Next scouting stop–London. I really like London. It’s a very pretty city, rather elegant and although everyone here speaks English (surprise!) it definitely feels like Europe. So for me it’s perfect. The charms of the old world in a language I can understand. Well, for the most part. They definitely have their own brand of English and it seems to me at least a dozen different accents. But I’ll pick out enough words to get the gist of what’s being said. And when I don’t, they’re always polite about repeating it to me until I do. So London trips for me have always been very smooth and pleasant and predictable.
This time would be different.
My day began at 6.30 a.m., giving me lots of time to get to the 9.07 Eurostar (the train that goes under the English Channel). When I looked out the window, though, I was confused for a second–what I was seeing didn’t register at first. Then I realised that what looked like meringue on each parked car was in fact 5 inches of snow–something I don’t think I’ve seen in Paris in all the years I’ve been here. I thought it looked pretty and made the morning a little exciting.
I didn’t know the half of it…
I had ordered a taxi the night before to pick me up at 7.15. I went down a couple minutes before, waiting in the dark and soft falling snow. All was quiet and white and peaceful…too peaceful in fact. Normally the taxis are early when you order them the night before. Now it was 7.20 and mine still wasn’t here.
I waited another 5 minutes and still not seeing my taxi and in fact no cars at all, I knew something was wrong. I began calling the taxi company I’d reserved with, but got a non-stop busy signal. At that point I realised that if I planned on getting to London that morning I’d have to change my plans.
And so I began to walk to a taxi station. In good weather it would have been a matter of 10 minutes. But on an icy sidewalk dragging a (very) heavy suitcase whose wheels lock up in the snow, was another matter. Enhanced by the fact that the shoes I was wearing had about as much traction as two wet bars of soap.
So instead of handing the driver my bag and leaning back to doze in a taxi as I’d planned, I’m now inching forward, testing each spot on the sidewalk before putting a foot down, dragging 25 kilos of dead weight behind me.
This goes on, painstakingly, for many minutes when I see the lights of a car breaking up the darkness and as it gets closer I can see that it’s an empty taxi! Oh happy day/night!
As he approaches, I step onto the street to flag him down. He drives right on by. I climb back onto the sidewalk, take up my burden and at a snail’s pace, continue in the direction of the taxi stand…
To be continued…
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