Well, here we are again. Time to chronicle the London Adventure before I forget all the murky details. For all you avid fans, I guess you know how my last attempt to reach the island fared. So this was the last attempt. For me anyway. No way I was going to sit through another painful three hours at the British embassy and fork out another eighty Euro's for a tourist visa.
The day dawned bright and....no, no..wait, the day didn't dawn at all. I was up at three am and at the train station at three thirty to get to Eindhoven Airport which is a good one and a half hours from Delft. Of course, that was the day the snow came, a harbinger of one of the coldest winters to hit Europe. I mean, this is my life, right? It wouldn't be fitting if it happened any other day. So trains were delayed, exasperated sighs were collectively released, fingers and toes froze and the ol' forehead vein started doing its dance. Only two words resonated in my mind. Thwarted. Again. I didn't fall to my knees and didn't look skywards and didn't yell, "Why? Why me?", although I was seriously tempted to do just that. By now I was used to the meanderings of (my) life. Besides, I didn't want to make a scene at Delft Station.
Surprisingly, there were quite a number of us at the station. I learned later that a large group was traveling to Barcelona and their flight was earlier than mine. Announcement after announcement sounded via the station's public announcement system informing us hapless travelers that due to bad weather there would fewer trains running. Smiling cynically, I shifted my bag from one hand to the other and my weight from one foot to the other. "Just a normal day" I muttered through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.
Eventually the train did arrive and we all clambered aboard, luggage and all. Getting to Eindhoven was uneventful. Of course at Eindhoven station there was a mad scramble to grab the shuttle to the airport. Chinese people ran to the shuttle as it pulled into the station, shouting to their comrades. Not that I could understand anything, but it was still funny. I got into the bus as well and off we went to the airport. From the bus station to the airport another mad scramble ensued especially through those nutty revolving doors. I mean, who builds these things for airports? Yeesh!! Anyway, I successfully navigated these obstacles before making my way to my super cheap airline counter. Boards plastered everywhere warned me that if my luggage was bigger than the allowed size it would not be allowed on the plane. And there were these weird cage type containers which apparently "match" the luggage size you're allowed on board. Of course even a nut job can tell that those dimensions are nothing like the ones described on the website and there's no way anything bigger than a backpack will fit in there. I wasn't hassled about this, fortunately. My security check was kinda interesting as well. I was thoroughly frisked by a security chappie. He even frisked my armpits. Really now, do I look like I'd carry weed to another country?
But all said and done, I did make it to the aircraft, snagged a window seat and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Now the only way I wasn't getting to the U.K. was if the plane skidded off the icy runway. Ha ha ha ... gulp .. ha ha...umm.
Finally the plane did take off and there I was, en route to the UK. I paused to let that realization completely sink in and allowed myself a smug smile. That was when the chappie sitting in the aisle seat tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, is it ok if I put my jacket in this seat?" he said motioning to the empty seat between us. "Sure", I mumbled. Jeez, can't I have one moment of self satisfaction?
Anyway, landing at Stanstead was hassle free. Getting my visa checked and my passport stamped went off without a hitch. Surprising, eh? So, I relaxed my tense muscles and walked on to official UK soil. I shouldn't have. (Not the UK soil bit, just the relaxing muscles bit). Some nut in a suit sprang out of nowhere, waved his badge at me, said something about the Statistics bureau and started asking me about my country of origin and some such stuff. I just stared blankly at him for a moment. I guess he noticed, because he started enunciating his words and made his sentences really short. That kinda annoyed me. I mean, my English isn't that bad, its just that I wasn't expecting government johnnies to jump out of nowhere and launch off into twenty questions. But it was just two questions before he withdrew. Thankfully.
I made my way to the coach stop. (London is just an hour away from Stanstead by coach). The coach driver looked at my ticket, looked at me and exclaimed heartily "Ah, you're finally on time!!" (Yes. It is possible to exclaim heartily. Take my word for it). I guess this guy had heard about our legendary (Indian) sense of time. Heh...can't hold that against him, now can I?
So there I was, on my way to London, to hang out with (and sponge off) good ol' buddies I hadn't seen in ages. Joe Cynic was an old friend from the school days. He'd taken off to London soon after he picked up his degree and was steadily climbing up the university ladder. "Why Joe Cynic?" you ask, with that perplexed look on your face. That's easy. Joe Dripping-Sarcasm is too long and Joe Pragmatic is too formal. But I have to admit the sarcasm had been tempered to no small extent and the pragmatism came out only when it needed to.
The Sleeper was an old chum from college. After snagging his degree he'd retained his workaholic ways and was now plowing through the corporate world, business suit and all. "So why The Sleeper?" you ask (with that same perplexed look). Heh, you should've seen him in class in the old days. "He slept his way though class", an experienced observer would have said after...err..observing him for four years. The fun bits occurred when our no good lecturers caught him off guard. "OIE!!," they'd bellow, "What's this? Its only nine in the morning. Go wash your face, I say". Ah, that brings back back memories.
As, for the Financial Whizz Kid, she was working at some fancy company doing economics and other..umm..financial stuff. (I'm an engineer, so I don't get all that money talk. Cut me some slack here, lads).
Well, that's that. There's more to follow though, so stay tuned.
The day dawned bright and....no, no..wait, the day didn't dawn at all. I was up at three am and at the train station at three thirty to get to Eindhoven Airport which is a good one and a half hours from Delft. Of course, that was the day the snow came, a harbinger of one of the coldest winters to hit Europe. I mean, this is my life, right? It wouldn't be fitting if it happened any other day. So trains were delayed, exasperated sighs were collectively released, fingers and toes froze and the ol' forehead vein started doing its dance. Only two words resonated in my mind. Thwarted. Again. I didn't fall to my knees and didn't look skywards and didn't yell, "Why? Why me?", although I was seriously tempted to do just that. By now I was used to the meanderings of (my) life. Besides, I didn't want to make a scene at Delft Station.
Surprisingly, there were quite a number of us at the station. I learned later that a large group was traveling to Barcelona and their flight was earlier than mine. Announcement after announcement sounded via the station's public announcement system informing us hapless travelers that due to bad weather there would fewer trains running. Smiling cynically, I shifted my bag from one hand to the other and my weight from one foot to the other. "Just a normal day" I muttered through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.
Eventually the train did arrive and we all clambered aboard, luggage and all. Getting to Eindhoven was uneventful. Of course at Eindhoven station there was a mad scramble to grab the shuttle to the airport. Chinese people ran to the shuttle as it pulled into the station, shouting to their comrades. Not that I could understand anything, but it was still funny. I got into the bus as well and off we went to the airport. From the bus station to the airport another mad scramble ensued especially through those nutty revolving doors. I mean, who builds these things for airports? Yeesh!! Anyway, I successfully navigated these obstacles before making my way to my super cheap airline counter. Boards plastered everywhere warned me that if my luggage was bigger than the allowed size it would not be allowed on the plane. And there were these weird cage type containers which apparently "match" the luggage size you're allowed on board. Of course even a nut job can tell that those dimensions are nothing like the ones described on the website and there's no way anything bigger than a backpack will fit in there. I wasn't hassled about this, fortunately. My security check was kinda interesting as well. I was thoroughly frisked by a security chappie. He even frisked my armpits. Really now, do I look like I'd carry weed to another country?
But all said and done, I did make it to the aircraft, snagged a window seat and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Now the only way I wasn't getting to the U.K. was if the plane skidded off the icy runway. Ha ha ha ... gulp .. ha ha...umm.
Finally the plane did take off and there I was, en route to the UK. I paused to let that realization completely sink in and allowed myself a smug smile. That was when the chappie sitting in the aisle seat tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, is it ok if I put my jacket in this seat?" he said motioning to the empty seat between us. "Sure", I mumbled. Jeez, can't I have one moment of self satisfaction?
Anyway, landing at Stanstead was hassle free. Getting my visa checked and my passport stamped went off without a hitch. Surprising, eh? So, I relaxed my tense muscles and walked on to official UK soil. I shouldn't have. (Not the UK soil bit, just the relaxing muscles bit). Some nut in a suit sprang out of nowhere, waved his badge at me, said something about the Statistics bureau and started asking me about my country of origin and some such stuff. I just stared blankly at him for a moment. I guess he noticed, because he started enunciating his words and made his sentences really short. That kinda annoyed me. I mean, my English isn't that bad, its just that I wasn't expecting government johnnies to jump out of nowhere and launch off into twenty questions. But it was just two questions before he withdrew. Thankfully.
I made my way to the coach stop. (London is just an hour away from Stanstead by coach). The coach driver looked at my ticket, looked at me and exclaimed heartily "Ah, you're finally on time!!" (Yes. It is possible to exclaim heartily. Take my word for it). I guess this guy had heard about our legendary (Indian) sense of time. Heh...can't hold that against him, now can I?
So there I was, on my way to London, to hang out with (and sponge off) good ol' buddies I hadn't seen in ages. Joe Cynic was an old friend from the school days. He'd taken off to London soon after he picked up his degree and was steadily climbing up the university ladder. "Why Joe Cynic?" you ask, with that perplexed look on your face. That's easy. Joe Dripping-Sarcasm is too long and Joe Pragmatic is too formal. But I have to admit the sarcasm had been tempered to no small extent and the pragmatism came out only when it needed to.
The Sleeper was an old chum from college. After snagging his degree he'd retained his workaholic ways and was now plowing through the corporate world, business suit and all. "So why The Sleeper?" you ask (with that same perplexed look). Heh, you should've seen him in class in the old days. "He slept his way though class", an experienced observer would have said after...err..observing him for four years. The fun bits occurred when our no good lecturers caught him off guard. "OIE!!," they'd bellow, "What's this? Its only nine in the morning. Go wash your face, I say". Ah, that brings back back memories.
As, for the Financial Whizz Kid, she was working at some fancy company doing economics and other..umm..financial stuff. (I'm an engineer, so I don't get all that money talk. Cut me some slack here, lads).
Well, that's that. There's more to follow though, so stay tuned.
