What I love about London’s transport system is that it allows us to be responsible for our own destiny. Unlike life in Riyadh, if you don’t have a personal driver at your disposal you have limited flexibility to stop off at shops along the way. In London, we can take any route we want when we want, the underground system encourages us to think independently, make decisions on our own and enables us to travel distances without worrying about traffic.Only those who live abroad will truly appreciate what London has to offer, I for one, hadn’t used the London Underground in quite some time, so with a fresh outlook I used my new found freedom to stroll down to the local train station two hours ahead of my appointment, giving me extra time to browse the shops at my destination.
I stood at Seven Kings station wondering what the quickest route to Earls Court would be, the only logical way was to go into Stratford and change for the Central Line as that leads pretty much all over London. The train arrived and I jumped on jostling for space, feeling nostalgic for my carefree single days when I used to squeeze onto trains every morning on my way to work.We were just a stop away from Stratford when I felt a peculiar warmth press into my back, shuffling forwards I detached myself from the imbicile who had no concept of personal space. Not a second later the warmth returned, pressing against me and a heavy breathing resounded in my ear. This was not by accident, the urge to elbow the shadow was too strong and as I twisted away, my elbow shot out and connected with something soft. “Ow!” a high pitched voice shrieked.Luckily the doors slid open and as the surge of people pushed me forwards, I threw a nervous glance back to see a petite lady rubbing her left arm and glaring at me furiously, just behind her, a chubby little Indian man’s amused eyes bore into mine and a smirk played around his lips, confirming my suspicions that I had hit the wrong person. Hurriedly I crossed the platform and jumped into the Central Line train that was just about to leave the station. As the doors swished shut I watched the chubby man wave at me from the platform, thankfully he had been too big to squeeze into the same carriage. I wanted to give him the two finger salute but thought better of it as it might seem a tad unladylike.
Right, back to my route, I squinted at the too small underground map down the carriage, straining to see the names of the surrounding train stations. I had made the trip to Earls Court many times in previous years but this year was proving a little different, maybe I was a year older or maybe my mental sat-nav wasn’t switched on, whatever the reason, I couldn’t remember where I had to change trains from or even what line ran through what station. The crowds shifted this way and that, but I still couldn’t get close enough to the map and a short while later I found myself being swept along out of the train and down the platform until I was deposited on the northern line platform heading south. It was only then I had a chance to look at the map and I realised I was on the wrong platform, waiting for the wrong train on the wrong line.Forgetting the amount of walking the underground required, earlier that morning I had opted to wear my new flat Kurt Geiger ballet shoes and now I was paying the price, my feet pinched and I could feel the beginnings of a blister forming at the back of my foot.Sighing I limped back through the windy tunnels towards the central line. The train had just arrived and I jumped on grateful for the empty carriage. As we arrived at the next station, a jolt coursed through me - I was going in the wrong direction.
Finally catching the right train, I stood between two Americans who unintentionally updated nearby passengers on the current property market before letting them know where they could be found at eight o’clock that evening. Soon they got off and the crowd shuffled further down the carriage, finding a spare seat I collapsed into it relief pouring into my aching feet. No sooner had the pain subsided I noticed the man sitting next to me breathing heavily through his mouth, I could tell he had recently drunk a cup of coffee and I looked the other way trying not to breath myself. A few seconds later I felt his leg brush mine, the coffee-breathing suit had fallen asleep with his arms crossed and his legs so wide apart you’d think he was about to give birth. With my nerves frayed and irritation creeping in, the final leg of my journey saw a twenty-something year old passenger sitting opposite me blissfully unaware that the whole carriage was listening to her as she chatted on her iPhone. We all knew she had a date later that evening for which she was planning to wear her red La Senza underwear under her Zara summer jacket and TopShop skinny jeans. We also learned that her dates name was Steve and should she drink too much she would call in sick the following morning. Chugging down the line I now knew why most Saudi’s preferred to use cars instead of public transport, although you gain ample amounts of freedom on the underground, you sacrifice personal space, stylish shoes and you are forced to listen to loud voices as they chat about their day. If you want to share your interesting or irritating journey, feel free to share your experiences below.
