sivell tweeted, namely that the I <3 BC could stand for someone rather than something ;)

I also managed to meet up with friends to go to the screeing of The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, which included a Q&A with Mark Gatiss (and special guest Steven Moffat), which was lovely, especially since I got to chat to Steven Moffat for a bit. On the way back (it all happened somewhere in the north of London) we got lost rather spectacularly, trying to find the right bus. But getting lost is just another way to get to know a place, no? :)

The next few days were spent at the National Theatre, walking random streets in London, the National Portrait Gallery, The British Library (awesome science fiction exhibition there!), hiding from the rain in pubs and getting excited about Friday.

I love London by night (I do realise that I write that a lot, but I do have a very deep love for London, so I'll just keep writing it). Even though it was raining most days, the moon almost always came out at night. When the city is quiet, just before midnight, and everything is closing down, only a few people left walking along the river...it's all very peaceful.

Another thing I adore: London street art. Hackney is full with it, but you can find it in the most unlikely places as well. Just east of Strand you can find Albert Einstein riding his bike on a telephone box, and this boy was fishing on the pavement right behind Blackfriars Bridge.

And then playing in the sand at low tide. I love the amazing green colour of the moss and how clean the sand looks. One would never think that this is actually at the Thames :p

And this is what I call unconscious foreshadowing!

Tbc with Friday in Brentford and the actual goal of this journey.