Categories: postcards
Date: 30 June 2008 21:49:24
Earlyish the next morning, I shouldered my bag and hopped on a bus down to the railway station. The bus took its sweet time and with various complications because of building works in the centre of the Ancient Roman City, I had to leg the last bit of the journey. I made it to the ticket counter only to be stuck behind some elderly gent who didn't seem to know where he wanted to go, when or how to pay. I made it to my train with about two minutes to spare.
On the train, I fell into conversation with my neighbouring traveller. Inevitably in the small talk, we discussed our jobs. My neighbour seemed quite interested in my job and gave me her business card as she said she wanted some documents translated. Part of the purpose of my trip was for business purposes and I thought it was quite amusing that it was possible I had accomplished expanding my client base even before I had reached Paddington.
Last September I travelled by Eurostar - and on that occasion the train left from Waterloo International. In the meantime, things have changed and now Eurostar departs from the north London station dedicated to the saint of part of the digestive system - St Pancreas. (I jest of course. St Pancras was martyred by beheading at the age of 14 around the year 304AD. His name is Greek and literally means "the one that holds everything". He is bizarrely (given the nature of his death) invoked against cramp, false witness, *headache*, and perjury. He is also a patron saint of children.)
I was particularly interested to see the 90 metre champagne bar and the works of art (a couple parting - or meeting, I can't remember which and the Betjeman statue) but unfortunately my bag was weighing heavy on my shoulder. It is quite possible I marched straight past these sights but I was too focused on finding somewhere to rest my bag, back and shoulders to notice. Another time, maybe.
The man making the announcements was possibly the most remarkable feature of the journey. He welcomed us all in French - then in English in such a heavy French accent that the English was 95% unrecognisable. He gave the same treatment to Dutch. All the non-French-speaking nationals in my carriage were screwing their faces up in an effort to make their ears attune to the melody and to pick out the salient words.
The new route may well be some 20 minutes faster than the route to Waterloo but I wondered what impression foreigners would have of England if their journey were their first sight of our fair country. The landscape seemed to consist of nothing but disused factories, cement plants and motorways. The passengers in my carriage were taking little notice of their surroundings. I think it was the Senior Citizens' Long Weekend to Brussels. Everyone was "d'un certain age" eating their sandwiches from neatly packed tupperware boxes and drinking from their flasks of tea.
We arrived in Brussels at the appointed time - and that was when the fun began.