Solo Europe 1
Monday, June 3, 2002, London, UK, cloudy, sunny, rainy, unpredictable.
Even after I had checked my ticket, stored my luggage, and sat in the coach, my heart was still pounding wildly, and I kept muttering 'Heaven help me!' It also proves the saying 'A nobleman’s outing is always accompanied by wind and rain' – it had been drizzling on and off since morning. Looking up at the thick clouds, I sincerely prayed that the next two months in Europe would bring good weather everywhere.
At first I was puzzled why the coach was completely full, but then I suddenly remembered that today was the Queen's 50th anniversary, and London seemed to be hosting many celebrations. So I started planning how to spend the eight-hour wait in London. From the map, I noticed that Buckingham Palace was very close to Victoria Station, where I would catch my coach tonight, so I could go and take a look.
The spacious coach was very comfortable, and before long I dozed off again. When I woke up, we were already inside London. Along the way, I saw the student dormitories of King’s College – two-story villas with beautiful balconies, which made me extremely envious. The coach passed Hyde Park, which was bustling with activity. There was a large field inside, packed with people, and it seemed a horse show was going on. The neatly lined-up chestnut horses and the riders' splendid uniforms made me want to get off and watch. Later, as the coach neared Buckingham Palace, I saw a crowd gathered near an iron gate, apparently waiting for something. My curiosity grew stronger.
At 13:10, the coach finally arrived. I rushed off to find the British Transport Police Office, because the Rail Europe staff had told me to collect my Interrail Pass there (they had issued wrong tickets twice, delaying until today when I had no choice but to pick it up there – see 'Preparation' for details). The staff at the coach station told me the BTPO was in Victoria Station, not at the coach station. Fortunately, the two stations are almost adjacent, and I found the entrance in less than ten minutes. However, Victoria Station is enormous. Carrying my big backpack (I hadn't had time to store it yet), I walked from the back entrance, all the while 'admiring' (or cursing?) the station's vastness. After another ten minutes of walking halfway around the station, I found the small office in a corridor next to Platform 1. I successfully got my train pass, squinted to check every item on it carefully, and this time the writing on the ticket was unusually neat, with no mistakes. I finally breathed a huge sigh of relief – thank God!
Back at the coach station, I stored my bag, wandered around to see the place, then headed toward Buckingham Palace. I had only been to London once before, for less than a day, and had spent that time at the British Museum and the National Gallery, so Buckingham Palace was new to me. I reached the iron gate where the crowd had been gathered earlier, but I couldn't be bothered to ask what they were all craning their necks for, so I turned into a lane on the right, where there was a long queue that seemed to lead into a park. Following the direction of the queue, I entered and found a medium-sized square, almost packed with people. Temporary stages and seats had been set up around the square. In the center, around a fountain, stood a tall golden statue, surrounded by what seemed to be stone carvings. It wasn't until my gaze shifted from the square to the left that I saw a familiar building I recognized from countless TV shows – surrounded by high railings, with two narrow sentry boxes where soldiers in red uniforms and tall, somewhat comical bearskin hats stood – and I suddenly realized this was Buckingham Palace. The building itself was unremarkable, and amidst the noisy, bustling atmosphere, there was no solemn or majestic grandeur. The Union Jack flew on the palace, meaning the Queen was not inside. So why were all these people gathered here? Were they waiting for the Queen to appear? A pretty policewoman in a white uniform answered that the Queen would not arrive until after 7 pm. After being pushed by the crowd to walk around the square once and having watched all the performers there, it was only 3 pm, so I decided to go to Hyde Park first.
Exiting through another gate of the square, I entered Green Park, which had neat, tree-lined avenues. Crossing the road from there, I reached Hyde Park. On the grass of Green Park, there was a large outdoor screen showing TV programs about the Queen's life and habits, occasionally interspersed with live broadcasts of celebrations elsewhere in the UK. Copying the many people lying on the grass, I found a spot and sat down to watch 'TV'. There were quite a few events today. I had heard rumors about some 'sacred flame' that was being passed around, and tonight it would arrive at its final stop, Buckingham Palace, to be lit by the Queen herself. Only then did I realize what a grand festival this was for the British – the lively atmosphere could rival China's 50th National Day celebration. Many British people naturally called the Queen 'my mother', which I found somewhat incredible.
After sitting and watching for about an hour, my legs went numb, so I got up and continued toward Hyde Park. Hyde Park actually felt more like a large garden, unlike Green Park's orderly tree-lined avenues. Here, colorful flowers and a wide variety of trees were planted. There was also a modest 'Asia Party' going on, but it was just an Indian guy singing some incomprehensible tune, while the Chinese food stall below had a long line. The horse show I had seen when passing by at noon seemed to have already ended, but the park was still crowded with pedestrians, almost like a popular tourist attraction in China. I strolled aimlessly in the park and eventually returned to Green Park to watch the 'TV'. Speaking of which, since I had been in the UK for over ten months, my total TV-watching time was probably less than three hours – I really admired myself for that.
Around 5 pm, the weather turned cold. Wearing only two thin shirts, I shivered as the wind blew. The weather forecast on the screen showed the temperature was only 8°C. I had planned to see the Queen herself at 7:30 pm at Buckingham Palace, but it seemed that by then I’d be frozen stiff. Moreover, considering the crowd at the palace, with my height compared to the foreigners, I wouldn't be able to see anything, and there might be trouble getting away by 8 pm to catch my coach. So at 6 pm, I decided to head back via the same route through Buckingham Palace square to the coach station, thinking there might be a TV screen there (later I found out there wasn't). On the way, I saw five queues, each about 40–50 meters long, waiting for the toilet – that was too exaggerated!
As soon as I stepped into Buckingham Palace square, I was immediately swept into the dense crowd. The population density was about 4 people per square meter, meaning there was absolutely no room to move. The only word to describe it was 'horrifying'. I started mentally slapping myself for taking this route – it was sheer suicide! But by then, I couldn't go back. Trapped in a crowd moving at a snail's pace of 5 meters per minute, I couldn't budge. Many people had laid blankets directly on the square floor, so those of us moving forward had to 'climb over mountains and cross rivers', stepping over the arms, legs, shoulders, and even heads of those lying or sitting on the ground. I muttered to myself that I never knew the UK had so many people. After finally squeezing through Buckingham Palace square and breathing fresh air outside, I saw that an endless stream of people was still pouring in... Oh! God bless them!
It was already 7 pm when I returned to the coach station. I was surprised to see many groups of Chinese people in the station. They all seemed to be students, probably heading off on trips. I had seen quite a few Chinese people in London today, and I thought proudly, 'The UK has been conquered by the Chinese!'
Because the French embassy had kindly given me an extra week on my visa, I first went to the ticket counter to change the date on my return ticket, planning to stay two more weeks before returning. Changing the ticket cost £3, which pained me. I picked up my bag and went to Gate 19 at the far end of the station. It was 7:50 pm, and just then the check-in desk for Paris opened with a 'whoosh', so I rushed over. I thought there would be many checks, and I had prepared the relevant documents, but they only looked at the name on my ticket and passport without even flipping to the page with my French visa. They handed back my passport and return stub, along with a card marked with a big 'A', indicating the number of the coach I would take.
At 9 pm, several coaches to Paris arrived at the station. I found my 'A' bus and got on. The whole bus seemed to be chartered by a student group. They held US passports but spoke Spanish, and I couldn't understand a word of their chatter. The French driver began making announcements in Spanish and French. I asked him in English, but his English was poor; he just kept repeating 'Paree, Paree' (Paris). Two British passengers on the bus were startled and rushed off – they had wanted to go to Amsterdam and boarded the wrong bus. The student group leader also came over specifically to ask the only non-group passenger—me—whether I was going to 'Paree'. After confirming, he gave the driver a '1' gesture, meaning I was the only 'outsider' on the bus. Fortunately, just before departure, a Japanese boy and two English speakers boarded, so I didn't feel too 'alien'. The Euroline bus seemed to be French-made because I saw a window with a French-only sign: 'Issue de emergency'. This bus was even better than National Express – it ran as smoothly as flowing water, with barely any vibration, and it had a toilet.
At 23:20, I opened my eyes. Outside the window, in the thick darkness, the words 'Dover' in white tube lights brightly illuminated the numbered ferry terminals. At the checkpoint before the terminal, we needed to check in again, but a staff member just boarded the bus to check passports. He looked at the passports of the first two people near the front and asked, 'Are you all together?' Before I could answer, the students shouted 'Yes, yes' in unison. The inspector immediately turned around and let us through. The bus stopped at a parking lot in front of Terminal 2 to wait for the ferry. Many students rushed out to smoke – the girls were the heaviest smokers, and their addiction made me think they were doing drugs. At 23:50, the bus drove onto the ferry. After another round of Spanish announcements from the driver, everyone on the bus got off in a 'boom' and went up to the upper decks via a small door and stairs. I smiled bitterly and asked the driver to explain in English. He was fairly friendly and told me to come back to the bus after hearing an announcement in about an hour and a half, and to remember which parking slot the bus was in so I wouldn't get on the wrong one.
The ferry had three levels: the bottom level was the parking deck, the middle was a shopping center selling souvenirs and French wine (duty-free, I think). The upper level had various fast-food options, naturally expensive, so on the ferry I only used the restroom. Since almost everyone went shopping or eating, the seating area on the second level was nearly empty. I found a seat by the window and had just sat down when the ferry shook and slowly left Dover Harbour. The window was pitch black, except for a row of orange lights flashing at the line where the sea met the sky, lighting up this somewhat surreal and mysterious dark space.
June 4, 1:30 am
The ferry suddenly gave a violent jolt, stopping the snores that had been echoing in the cabin. People looked up and realized the ferry had entered the port of Calais, France. The port was very quiet, with no pedestrians, only countless elevated roads leading in all directions and dim streetlights. After leaving the port, the road was clear, and I fell into a deep sleep.
(London)
