Original posted on London to New York blog, March 20, 2010
AFTER months of planning, wading through a to do list that expanded at the same rate as my bank balance diminished, at least seven rounds of farewell drinks and even the appearance of my vacuum cleaner, we are on the road.
Officially, we are not on the road until far too early tomorrow, but we’ve crossed our first border, so that’s good enough for me.
And we did it in a style we are about to get accustomed to – on a bus. The National Express from Cardiff to London and a less than salubrious bed for the night in Earls Court.
Let’s just say the hotel (and that’s a charitable term) was picked for two reasons – it was cheap and it’s just a couple of minutes walk from the tube, which will come in handy in the morning as we have to get on the first District Line tube at 6.39am to make our way to The Embankment and our first meeting with the other inhabitants of the bus.
One of the most common questions we have faced over the last few weeks – who are the other people on the bus?
The simple answer is, we just don’t know. We don’t even know how many others are on the trip.
Finding out is all part of the adventure and large chunks of tomorrow – when we head out of London to a cross channel ferry and an evening in Bruges – will be taken up with finding out about each other.
Apologies in advance for forgetting anyone’s name over the next few days.
We do know a little bit about a few of our travelling companions from the trip’s Facebook page. Nick and myself appear to be somewhere in the middle of the age range between teenagers and pensioners. Not sure which group we will end up with.
The other main question in the last few weeks – apart from “What are you drinking?” and “Is it your round?” – has been “Are you excited?” or its illegitimate brother, “Are you nervous?”.
The answer has changed a bit each time, but has generally been an adaptation of “a bit of both really”.
There has barely been time to be excited or nervous over the last few weeks.
About 10 days ago, that to do list was getting seriously worrying. It just didn’t seem to be shrinking.
Following the example of my organised work self – as opposed to the totally disorganised, “don’t do today what you can put off til tomorrow… or beyond” part of my being which takes over when not working – the list was split up into daily lists which, for the first two weeks, just weren’t getting completed.
As well as sorting things out for the trip, there was also my house – still up for rent at very reasonable rates if anyone wants anywhere to live in Cardiff – to deal with, not to mention squeezing in all those last hoorahs in the pubs of Cardiff.
Then, suddenly, at the start of this week, the list suddenly got a lot shorter, the trees got out of the way – thanks to the nice man who cleared my overgrown garden – and the woods could be seen again. By Friday afternoon, the search was on for things to do.
But, even at the list’s longest, it was never stressful. In fact, I’ve rarely felt so relaxed or, in recent times, slept better – bar one horrible night which combined the aftermath of a throat infection and escalating panic over the non-appearance of my Chinese visa – and the main feeling, certainly this final week, has been wanting to get on the way.
The throat has cleared up, the bags are packed, the Chinese visa turned up after a phone call to confirm I was no longer a working journalist and, finally, we are on the way.
And we’ve already had our first culture shock.
That there London’s a bit different isn’t it? No self-respecting pub in Cardiff or Gloucester would need two oiks to ask for the France-England Six Nations to be put on the television.
And surely nobody in Cardiff or Gloucester would ask how long a half lasts in rugby or argue that England’s try should not have been allowed because the ball first hit the ground short of the line.
That he was not shown the error of his ways is a clear indication of one chilled traveller…