Farnborough to London Waterloo

The lady in row 48 puts on her makeup and chatters away with her seat mate. At 10:00 hrs, we have all boarded the train to the city with our off-peak day return passes. Some however have purchased a one way ticket to the airport, flying into the great unknown be it for business or holiday.

In this country everything is lovely, and the people will delightfully welcome and thank you wherever you go and whatever you do. Aside from Prague and the staff at our cruises, no other hosts have been so happy to genuinely serve us. This statement coming from a guest that usually locks herself out of the room at least once, orders room service and lives like a hermit, and always asks for a cab or taxi to be procured for her.

Beside me, in the other row, there is a fellow who has the same business gear as my peers back home. A Swiss backpack, jeans and a jacket finish off his “engineery” vibe. Like me, he sits and stares out the window, watching the fields, trains, houses and cities pass by. I have yet to capture the picture of the horses with coats. Blimey!

The chap a row in front of me is taking a nap. The hour and odd minute trip can seem long and boring to a local. As fun as this ride is to an introvert like me, or to Dr Sheldon Cooper (Big Bang Theory, TV Show), it has to be a dreary task for those who can only afford living in the outskirts of London. With a little more resilience and patience I’d be willing to try it out at some point in my life. The UK folks are darlings.

Just past Wimbledon, Clapham calling now, a few stops more and we’ll arrive at Waterloo. From there I will switch to the Tube or Underground and head to Kings Cross to find Platform 9 3/4s. From what I gathered HP isn’t a big huge thing here. Leave it to the Americans to overdo and obsess over the pop cultutal items their former conqueror exports to the world. The colonized mind, 200 years freed, still manages to exalt what the empire peddles. Maybe we are never free of our captors, of our oppressors.

Deep thoughts are brought on my moments of solitude and introspection. The train, or any kind of public people movers, has always been the best mode of transportation for my thoughts. The people, the environment and the conversations feed my muse. As the coach slows and a vast majority of patrons depart, I wonder what’s in store for them. Would I see them on my return trip? Most likely not, but they have shared indirectly with me thoughts and experiences that I will always remember.

Let’s see what the day holds for a young woman yearning to tick off items from a very long bucket list. A woman traveling with the whole knowledge of the world in her pocket. Getting lost is usually the best way to find ourselves, and that fish and chips place my Irish and British friends keep fancying on my facebook feed. ๐Ÿ˜€

London calling…

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