Day 5: Road to India - London, UK -Part 3

I needed to get to Victoria Station, the heart of London’s transportation system. Victoria supports England’s railroad system, the London Underground--referred to as the ‘Tube,’ a nickname it was given around the late 1800s due to its shape--and the coaches and buses servicing Greater London. I followed the signs for the Heathrow Express (HEX) that took me on a long walk through a series of well-lit clean white-tiled-walled tunnels with posters advertising a wide array of products I celebrate no longer needing, until I reached the HEX Ticket Agent. This agent replaced questions for a passionate desire to help me get to my destination. He even saved me some Pound Sterling (the official name for U.K. currency) by selling me a ‘Return’ (British term for Round Trip) for thirty-two pounds. Cool, or “brilliant” as the Brits say, I have my passage back to Heathrow when I leave for Southeast Asia.

I asked directions to the appropriate platform. On this journey I’m glad not to be a stereotypical male because I stop and ask directions a lot. I have learned that it’s better to stop three or even five people to ask or confirm directions than to carry my still-heavy worldly possessions a long way only to have to return. I have come to enjoy asking for help. It allows me to interact with the people that inhabit the part of the world I find myself in. Engaging them is to include them and to allow their journey and mine to become one, even if it’s for a brief moment in time.

“People enter our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime,” is a mantra I come to live by. The catch is for us is to be careful not to force a person to stay for a lifetime when they are only come for a season. When that’s a bit too philosophical for me I remember the chemical rush that our bodies get when we show kindness to each other. Serotonin; or happy-juice as I like to refer to it, is secreted from the hypothalamus when we help or when we witness someone being compassionate or kind to another. This happy juice also strengthens our immune system. This is evident in my health and energy level since I’ve been a journey-woman. It sure does help cure the jetlag. My sister would say, “it’s because of who you are, Tracy,” referring to my positive mental attitude that attracts like-minded and generous people who want to help me. I believe that’s partly the case, but I also believe that people are basically good and it’s natural for us to want to support our fellow human beings.

I reach the HEX about 06:00, which is waiting with doors open for its fortunate passengers. The HEX is a more dear (expensive) way to travel to and from Heathrow and those more knowledgeable and fungal passengers typically choose other modes, which do take longer. I realized this a bit late, but I’m happy to go this way because in a way my sister and my mother were my travel agents. While I was in New York City Yvonne goggled my London destination from their Beach House in Imperial Beach, California and looked at the necessary web pages together, but mom and Yvonne’s heads were clearer so I simply took notes and followed their instructions.

Mum and Yvonne had gone to the Beach House to spend precious time together after I left. I’m sure they needed some downtime considering how emotional it was for us to say ‘good-bye’. It’s always been a rare occasion to have Yvonne all to oneself. We have a small but large family, that for the most part is very close, something we all owe to Yvonne. She has a passionate desire to keep us all together and have us ‘get over’ our differences so we can get back to being together, especially to go on holiday together. That’s adventure nearly pales in comparison to the one I’m on.

There are fourteen of us to fit for the latest vacation tee shirt from one to seventy-three in age and from petite to triple X in size, that identifies us as the fun-loving-band-of-crazies that we truly are. We are a varied clan that can cut deep with disdain and yet will show up with titanium strength when we needed. I’ve been drawing from that strength for the last few days when the waves of culture shock swirled with the sands of loneliness find their way into the days and nights. (I’m in India as I write this.)

I stepped aboard the HEX, noticing I didn’t need to ‘mind the gap’ that is between most platforms and the trains in the UK. The stainless steel walls and doors are spotless and the seats are upholstered with deep-ocean blue high-quality fabric freckled with red flakes. They have high backs and might be too comfortable for the weary transcontinental travelers who need to disembark soon. But not me, I’m almost on the edge of my seat in anticipation of what I might see even though it’s still dark. There are several conspicuously placed LCD screens showing commercials to sell me more unnecessary products. The car was deserted with exception of me and a businessman in a wrinkled dark grey suit who sat across the isle one row back. I think we both wanted to enjoy some expanded personal space. I wondered if this was a maiden voyage across tracks that were laid a hundred years ago. I felt safe and still very energized. A state I tend to stay in until I reach my temporary resting place, at which time I sleep harder than Henry the Eighth after a huge meal, and yes, I probably do some real snoring.

I had to transfer to the Tube at Paddington Station which would take me to Victoria where I’ll needed to catch a 170 bus to Battersea, a suburb of London. The HEX train made another one of it’s stops and because I was still getting use to the accents of the ticket agents and announcers in the airport and train stations, I nearly missed my stop. I followed the exit signs to the London Underground, which is hard to miss once you’ve seen their logo. It’s a red donut with a horizontal cobalt blue stripe with UNDERGROUND written in white text over the circle. That striped changed from a teal the cobalt in 2007, but I’m not sure why. Yet, if you stand on any London street-corner and turn 360 degrees around and don’t see a sign to one of 270 tube stations then you just aren’t looking.

I pulled my luggage from the HEX train and this time I did ‘mind the gap’ heaving and swinging my luggage onto the platform. With a sigh of relief I paused and scan the area to get my bearings to see that I was in yet another maze of tunnels. I could hear Bob Parker saying, “Will it be tunnel number one, two or three?” Time to ask directions, again. The conductor pointed me down tunnel number two and at the end I came to a London Transport ticket stand with a lovely black woman behind the bullet proof Plexiglas. With no cue, due to the earliness of the hour, I stepped up to the window. I don’t know why, but I always feel the need to raise my voice so that the person behind that thick Plexiglas can hear me. Logic says they can hear a normal tone of voice but it plays a game with my left brain, which assumes that even my loud mouth can’t be heard through anything that thick. So I kind of yelled and either she heard me just fine or was just being polite to this Yank who has obviously traveled far. After all, I was in “the land of good manner.” Whichever she remained pleasant and sold me an Oyster Card, a hard plastic key card tucked inside a yellow and blue plastic holder supplied by Ikea, which is great product placement to something 3.4 million weekday riders carry in the pockets, purses or briefcases. The Oyster Card will allows passage on any one of the eleven lines and all Greater London buses. The pass was twenty-three pounds, which would be very heavy if I had to bring that many pounds of silver to buy it, but no fear since almost all currency is no longer backed by gold or silver. I’ve been using my debit card to purchase these tickets since I haven’t seen an ATM or “Cash Machines” yet.

I figured I’ll go to a Thomas Cook travel agency, which I hold a fond childhood memory of those rare occasions we’d return to England with my mum (Brit for Mom) to visit my grandparents. It’s interesting to observe the sentimental memories of long ago I have stored up and now find myself attempting to reconnect with them. Why am I inclined to go to a business with people behind the desks that have absolutely no connection to me other than the memory of following my mother into an all-red storefront with the white block THOMAS COOK lettering? Are other people as sentimental as I and choose a place to patronize based on a precious memory that lasted for a fraction of a moment? If they don’t, I might be the sappiest woman on the planet, but if they do then we are kindred spirits making our way through this beautiful life hoping from one sentimental cloud to another.

The nice lady directed me on to a station that had to be built around the time my grandfather was a boy. Actually the first section of the London Underground opened in 1863 and was the first system of its kind in the world and starting in 1890, England was the first to operate electric trains. Old maybe, but I loved it. I said, “Tracy, welcome to back to England!” It was cooler in England that NY, but I can’t say it was cold. As I was leaving the train I caught my reflection in the window to see that I was sporting a full-on Alfalfa so I put on my pink angora cap. I stepped to the ticket agent box to find out where I must go next. Again, if I got on the train going the wrong way it might be hours before I got the Battersea.

To be continued....