Despite the lack of sleep , yesterday started off as any other travel day. I woke up early (two hours of sleep were finally granted before being horrendously ripped away again) and I double checked my sloppily packed bag. Instead of squeezing and squishing every molecule of air out of my bag like I normally do, I just casually rolled my clothes and shoved them in. Therefore, instead of proudly toting a reasonably compact backpack for a girl, I had to extend the straps on the bag and I toted a bag that looked like it was for a guy on a 18 month trip through Africa. Anyway, totally not the story.
At 9:15 I was at the train station watching the 9:13 train not leave and paying close attention to the clock that said the 9:16 train, the one I needed, was arriving on time. After a mini freak out in my head (I totally stayed calm and collected on the outside) I finally asked the attendant standing by the door if that was the train I needed. It was. Another 15 minutes later and I was at Haymarket station catching the second train of the day. Upon entering one of the rail cars I realized I had a reserved seat and it wasn’t in first class which is where I stood. The train started chugging along and I showed an attendant my ticket.
“Excuse me.” I said. “Where am I supposed to go?”
He checked my ticket and then said “Uh sorry this is the wrong train.”
“What?!” I nearly shouted. I guess the look on my gullible face was enough because he burst out laughing while his coworkers chided him and told me which car to walk to. My heart race slowed and I set in for a 3 hour ride to Preston, I think Lancaster.
There, I had only a short time between trains and so I got myself to the correct platform and walked up to an attendant in time to hear him mention to a dude with aviators “the next train is the one for Liverpool.” I asked him again just to make sure and then I waited. The train arrived, I embarked, and 5 minutes later a lady came through the car saying “tickets please.” She looked at mine and asked where I was going. “Liverpool!” I told her. The entire car kind of gasped and started chuckling before falling silent.
“That’s in the other direction.” The lady said. “This is the wrong train. We’re going to Leeds.”
She kindly told me to get off at the next station, go back to Preston and then get the next train to Liverpool. All I could think was “Screw you, first attendant, for jinxing me, and you, MR conductor man who told me this was the train for Liverpool.”
Shortly after, the lady returned and told me that a man ahead also was in the same situation. I figured.
This story goes on for another 2 hours so the highlights are that I got off at the station, started talking to Aviators, found out he was from LA, chatted as we waited for trains and then again on the train to Liverpool. Finally in Liverpool I got his name and I have a Californian acquaintance. So there was good in the disappointing.
Last night I repacked my bag in the hostel and chose my outfit for today.
It wasn’t waterproof.
It should have been.
I also left my leather jacket at the hostel on purpose.
I shouldn’t have.
It. Poured. All. Day. I spent a good deal of time bouncing in and out of stores that were way to pricey for me and completely not my style (I’m a huge fan of down home hick. Kind of like uber casual/ homeless with a splash of pizazz.) – jokes. Around 12, I walked into a cinema; pushed in by the English weather and pulled in by the smell of popcorn. I asked the cashier when the next movie was and then bought a ticket. Then I asked what it was. It was a total American gun fight thing. “Olympus Has Fallen.” Basically, terrorists from North Korea try to blow up the White House and they hold the president and important people hostage in the bunker. Gerard Butler plays a John Wayne kind of character of grit and smarts as he tries to… And that’s where I’m lost. He’s an ex secret service agent trying to save his president but as the lead character in a film that sounds like its about robots in Ancient Rome… I don’t know. He played it well. I think I was just bored because there was zero plot. Don’t get me wrong now, by bored I just mean at the end of the film I was all “meh, that was predictable.”; However, during the film I had my boots kicked off and I was clutching the arm of my imaginary boyfriend while I hid behind my popcorn. There was non stop action and some blood and some CSI-Miami-worthy one liners. The one part I won’t forget is near the end and Gerard Butler is wearing three guns and who know how many other knives and weapons and he is confronted by the enemy with a knife and a gun. The stunt directors casually have one guy kick one gun out of a hand and someone loses a knife all so these two guys can drop the weaponry act and duke it out like big boys. They totally go all ninja in a cave and its kind of cool if not totally unnecessary. At one point I loudly said “you have a gun, dude! Just shoot him!” And somebody else laughed.
Around two thirty I stepped back into the blinding light of sun reflecting off grey clouds and rain. I continued my walk in the rain, ducking into stores whenever I got cold or started getting drenched. I found that the drowned rat look isn’t so good for me. I ended up in North Face and found a jacket that I really wanted. I almost convinced myself I needed it, intending to throw out my leather jacket I have with me that’s nearly 5 years old. But unfortunately it was out of my price range and I couldn’t hand over my credit card for a brand name jacket. Ill sleep on it. If tomorrow morning I am walking to the train station and my zipper breaks or my jacket suddenly falls into a pile of dust, I will go buy it. But until something like that happens, I guess I’ll be stuck in the same jacket that is seen in every outdoor picture of me from the last 5 years.
It’s now 8 o’clock on a Sunday night and I have no idea what to do. Maybe I’ll dance. Or, there is a pool table here and I do need to touch up my game, make sure I’m not to far out of practice.
Whatever I do, I’m going to say goodnight world. Thanks so much for reading about this girl’s adventures.
All my love, Sarah
Oh, one last thing. There are two canadian girls in my dorm and they are from Vancouver. AND they know where Smithers is. Nobody knows where Smithers is. I haven’t really talked to them but they are automatically cool.