Saturday, July 3,
1982
I woke up at 5:05
and we were supposed to leave at 5:00! Readied to leave, ran down the stairs,
and had to knock to wake the night clerk. It was the joker and he probably
wanted to talk, but we had to run. We left at 5:12 and got to the station in 15
minutes. Kirby’s 5:33 train would arrive on track 10, and my 5:46 train would
leave from track 11. Another train already an hour late for Roma was sitting on
track 10, so Jan had to go find Kirby. Jan and I had just finished a week long
Milani-Comparetti Seminar in Florence, Italy, and now Kirby was joining Jan for
some vacation.
There was no sign
of my train. I opted to take the 5:51 diretto/through
train to Milano and found an empty compartment. Businessmen came and went. A
family spent most of their time in the corridor window-hanging as it seemed to
be the first train trip for the two pre-teen boys. A man came in and pulled out
a cassette recorder, read the instructions, and tested it (“pronto, pronto, uno,
due, tre”). Arrived at 10:15 in Milano to find
my train to Bern was at 10:05 and not 10:50, and at the track I saw the
train pulling away. Okay, had to figure out what to do now, since the plan was that
I meet Sue H the morning of July 4th in London!
Took the 11:05
train, having to switch cars to make sure I was in one going to Bern. It was so
hazy you couldn’t see the lake when we passed Lago Maggiore. Are there really
mountains out there? At Domodossola I was joined by two proper British couples and
a French-speaking drunk. He sat right next to me and I thought I would faint
from the fumes! He asked where the train went, and I said Bern. Where was he
going? "Here, there, anywhere…" I wondered if he had a ticket, but he passed
customs and the conductor inspection. Since everyone ignored him, he decided to
sleep. As his body leaned in my direction, I crossed to sit in the opposite
empty seat. Everyone else got off in Brig. I arrived in Bern at 15:40 and I moved to
the front of the train that would continue to Basel. I switched to my other
ticket, a half-price ticket which was supposed to be Biel to Basel, but was
Bern to Basel, so I paid twice for the Bern to Biel portion. But I already have
enough to complain about!
Arrived in Basel
at 17:05 and checked to see if there was an earlier train to London, but there
was only the 00:20 train that would arrive at 12:33. Oh, please, Sue, wait for
me! The ticket agent told me to go to SNCF/French Railways office to exchange
my ticket. There I was told I had to get a refund, then buy a new ticket. Went
to the cashier who said I’d have to write a letter to SNCF to request a refund,
but he did go to ask someone else. I was able to get a cash refund of 74.80
CHF/$37. Returned to the SNCF to see if I could get a cuchette; no. Back to a
ticket window to get a ticket to Calais, France for 85.60 CHF/$43.
If the
Calais to Folkestone ferry turns out not
to be a Sealink (so I can’t use my BritRail Seapass), I shall scream!
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| Basel to Calais train ticket |
I changed all my
Italian lire (539,000) into over 600 CHF/$300. I went to check my bag, but
there was a long line of people picking up their luggage and only one person on
the job, so I put my bag in a locker. I checked out the restaurants and decided
to leave the station to eat, at the Hotel Victoria Restaurant across the
street. Had a decent meal for 16 CHF/$8. The waiter spoke to me in Swiss-German
and I was finally able to switch back to German. On the train from Florence, I
kept thinking in Italian.
I spent the last
of my Swiss change on mints, cleaned up in the restroom, found a place to sit
and sew a button back on the shirt I was wearing, and caught up on my journal.
A girl asked me if the train to Frankfurt was here. I looked over my shoulder,
and told her it was! There was a guy reading Arabic and another reading
Cyrillic. I have to keep busy to avoid conversations with strange men. And I
still have four hours to kill!
At 22:00 several
trains from France heading to Italy passed through and they were filled to
capacity. It looked like they gathered every old available car in the fleet to
put together these trains.
I retrieved my bag and went to the French part
of the train station, but customs was closed. Sat until they opened at 23:00.
They let us on the new French train at 23:40, with six bucket seats per compartment.
Sunday, July 4,
1982
Independence Day!
The train left 15
minutes late at 00:35. Tried to sleep, which was difficult in the bucket seats.
I’m surprised I don’t have a stiff neck. I realized I left my sweatshirt at the
Florence hotel.
In the morning I
watched the flat land pass by, resembling Holland with neat houses, occasional
canals with fishermen, and truck gardens. We arrived at Calais Maritime at
9:15. I went to information to see if I could use the BritRail Seapass, but the
place was closed. So I went ahead through customs and my pass was valid. The ferry
boat left 10 minutes late at 9:50. I found a seat forward in the sun on the
middle deck. I am having a hard time understanding the English I hear!
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| Ferry leaving Calais |
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| Dover from the ferry |
We landed at about 11:30, but it was 10:30 local time. It took a long time to disembark, and we had to queue up for customs. I had to fill out a landing card and muscle my way to keep my place in line. The customs official looked for my name in a black notebook (hopefully he didn’t find it!), asked how long I was staying and how much money I had. Exited through the “nothing to declare” lane and joined a crowd milling outside. We were promised buses to Victoria and there were about 20 of them lined up. They didn’t ask for tickets as people stampeded onto the buses, so I wondered if the Victoria to which we were being taken was in Folkestone. We left at 11:30 and went all the way to London past low hills with grazing sheep and rowhouses with few windows covered by lace curtains. I was getting used to riding down the road on the left side, but was still “startled” to go the wrong way around traffic circles. Saw a few three-wheeled cars with the single wheel being in the front.
We arrived at Victoria Station an hour late at 13:30 and were deposited on the Sealink side. I hurried to find the appointed corner in front of the station where Sue H and I had arranged to meet. I didn’t recognize the street names at one corner, so went to the other where I stationed myself at Buckingham Palace Road and Terminal Place where there was a drunk newspaper vendor. There were hundreds of people coming and going, yet they were not going to the train station. I heard the word “strike.” The hours of 14:00 and 15:00 passed. The newspaper vendor went off to a trashy corner of a building, broke off the top of a beer bottle and drank from the broken top!
At 15:15 I was tired of standing at the corner and being asked directions to the tube station. I went to deposit my bag in the train station, but they were only allowing withdrawals. I put my stuff in a locker. I saw notices of an industrial inaction beginning at 00:01 on July 4th. A rail strike started today! So that’s why they had buses for us from the ferry! And it may be difficult for Sue to get into London from the airport.
Went to the tourist board for a free map and asked for a theater guide, being told to purchase the magazine “What’s On in London.”
Went back to my corner just before 16:00 and after 5 minutes I spotted Sue’s head in the crowd! She too was delayed; her flight was due at 10:00, but was 4 hours late, then she had to get a bus into Victoria and had arrived 10 minutes ago. We recounted our mishaps, and went to get my bags. Asked about hotels at the tourist bureau, and the cheapest they could offer was 13 Great Britain Pounds Sterling (GBP)/$23. I had been given a card for a youth hostel offering rooms for 4.99 GBP/$9. We decided to give the hostel a try, and followed the directions on the card. We passed the coach/bus station that was a mass of people and buses. Sue’s more detailed map helped us find the Chelsea Youth and Student Hostel, a member of the Astor chain, after a good hike of 20-30 minutes. We found out that the 4.99 price was for a bed in a large dorm, but you could also get a 6-bed dorm for 5.50 GBP/$9.60 We were given one key for the both of us for a 1 GBP/$1.75 deposit. Room #33 was on the third floor at the top of the hostel and actually had 8 beds, but two were unoccupied. The bathrooms were at the end of the hall. We settled our things, then left at 17:30 towards King’s Road, looking for Chelsea’s Kitchen. We were talking about Milani-Comparetti and walked right past it. Backtracking we found the simple restaurant, which we later learned is not part of the Stockpot chain. I ordered Roast Beef & Yorkshire Pudding and a lemonade, getting roast beef with a dark tomato gravy, baked potato, carrots and peas, and a 7-Up. Sue ordered a Mushroom Omelette & Chips and a bottle of water. She received the omelette and chips, and a glass of water. We were joined by a young man who ordered Yorkshire pudding and was told they had no more. So I did not get my Yorkshire pudding to find out what it is! Our bill including 10% service was 7.26 GBP/$13.
We went out to stroll and noticed flashing orange bulbs atop poles on the sidewalk at both ends of crosswalks. We aren’t sure what they signified, since they had no effect on the traffic. The locals were bold about stepping into the street and expecting cars to stop for them. We found that especially taxi drivers would stop and wave us across. All the taxis are large spacious vehicles that look like they are from a past generation. They have the markings of an Austin, with a bench across the back and two fold-down seats facing the bench. The taxis are licensed to carry only up to four passengers, although there is space for more.
Chelsea is supposed to be comparable to the better parts of Greenwich village in NYC. As we walked towards the Thames River, Sue noticed that the fire “hydrants” were square manhole covers in the sidewalk. The postal telephone and telegraph wires were underground as well. Dog owners aren’t to let their dogs foul the streets and a polite notice says, “No dumping.” Under that sign was a pile of garbage, so perhaps there is another meaning for dumping.
We went out to stroll and noticed flashing orange bulbs atop poles on the sidewalk at both ends of crosswalks. We aren’t sure what they signified, since they had no effect on the traffic. The locals were bold about stepping into the street and expecting cars to stop for them. We found that especially taxi drivers would stop and wave us across. All the taxis are large spacious vehicles that look like they are from a past generation. They have the markings of an Austin, with a bench across the back and two fold-down seats facing the bench. The taxis are licensed to carry only up to four passengers, although there is space for more.
Chelsea is supposed to be comparable to the better parts of Greenwich village in NYC. As we walked towards the Thames River, Sue noticed that the fire “hydrants” were square manhole covers in the sidewalk. The postal telephone and telegraph wires were underground as well. Dog owners aren’t to let their dogs foul the streets and a polite notice says, “No dumping.” Under that sign was a pile of garbage, so perhaps there is another meaning for dumping.
We walked down Walpole Street with its Georgian architecture and found a blue disc in the wall of a building declaring that Oscar Wilde (19C Irish poet and writer) lived here.
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| Walpole Street |
Returned to the hostel by 21:00 to go to the restaurant for drinks and to plan our strategy for the next day, and they were playing loud music. Went to the room at 22:00 and the other tenants were all in bed. Still fairly “light” outside.
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