Meredith’s Musings | Paddington Station

article by Meredith McKinnie

I’ve never felt more American than two hours after landing in London. I had gifted myself the trip to London and Paris to celebrate a recent milestone and because I wanted alone time with Husband. Why not book two whole weeks in two other countries? Leading up to our departure, I was anxious – dreading the 8-hour flight as I loathe confined spaces, yet ecstatic to finally breathe in another culture. And let me tell you, 8-hour flights are no joke. Two hours in, I looked longingly at first-class with their stretched-out cubicles and fully-reclined seats with verdant envy. When we landed, I couldn’t escape the Boeing 777 fast enough, veering around people through the tunnel to soak in someone else’s air. Husband struggled to keep up, carrying 75% of the luggage to avoid my inevitable meltdown. Note – I like the idea of experiencing life outside my comfort zone. I will go to great lengths to put myself in those situations, but I will melt down about 27 times per trip. Afterwards, I will look longingly at Husband and say something along the lines of, “That was amazing, wasn’t it?” You can imagine his response.

I had meticulously planned out every day of our two-week trip. I had a mapped-out itinerary that prioritized seeing as much of London and Paris as possible without exhausting ourselves. I grouped experiences by location and opening times. I knew more about the English capital than some of the locals it seemed. It’s a delicate balance. On one hand I thought, When will I ever be here again? But the rational side of me knew that checking things off my list could quickly trump the experience itself. Needless to say, I was in a semi-rush to get our sightseeing underway.

We collected our 49.8-pound bags each and started navigating the airport to get to the metro that would take us to Paddington Station, the epicenter of London’s massive railway system. It hosts 16 different platforms and stretches city blocks with streets connecting throughout. People are running everywhere, in all different directions, seemingly understanding this cluster of mass transit. Ever run over an ant bed and the little bugs scatter? Now picture being an ant on the mound – that’s Paddington Station. Husband tinkered with his phone, claimed “I got it,” and off we went. And we went. And we went. And thirty minutes later, I noticed we passed the same Pret a Manger (a coffee shop chain on every corner of London) that we passed earlier. I knew it was the same one because the same dark-haired woman was reading a book on my to-read list and it had caught my attention before I became irritated and tired. “We’re going in circles,” I screamed. “With luggage.” No one noticed my outburst; no one glared at me for disrupting the metro harmony. I was invisible, another ant on the hill.

I had that sinking feeling in my stomach. What if I hate being here? I’ve already paid for weeks. Will this be one of those times that my idealization overshadowed reality? Am I too pampered to adjust to European culture enough to enjoy this vacation? After hopping on the third train headed in the wrong direction, only to turn around and drag luggage up stairs to get to the other side, some woman took pity on us. And boy did we look pitiful. She explained the map, notably that the route involved a destination but took different offshoots detailed in the English speak “by way of” to signal a direction. Having focused on the destination, we were essentially navigating the city by circling the perimeter, not time-savvy and not on my itinerary. Needless to say, we made it to the hotel, promptly crashed on the bed, and skipped items 1-3 for that afternoon. Food and sleep reigned supreme.

By the end of Day 2, we understood the metro. We jokingly laughed at the undignified versions of ourselves only 48 hours prior. The experience was a lesson into why Husband and I work so well. I freak out, he calms down, and the yin and yang remain intertwined. He jokes, “I’d never do The Amazing Race with you,” to which I respond, “Please, I know my limits.” When I reiterated the story over text to a friend in Spain, he wrote back, “International travel tests people. Be kind to one another.” I love how this person insisted it was a joint effort when only one of us needed the reminder. I’m internationally curious yet American to the core – such is life.