Adventures in Europe, Day 12: Amsterdam - Paris - London
Somehow I managed to stumble out of bed at 7:30 am, collect all my belongings, say goodbye to Grímur, make the 20-minute walk to Centraal station with my luggage, and buy Amsterdam postcards all in time for my 9:26 Thalys to Paris. The train ride itself was utterly uneventful, consisting mostly of fitful napping slumped forward on my tray table and writing a couple of postcards.
I do find myself reflecting a bit on how much I liked the city of Amsterdam. For having a reputation as the ‘grungy’ capital of Western Europe, it’s really a very pleasant and livable place. The ubiquitous presence of water I found extremely soothing, and the city’s original architecture is extremely well preserved. It’s also a quiet city, once again thanks to the canals. Car traffic is limited, people find their way around by boat, tram, or bicycle most of the time, and it seems like a very mellow sort of place for that reason. I may also be biased because I had an extremely good time here with Grímur, Ása, and the other Icelanders, but it just struck me as a very livable sort of place. Housing seems to be a bit difficult, but food is relatively inexpensive compared to London and Paris, and I spent a total of about 5 Euro on public transit the entire week I was there, most of it on the first day. If you can find a cheap apartment (and even the expensive ones are comparable in price to Bay Area rent), you can pretty much live for free.
I had a 2 and a half hour layover in Paris Nord between the arrival of my Thalys and the 16:13 departure of my Eurostar for London, and decided to make good use of it and book my ticket on the City Night Line train to Berlin at the end of the month. To my great pride, I made it through the transaction entirely en français, despite freezing and forgetting how to say my train number (deux-cents-quarante-trois) for a few moments. Everything else ran most smoothly, as did my purchase of a sandwich and a bottle of water. Things will get trickier, of course, when I’m trying to communicate more extensively with Zee French, but for now, minor victory.
The Eurostar, however, proved to be a far more turbulent experience than my venture into the French language. As some of you may have heard, the tunnel under the English Channel, or Chunnel as it’s known, caught fire not so long ago. Thanks to this incident, only one rail track through the Chunnel is open, and the entire rail schedule of Eurostar is in jeopardy. The train before ours was cancelled, and I was worried our train would be extremely late or even cancelled as well. We eventually got off to a relatively timely start, and it looked like we would be about half an hour late. However, we ended up getting stuck on the tracks at Calais for close to an hour while we waited for other trains to pass. Fortunately, I had a good time on the train chatting with a young woman from Australia and another one from London about travel, work, and everything between heaven and earth. We were at Calais so long that the next train after us caught up to us and pulled in on the next platform over while we waited, and then arrived only about 10 minutes after us at St. Pancras, an hour and a half behind schedule.
Ah well, I think as I enjoy my Harry Potter moment wandering through King’s Cross Station to the Underground. At least now I know my way to Sólrún’s from here.
Famous last words.
The Docklands Light Railway, which runs from East London to Greenwich where Sólrún lives, is undergoing major renovation works, which take place mostly on the weekends. This means…
No service at about two thirds of the stations between Bank, my exchange point from Underground to DLR, and Cutty Sark, Sólrún’s station. I hear something about replacement bus service, and am beginning to get more than a little nervous in the service. I overhear some of the people around me talking about Greenwich, and ask their permission to tag along. We cram onto this tiny little bus where I thought I would sprain my ankle trying to fit my baggage in around me, and take off towards God-knows-where, where we’re supposed to get back on the train for Cutty Sark. Fortunately, I overheard yet another group of people talking - this time, two guys by the name of Alex and Mike, who turn out to be jazz musicians from Trinity College of Music, Sólrún’s school, and live at the same dormitory. They let me tag along with them as we walked from the Island Gardens station under the Thames and back to McMillan (the dorm), and even helped me with the luggage. Most gentlemanly of them. There I found a phone booth across the street, called Sólrún, and was most relieved when she came out to greet me and help me up to her room with all my stuff.
I do find myself reflecting a bit on how much I liked the city of Amsterdam. For having a reputation as the ‘grungy’ capital of Western Europe, it’s really a very pleasant and livable place. The ubiquitous presence of water I found extremely soothing, and the city’s original architecture is extremely well preserved. It’s also a quiet city, once again thanks to the canals. Car traffic is limited, people find their way around by boat, tram, or bicycle most of the time, and it seems like a very mellow sort of place for that reason. I may also be biased because I had an extremely good time here with Grímur, Ása, and the other Icelanders, but it just struck me as a very livable sort of place. Housing seems to be a bit difficult, but food is relatively inexpensive compared to London and Paris, and I spent a total of about 5 Euro on public transit the entire week I was there, most of it on the first day. If you can find a cheap apartment (and even the expensive ones are comparable in price to Bay Area rent), you can pretty much live for free.
I had a 2 and a half hour layover in Paris Nord between the arrival of my Thalys and the 16:13 departure of my Eurostar for London, and decided to make good use of it and book my ticket on the City Night Line train to Berlin at the end of the month. To my great pride, I made it through the transaction entirely en français, despite freezing and forgetting how to say my train number (deux-cents-quarante-trois) for a few moments. Everything else ran most smoothly, as did my purchase of a sandwich and a bottle of water. Things will get trickier, of course, when I’m trying to communicate more extensively with Zee French, but for now, minor victory.
The Eurostar, however, proved to be a far more turbulent experience than my venture into the French language. As some of you may have heard, the tunnel under the English Channel, or Chunnel as it’s known, caught fire not so long ago. Thanks to this incident, only one rail track through the Chunnel is open, and the entire rail schedule of Eurostar is in jeopardy. The train before ours was cancelled, and I was worried our train would be extremely late or even cancelled as well. We eventually got off to a relatively timely start, and it looked like we would be about half an hour late. However, we ended up getting stuck on the tracks at Calais for close to an hour while we waited for other trains to pass. Fortunately, I had a good time on the train chatting with a young woman from Australia and another one from London about travel, work, and everything between heaven and earth. We were at Calais so long that the next train after us caught up to us and pulled in on the next platform over while we waited, and then arrived only about 10 minutes after us at St. Pancras, an hour and a half behind schedule.
Ah well, I think as I enjoy my Harry Potter moment wandering through King’s Cross Station to the Underground. At least now I know my way to Sólrún’s from here.
Famous last words.
The Docklands Light Railway, which runs from East London to Greenwich where Sólrún lives, is undergoing major renovation works, which take place mostly on the weekends. This means…
No service at about two thirds of the stations between Bank, my exchange point from Underground to DLR, and Cutty Sark, Sólrún’s station. I hear something about replacement bus service, and am beginning to get more than a little nervous in the service. I overhear some of the people around me talking about Greenwich, and ask their permission to tag along. We cram onto this tiny little bus where I thought I would sprain my ankle trying to fit my baggage in around me, and take off towards God-knows-where, where we’re supposed to get back on the train for Cutty Sark. Fortunately, I overheard yet another group of people talking - this time, two guys by the name of Alex and Mike, who turn out to be jazz musicians from Trinity College of Music, Sólrún’s school, and live at the same dormitory. They let me tag along with them as we walked from the Island Gardens station under the Thames and back to McMillan (the dorm), and even helped me with the luggage. Most gentlemanly of them. There I found a phone booth across the street, called Sólrún, and was most relieved when she came out to greet me and help me up to her room with all my stuff.