Beam Me Up Scottie

The person who wrote “It’s not the destination; it’s the journey. » certainly did not travel the way I do. The phrase that goes through my mind every time I pack my suitcase is “Beam me Up Scottie.” « If only it weren’t science fiction », I think wistfully. Of course, travel can be a pleasant experience. I discovered that when I went to Sri Lanka. Business class pampering followed by two weeks of my own guide in my own air-conditioned Toyota. Most of my travel, however, is like my recent trip to Oxford. From my apartment to the Gare du Nord I went, dragging and pushing my suitcase with my purse and my hand luggage over my shoulder. About 250 steps,

a 1.6 km. (almost a mile) walk, three turnstiles,

a ten minute metro journey and three escalators (joy they were all working!) later, I reached the special Eurostar area of the station. I’d thought I’d have time for coffee once I arrived. Alas, since my last visit, the café has given way to more space for passenger control. After showing my ticket to an agent, going through security – like airports but with shoes on – showing my passport to French police and showing my ticket, passport and landing card to British authorities, I was free to find a seat in the waiting room. Shortly thereafter, we were summoned down a moving ramp to our train. My seat was in the first car; we came down the ramp at car 11. Another walk. The Eurostar is still comfortable, though the seating configuration has become snugger over the years as the train has become increasingly popular. Over 9 million passengers travelled on it last year. I remember 1994 when it was new and exciting. They used to make an announcement as we entered the tunnel. Now, people read, watch videos or work on their presentations as if it was the most natural thing in the world to go from Paris to London in 2 hours and 15 minutes -- including 20 minutes under the English Channel. What happened to the romance? I arrived at St Pancras just before noon. I decided to go to Victoria Station and locate the coach stop for the Oxford Tube before lunch. After years of reminding Americans to take trains in Europe like the locals do instead of following their own “either take the plane or rent a car” reflexes, I had decided to take my own advice. Since British Rail’s privatization nearly 20 years ago , English trains have become overcrowded and expensive. For short journeys, coaches are the way to go. I visit England fairly often, but I always forget how pleasantly random, the English can be. The young woman at the information desk gave me almost inaudible instructions. I followed them as best I could and soon found a street with many buses in front of a fancy hotel. The concierge assured me that the Oxford Tube stopped there. The one I saw across the street was just coming in from Oxford. Time for my pub lunch. It was drizzling when I returned to wait for the coach. And wait. And wait. I saw two go past across the street but none came to where I was. Finally, a young woman volunteered to go inside and “make inquiries”. (Though the English can be vague they are often helpful.) She came back and told me I needed to go across the street and up a side street. Off I went, just in time.

A comfortable two hours later, I knew it had all been worth it.