Travel is a funny thing - people all thrust together into the confines of a plane, train or boat seat; sometimes spending hours next to someone we do not even utter more than perhaps a cautionary “scuze me’ when we need to push past them to attend to the loo. Everyone in that confined space is going somewhere - there’s a destination on the mind - beset perhaps with new experiences; family to visit; a job interview; travel for the sake of travel - always some reason but possibly all provoked by a scratch that needs itching - the wanderlust itch. At least that’s how it is for me.
Sark, Channel Islands.
The high speed train from Kings Cross London to Edinburgh covers the 646 km in a little over 4.25 hours, stopping at Newcastle to unload travellers before Scotland kicks in. It’s feels as though the train is bolting through the countryside - the blur of greenery near the tracks becoming sleep-inducing when coupled with the gentle sway of the train as it charges forward.
It’s hard to comprehend the nitty-gritty of travel at times. This morning I was saying goodbye to my friend in Guernsey and now I am halfway to Edinburgh on a train - opting for the romantic notion of overland travel rather than above the clouds. As the train progresses up the length of England the weather becomes increasingly dull until finally rain drops make its slanted patterns across the train window. Glad I bought that rain jacket in St Peter Port - on the advice of a very keen store owner who filled me in on various hikes I should do in Scotland. I only went in for some in-soles for my shoes.
I am amazed I made it at all onto this train. The morning was running smoothly, with an early landing in Southampton from Guernsey providing me with a 20 minute head start for the train - perhaps I could go on an earlier train to London? Yes - I could. This fact would prove valuable as the morning wore on, when a fatality on the tracks halted the train at Farnborough. I could feel my heart rate increasing but kept up the positive self-talk … “it’s going to be fine!”.
The quaint Chichester
I asked at the ticket office about alternative ways to get to London, as frustrated commuters let the news sink in that they would be very late for work that day. Someone muttered about inconsiderate track jumpers disrupting the working day, while Someone else shouted at the ticket guy about paying for a service that is very rarely delivered. Good heavens - I just want to get to Scotland!
I started to think my flight booked the next morning (which I was opting to forgo in favour of the train) would be my actual modus operandi after all. The by now pink-faced ticket dude gave me harried directions to the other Farnborough train station and duly informed me I would need to find another train from Guildford.
Oh heck - the Edinburgh train was starting to look like an impossible dream - although I knew I could possibly get a later one (even though seats are all allocated through the booking system).
Google maps told me the walk to the other station was 20 minutes.
Just when I was cursing my two packs, two women came and asked me if if was taking the train to London, then when I confirmed my moves they offered me a ride to the other station. They were sisters , with one of them visiting the other after 4 years (she resided in Canada), and both were South African. I was amazed they would offer to take a stranger - but grateful especially as my previous days galavanting on Sark had left my feet battered and blistered. Quite frankly a 20 minute walk in Doc Martens wasn’t appealing at that point in time!
The Canadian sister and I stuck together - and I helped her figure out the tube she needed to be on from Waterloo in order to meet friends in Covent Garden. We bade farewells and happy travels and good lucks and parted ways. Her name was Val and after England she was going to Croatia.
You never know - we may in fact meet again.
After an early train from Southampton; a suspended service in Farnborough; two changes of alternative trains; and two tubes, I made it to Kings Cross with 20 minutes to spare. Hindsight is a wonderful thing - if I had not taken that earlier train I would have been stuck in Southampton until after 1 pm and it would have been a late arrival to Edinburgh, if at all.
Things happen for a reason sometimes. Perhaps.
The ploughed fields and gentle rolling landscape hurtled by my window seat and the girl in the seat next to me (maybe 11-12 years old), stared transfixed at her phone screen. The world outside my window reminded me of the landscape south of Timaru - particularly near Pareoa and St Andrew’s. I could have been in New Zealand. Through all the geographic locations on this ball we call planet earth, there are more similarities than differences - with pockets of the utterly bizarre or mind-blowingly gorgeous adding a sense of wonder and certainly a sense of appreciation for the simple art of travel.
Out the train window enroute to Scotland, the view reminds me of South Canterbury, NZ
A couple of weeks ago I was on the train from Bognor heading south to catch my flight across to Guernsey. A man sat opposite me - longish grey hair pulled back into a loose pony-tail which extruded shyly from his ‘train-driver’ style hat. He had a cloth bag, linen shirt and pants and exuded an air of ‘alternative’ about him. As the train lurched out of Bognor Regis he shuffled through his bag to produce some glass jars of various food items which he placed on the small table between us. I shuffled about in my bag and pulled out chocolate. Ha! Take THAT!!
Stunning thatched roof house in Bognor Regis
He then poured a cup of hot brew from a thermos then spread humus onto rice crackers and layered tomato and cheese slices over top. “Old school”, I thought - as I wondered about the people around me and marvelled at my ability to judge - perhaps incorrectly, as to who these people were that I shared the journey to Southampton with.
After a small feast, he then produced a compact sewing kit and an item of cloth, then laboriously attempted to thread the tiny needle.
After several minutes he had success and began to loop the thread around a failing hem in what appeared to be pants.
I observed all this through my reflective glasses.
It’s rude to stare. I was fascinated. Sewing, on a train!
I lost myself in the passing countryside becoming slightly sleepy from the hypnotic rhythm of the trains movements. Feeling my eyelids drooping, I was just on the verge of one of those ‘falling off a cliff’ moments, when a voice jolted me back into the moment.
“It’s good to see someone wearing an actual watch - not a phone attached to a watch strap” the man announced.
Is he speaking to me?
“Hi”! He demanded my attention.
I learnt he was off to some shamanic festival, and that he objected to the nudity he would encounter there (oh - really?), but was looking forward to camping and doing yoga. He said he also couldn’t bring himself to throw out a perfectly good pair of pants and that he repaired all his clothes. He disgorged a LOT of words in that short time from the watch comment to us pulling into Southampton. I wished him a fun experience at the shaman festival and he strode off with his linen pants in hand and with his hikers sandals inviting a peek of his long gnarly toenails.
Nice.
Meanwhile the girl in the train seat next to me shows me an evil cat picture and tells me she is scared of it. I realise English is not her first language and wonder what her story is. Where are her parents?
The train is packed - wall to wall people and baggage, but a good lot will disembark in New Castle and perhaps a new swathe if travellers will replace them. My backpack sits atop a pile of other backpacks; sleeping mats; walking poles - and I know there is a portion of train travellers here probably heading for Scotlands highlands for some hiking. Me too. Anticipation much. Tomorrow I will collect a rental car and have a taste of freedom.
I cannot wait for the adventure to truly begin. It’s time to really stretch my legs.