On Monday I got back on the road, heading to St. Pancras station at the same time that Rachel headed for work.
I was pleased that I'd given myself some Monday padding, choosing a noon departure from St. Pancras, because it gave me peace of mind while I experienced a truly fascinating and rare sociological event from the very front row.
During rush hour, on my way into London, the Victoria line had an equipment failure just as I was changing from the overground line to the Vicky on my way to the station.
For those unfamiliar with London, the Victoria line cannot be allowed to be out of service.
During rush hour, on my way into London, the Victoria line had an equipment failure just as I was changing from the overground line to the Vicky on my way to the station.
For those unfamiliar with London, the Victoria line cannot be allowed to be out of service.
The Victoria line moves approximately 200 million bodies per year (For those of you familiar with air travel, that's roughly double the number of people who pass through Atlanta Hartsfield Jackson). As you might imagine: most of those are on weekdays, and most of those are during rush hour.
So you know, Monday at 9AM is not a great time for this finely oiled piece of clockwork to just . . . take a little break.
Moving a quarter million people across London over the span of a 3 hour commute cycle is just a normal weekday morning for the Victoria line.
During rush hour, the trains are less than 2 minutes apart, and you can generally see the lights of one approaching the station before the departing train gets out of view in the tunnel.
This means that it moves dozens of people off every station platform onto every train and vice versa, and if the trains stop. . . dozens of people arrive every minute at every station along the route, fully intending to board immediately.
This means that it moves dozens of people off every station platform onto every train and vice versa, and if the trains stop. . . dozens of people arrive every minute at every station along the route, fully intending to board immediately.
Ok, the stage is set. Here we go.
As I was approaching the escalator that would take me to the Victoria line southbound platform, they closed the gate directly in front of a woman I was following, with perhaps another 20 or 30 people on our heels, all striding through the station on our way to the train.
In 60 seconds, that number doubled.
The employee explained that the doors of a train had jammed and they were trying to fix it in place.
10 minutes later, there were perhaps 500 people behind me (just in this one station, mind), We overheard from the employee's radio that the doors were broken and they'd need to unload the train and take it out of service.
I checked my watch and realized I could walk the 3 kilometers between these two stops and still make it to my destination with over an hour to spare, so I decided to wait and see how this played out.
Perhaps 5 or 10 minutes after that, they got that train cleared from the platform and began moving the trains again. At that point the crowd behind me was easily a thousand jittery and confused people.
At this point, you could see the well-polished veneer of British civility trembling and shimmering like oil in a hot pan.
The crowd around me clearly had no expectation of seeing a service disruption on perhaps the most reliable subway line in the world this morning, during peak rush hour, and the mumbling was restrained but audible. A girl behind me whimpered to her classmate that she already had some sort of strike against her and could not be late to school again or they would expel her, the panic and surprise palpable in her voice.
In 60 seconds, that number doubled.
The employee explained that the doors of a train had jammed and they were trying to fix it in place.
10 minutes later, there were perhaps 500 people behind me (just in this one station, mind), We overheard from the employee's radio that the doors were broken and they'd need to unload the train and take it out of service.
I checked my watch and realized I could walk the 3 kilometers between these two stops and still make it to my destination with over an hour to spare, so I decided to wait and see how this played out.
Perhaps 5 or 10 minutes after that, they got that train cleared from the platform and began moving the trains again. At that point the crowd behind me was easily a thousand jittery and confused people.
At this point, you could see the well-polished veneer of British civility trembling and shimmering like oil in a hot pan.
The crowd around me clearly had no expectation of seeing a service disruption on perhaps the most reliable subway line in the world this morning, during peak rush hour, and the mumbling was restrained but audible. A girl behind me whimpered to her classmate that she already had some sort of strike against her and could not be late to school again or they would expel her, the panic and surprise palpable in her voice.
A second, larger and more imposing employee appeared to help our current one keep the peace as we heard that trains were beginning to be permitted to move again.
At this point, of course, a huge number of people were already being crammed into each train out in the suburbs, and so the platform below us was already insanity, but they couldn't keep us indefinitely so they started letting us down to the platform to try to board.
We were sent down to the platform single file, the thousand-plus people in the station finding that there was already a half-circle of perhaps 50 people crowded around each spot where a door would open, waiting for the next train.
At this point, of course, a huge number of people were already being crammed into each train out in the suburbs, and so the platform below us was already insanity, but they couldn't keep us indefinitely so they started letting us down to the platform to try to board.
We were sent down to the platform single file, the thousand-plus people in the station finding that there was already a half-circle of perhaps 50 people crowded around each spot where a door would open, waiting for the next train.
Thankfully, Highbury & Islington is a popular transfer off the Victoria as well, and so 5 or 7 people would squeeze off each hyper-crowded train at each door, and then 10 or 15 determined people would CRAM ourselves into each door.
As I had a backpack and 90 minutes of buffer I moved slowly and cautiously until I was in the "lean forward 10 centimeters and you'll lose your face to the next train" position at the front of the cluster of people, and then got myself pushed into the train by the swell of other boarders and nicely ensconced near the center.
I actually watched one Londoner work her way around me (which we'd call cutting in front of me if we're being honest) in the process of that wait, which I was pretty sure Brits where genetically incapable of doing. I imagined she had a schedule cut much finer than mine though, and I knew I'd just be loitering at St. Pancras when I did arrive, so I wasn't really bothered as much as fascinated and surprised. Maybe she was a visiting American.
Or maybe if we 're all 3 meals way from a riot, Londoners might just be 3 missed Victoria line trains away from forgetting how to queue.
At King's Cross St. Pancras, the train essentially emptied, of course, disgorging perhaps a thousand Londoners into the city, confused aned shaken perhaps, but resolute.
I'll say this though -- I didn't see anyone snap at each other. No-one raised their voice; no one elbowed or shoved. Aside from my one "work your way around the person in front of you" case, I didn't see anyone pretend they were the main character of the story of a mass transit snafu that no-one expected.
I'll say this though -- I didn't see anyone snap at each other. No-one raised their voice; no one elbowed or shoved. Aside from my one "work your way around the person in front of you" case, I didn't see anyone pretend they were the main character of the story of a mass transit snafu that no-one expected.
Props to Londoners, y'all are tough nuts to crack.
I reached St. Pancras and took a wander and found myself a scone and some clotted cream (did I go to a French chain bakery for that scone? Why yes I did. 😂)
The scone itself was delicious, the cream perfectly rich and buttery. It was a great snack.
While walking around, I found a statue of one of the Poet Laureates, John Betjeman, whose impassioned writing about St. Pancras was apparently key to it getting restored rather than torn down when it started falling into disrepair.
Some of the details at the base created by his playing with depth in relief are really striking.
With time to spare, I also stepped outside to get one picture of the face of the station and hotel, since it really is a lovely building.
I would be staying there in a quick nice Airbnb, but the check-in instructions did have some very ominous language about the stairwell.
Which was reasonable, when I arrived I found that the stairwell's handrail solution was just a rope, and the stairs were both narrow and steep.
And when I arrived I found that while the inside of my Airbnb was perfectly modern, the key and the door that it opened certainly gave the impression I had time traveled a significant amount.
But I reached Nantes without much incident, ate a snack and slept deeply.
No comments:
Post a Comment