Day 1: Getting “To Hexham”
14 April 2007
I left 8 Crick Road, my residence for the past four months, at roughly 4:30pm this afternoon. Clinging to my back is a 40lb. frame backpack carrying clothes for six weeks, toiletries, a towel, my laptop equipment, a few books for the road (including Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road,” Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and David Hume’s Enquiries). After a few minutes of walking, I realized what was ahead of me. Not only am I embarrassingly out of shape, but now I have an extra forty-five pounds to carry around (I say forty-five because I think I have probably gained about five pounds since coming to England). Sweating profusely I gathered what effort I could muster and continued down the streets of Oxford to Gloucester Green where I purchased my one way ticket to Newcastle-upon-Tyne departing at 10:30pm.
Having been thrown out of my residence by the legalism of the scholar’s program, I had nowhere to go for the next 6 hours, but was graciously invited to the Cooke’s home for tea time and games. By the time I walked the two miles to their home, I was ready to collapse and twice as sweaty and sticky as I had been five minutes into my journey.
After an evening of fellowship, chess, cards, and trying to conceal my ripe body odor, I was given a ride back to the bus station and we said our goodbyes. Saturday evenings are full of life in the city of Oxford, but on this evening I was no longer a part of the pub crawls, the club scenes, or the late-night visits to kebab stands. The 512 to Milton Keynes arrived on time and having packed away my gear, I collapsed into the seat for the hour drive north.
I woke up in a daze to the bus driver incoherently mumbling “Milton Keynes” over the intercom. The night before, I had only been able to get roughly five hours of sleep and this night did not look any more promising for physical rest. We got off at the Coach stop on the east side of Milton Keynes and were happy to find a 24 Hour Café at the station. It was cooling down rapidly and the prospect of sitting out in the cold for an hour waiting for our connecting line did not appeal to us.
The café was all you could expect from a 24 hour eatery in an out-of-town coach station. The black woman behind the counter quietly cleaned in the kitchen, while another elderly employee talked amongst one of the off-duty bus drivers over a cup of coffee. She seemed rather annoyed with anyone who came in and seemed only eager to sit and continue not do the working she wasn’t doing.
“Have you seen the rubbish bins lately…?
After a nod of the head, “They’re spilling all over onto the ground. They empty the ones at the rail station on Tuesdays and Fridays, but these only once a week. I don’t see why these shouldn’t be emptied more often.” More dull conversations continued while the drone of a soccer game emitted from the corner of the café where a small television hung.
The bus to Newcastle arrived 15 minutes late and with it came the realization that I would not be sleeping at all this evening. Packed full of people, it took a few seconds to find a seat and having found one, I tried, as best I could, to get comfortable. The seat didn’t recline, the man I was sitting next to sounded like he had a cold, and the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional snore came from all directions in the coach.
2:14—still no sleep. The man next to me got a call from what sounded like his girlfriend. Annoying chatter. I am ever peeved by the conversations of romantically linked couples.
3:27—sleep is still pulling on my eyelids, but I am unable to get situated as to accomplish anything worthwhile. We have stopped at a station for 10 minutes and some have left the bus to use the facilities. He got up and left which gave me time to stretch and the vain hope that he might get left behind providing me with more space.
5:33—I’m only about 30 minutes away from Newcastle. We have driven through Durham and at every stop, I get nervous that this could be where I have to get off. We reach St. James’ place in Newcastle a little after six in the morning and exit the bus into the chilly morning air. I’m in shorts and a light coat and quickly rip open my pack to find the nearest pair of pants and a sweatshirt. After everyone leaves the station, I slide into the pants and hoist my pack onto my shoulders and begin the search for my hostel.
You’d expect Sunday mornings in any city to be fairly quiet anytime before about 10:00am. But Newcastle seemed exceptionally quiet. Only a few cars drove past us, the occasional pedestrian could be seen a block away. It was like something out of a zombie movie. Anxiety over the strangeness of the place began to set in as we searched hopelessly for a tourist information center, any sign of a map, or a person who looked like they could help. Unfortunately, none of these options presented themselves.
I’ve always prided myself with being fairly good with directions. This time they were not flawless, but they set us in the right direction and in about an hour’s time and 2 miles later, we found our hostel.
Having unloaded our packs in luggage storage, we checked in and made our way back to city centre to find out what our options were for sightseeing on a Sunday. Like everything else in the city, we found it closed.
The railway station looked like our best bet and we found a train to Hexham which is one of the closest towns to Hadrian’s Wall, our destination for the day. Two return tickets were purchased from Lorna, the ticket vendor and we headed to Platform 6 to await our departure.
I noticed on the train travel times leaflet which was given to me that “If you are visiting Hadrian’s Wall ask for the Hadrian’s Wall add on far when you buy your rail ticket to Hexham, this gives one day’s unlimited travel on the AD 122 Hadrian’s Wall Bus from Hexham Station.” Well, shoot. I didn’t notice this till after I bought my ticket, so I went back to ask Lorna what could be done.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could help? I just bought my ticket “to Hexham” and it says on this leaflet that “when you buy your rail ticket to Hexham” to ask for the unlimited bus travel pass for $4. Is there anyway that you could just sell me that travel pass now because I did buy my ticket just now “to Hexham?”
“Why yes!” Lorna says and busily punches in whatever is typed into computers by ticket sellers to make their jobs appear of some importance. “Let’s see, you don’t want to unlimited travel on buses from Hexham to Chollerford, Bellingham, Newbrough, or Allendale?”
“No. I want the Hadrian’s Wall bus for unlimited travel along Hadrian’s Wall.”
“Right. Okay.” The typing continues. “Well, I can’t sell you that here, but when you get to Hexham you can purchase this from the bus driver at $4. If I sell it to you here, you pay the cost from Newcastle which is roughly $8 per person, so your total would be a little over $15 per person instead of the original $8 per person.”
“Okay, well the leaflet says that ‘when you buy your rail to Hexham’ you ask for the bus pass. I have just now bought my rail ticket to Hexham and now want the bus pass. But you’re saying that if I buy it here it will cost more than was advertised. However, if I purchase it from the bus driver in Hexham, I can buy it for the said price?”
“Right.”
“Great. Thanks.” And that was the last time I saw Lorna.
On the way back to Platform 6, I speculated that this would lead to further problems, so I saved the name ‘Lorna C.’ in my memory bank. With a puff of steam and a burst from the engine bell, the train rolled out of Newcastle “to Hexham.”
I left 8 Crick Road, my residence for the past four months, at roughly 4:30pm this afternoon. Clinging to my back is a 40lb. frame backpack carrying clothes for six weeks, toiletries, a towel, my laptop equipment, a few books for the road (including Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road,” Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and David Hume’s Enquiries). After a few minutes of walking, I realized what was ahead of me. Not only am I embarrassingly out of shape, but now I have an extra forty-five pounds to carry around (I say forty-five because I think I have probably gained about five pounds since coming to England). Sweating profusely I gathered what effort I could muster and continued down the streets of Oxford to Gloucester Green where I purchased my one way ticket to Newcastle-upon-Tyne departing at 10:30pm.
Having been thrown out of my residence by the legalism of the scholar’s program, I had nowhere to go for the next 6 hours, but was graciously invited to the Cooke’s home for tea time and games. By the time I walked the two miles to their home, I was ready to collapse and twice as sweaty and sticky as I had been five minutes into my journey.
After an evening of fellowship, chess, cards, and trying to conceal my ripe body odor, I was given a ride back to the bus station and we said our goodbyes. Saturday evenings are full of life in the city of Oxford, but on this evening I was no longer a part of the pub crawls, the club scenes, or the late-night visits to kebab stands. The 512 to Milton Keynes arrived on time and having packed away my gear, I collapsed into the seat for the hour drive north.
I woke up in a daze to the bus driver incoherently mumbling “Milton Keynes” over the intercom. The night before, I had only been able to get roughly five hours of sleep and this night did not look any more promising for physical rest. We got off at the Coach stop on the east side of Milton Keynes and were happy to find a 24 Hour Café at the station. It was cooling down rapidly and the prospect of sitting out in the cold for an hour waiting for our connecting line did not appeal to us.
The café was all you could expect from a 24 hour eatery in an out-of-town coach station. The black woman behind the counter quietly cleaned in the kitchen, while another elderly employee talked amongst one of the off-duty bus drivers over a cup of coffee. She seemed rather annoyed with anyone who came in and seemed only eager to sit and continue not do the working she wasn’t doing.
“Have you seen the rubbish bins lately…?
After a nod of the head, “They’re spilling all over onto the ground. They empty the ones at the rail station on Tuesdays and Fridays, but these only once a week. I don’t see why these shouldn’t be emptied more often.” More dull conversations continued while the drone of a soccer game emitted from the corner of the café where a small television hung.
The bus to Newcastle arrived 15 minutes late and with it came the realization that I would not be sleeping at all this evening. Packed full of people, it took a few seconds to find a seat and having found one, I tried, as best I could, to get comfortable. The seat didn’t recline, the man I was sitting next to sounded like he had a cold, and the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional snore came from all directions in the coach.
2:14—still no sleep. The man next to me got a call from what sounded like his girlfriend. Annoying chatter. I am ever peeved by the conversations of romantically linked couples.
3:27—sleep is still pulling on my eyelids, but I am unable to get situated as to accomplish anything worthwhile. We have stopped at a station for 10 minutes and some have left the bus to use the facilities. He got up and left which gave me time to stretch and the vain hope that he might get left behind providing me with more space.
5:33—I’m only about 30 minutes away from Newcastle. We have driven through Durham and at every stop, I get nervous that this could be where I have to get off. We reach St. James’ place in Newcastle a little after six in the morning and exit the bus into the chilly morning air. I’m in shorts and a light coat and quickly rip open my pack to find the nearest pair of pants and a sweatshirt. After everyone leaves the station, I slide into the pants and hoist my pack onto my shoulders and begin the search for my hostel.
You’d expect Sunday mornings in any city to be fairly quiet anytime before about 10:00am. But Newcastle seemed exceptionally quiet. Only a few cars drove past us, the occasional pedestrian could be seen a block away. It was like something out of a zombie movie. Anxiety over the strangeness of the place began to set in as we searched hopelessly for a tourist information center, any sign of a map, or a person who looked like they could help. Unfortunately, none of these options presented themselves.
I’ve always prided myself with being fairly good with directions. This time they were not flawless, but they set us in the right direction and in about an hour’s time and 2 miles later, we found our hostel.
Having unloaded our packs in luggage storage, we checked in and made our way back to city centre to find out what our options were for sightseeing on a Sunday. Like everything else in the city, we found it closed.
The railway station looked like our best bet and we found a train to Hexham which is one of the closest towns to Hadrian’s Wall, our destination for the day. Two return tickets were purchased from Lorna, the ticket vendor and we headed to Platform 6 to await our departure.
I noticed on the train travel times leaflet which was given to me that “If you are visiting Hadrian’s Wall ask for the Hadrian’s Wall add on far when you buy your rail ticket to Hexham, this gives one day’s unlimited travel on the AD 122 Hadrian’s Wall Bus from Hexham Station.” Well, shoot. I didn’t notice this till after I bought my ticket, so I went back to ask Lorna what could be done.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could help? I just bought my ticket “to Hexham” and it says on this leaflet that “when you buy your rail ticket to Hexham” to ask for the unlimited bus travel pass for $4. Is there anyway that you could just sell me that travel pass now because I did buy my ticket just now “to Hexham?”
“Why yes!” Lorna says and busily punches in whatever is typed into computers by ticket sellers to make their jobs appear of some importance. “Let’s see, you don’t want to unlimited travel on buses from Hexham to Chollerford, Bellingham, Newbrough, or Allendale?”
“No. I want the Hadrian’s Wall bus for unlimited travel along Hadrian’s Wall.”
“Right. Okay.” The typing continues. “Well, I can’t sell you that here, but when you get to Hexham you can purchase this from the bus driver at $4. If I sell it to you here, you pay the cost from Newcastle which is roughly $8 per person, so your total would be a little over $15 per person instead of the original $8 per person.”
“Okay, well the leaflet says that ‘when you buy your rail to Hexham’ you ask for the bus pass. I have just now bought my rail ticket to Hexham and now want the bus pass. But you’re saying that if I buy it here it will cost more than was advertised. However, if I purchase it from the bus driver in Hexham, I can buy it for the said price?”
“Right.”
“Great. Thanks.” And that was the last time I saw Lorna.
On the way back to Platform 6, I speculated that this would lead to further problems, so I saved the name ‘Lorna C.’ in my memory bank. With a puff of steam and a burst from the engine bell, the train rolled out of Newcastle “to Hexham.”
1 Comments:
Hey, don't you go accusing Lorna! She's always done a good job, cogito ergo sum, she must never make a mistake in her entire life. I can't believe you don't understand this elementary bureau-logic. Shame on you... shame.
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