Trains with British Accents

It's no secret that I have a masochistic fascination with train travel - see my December posts on my attempt to take the train home for Christmas for reference. I can make my mother hang up on me by merely mentioning that I'm taking the train home for Christmas again; my father gladly aids and abets. In my plans (as I tell my mother), this year I'm taking the train west to California, where I can then take a Southern route to Atlanta, rather than having to go to Chicago, the only direction trains go from Denver. I figure this way I'll run into less bad weather (in case you missed my Christmas train adventures, metal tracks contract when they're cold), which I thought would make my mother happy. My father and I have now progressed in our machinations to him flying to California to meet me, and then we'll take the train home together from San Francisco. So, if this winter is as bad as they're predicting, my dad and I will be spending Christmas in El Paso. My mother's silence is filled with anger.

While I was in England I took the opportunity to take the train from Bristol to Birmingham. Granted, it was just a two hour trip, but nowhere in England is actually more than a few hours away (unless you're trying to drive, where upon you realize that their roads don't go anywhere useful and they don't have road signs telling you where you are or where you're going). Meanwhile, I've always heard that trains actually work in England/Europe, and I was ready to test this hypothesis.

Firstly, I found the train situation very confusing – the trains don’t have numbers like planes and US trains, they have final destinations and departure times. Birmingham is not the end-of-the-line for any train. After a week of drinking and very little sleep, this was quite daunting. There also weren’t any employees on the platform to point clueless Americans in the right direction. Luckily I happen to glance my destination on the list of stops for the Edinburgh train, so I cast my dice and got on that train. On the platform I was instantly faced with the painful realization that neither the outside or inside of my train looked like the Hogwarts Express, and I died a little inside. All British trains should look like the Hogwarts Express by principle - have they no national pride? The cars on the train also aren’t labeled, and all I had was a seat number, so I went in and out of several cars before I found that some man was sitting in my seat – at that point I figured it was just a free-for-all. Sitting on the train in the station I realized no one had yet checked my ticket; apparently I didn't need to buy a ticket after all and England is run on the honor system. Excuse me, honour system. I could have just gotten on any train I had wanted to without ever buying a ticket, in fact I seriously contemplated staying on the train and just continuing to Scotland. I could have gotten better prices on Scotch there. However, after a few stops someone finally came around to check tickets, so I guess I would have been busted…or could have just hidden in the bathroom. Sometimes it's just too easy it's not even worth it.

On the train, I was sitting across from an old man who didn’t realize I couldn’t hear him if I had headphones on and started drinking Guinness at 10:30am. What can I say, I liked him...even if we didn't understand each other very well. But towards the end of my trip he started telling me that we were taking an unplanned detour around the city and were at least an hour behind schedule. I immediately lost all faith in the British rail system and considered all trains a failed way of travel. I also started texting my friend meeting me in Birmingham that I was going to be late. Five minutes later we pulled into the station on time. I regained my faith in non-American trains as an acceptable way to travel, but learned to never trust people with accents.

Running around like The Hoff on purpose

I recently visited England on a combined business and pleasure trip, and took delight in many of the unique features, deliciousnesses, idiosyncrasies, and pure crazy of a foreign culture. Pubs are fantastic. I've always loved them in the States, and in England (shockingly) there are even more of them. Cask ales aren't my favorite, but I always enjoy trying new beers; and the ciders are delicious. Additionally, in the north, they actually serve their beer at a respectable temperature. Cream Tea is to die for. I first thought this was tea with cream. What's so exciting about that? But no, cream tea is crack. It's a scone smothered in jam and clotted cream. It's crack. After eating this you immediately feel like you're about to vomit, you then proceed to have a minor heart attack (or massive, if you've already had a scone that day...not that I would have three scones in one day or anything), and wake up the next morning ready for another. On the less tasty side, The British have a love of coins that I don't get. If there's anything more useless than a pence coin, it's a two pence coin. Why two pence? I think the sagging pants trend started in England as a result of all the coins they have to carry around. If the U.S. ever produces a two cent coin, I'm defecting to Argentina. Good for them, but it's not for me. However, the Brits have some passions that are completely unforgivable.

The Hoff. It's just wrong. My British friend with whom I was staying in England for the vacation portion of my trip is obsessed with The Hoff. She had a picture of him hanging in her bathroom. I had to pee with my eyes closed. Prior to visiting England, I thought her obsession was just because she was a freak, but apparently it goes frighteningly deeper than that. The British love David Hasselhoff. He's constantly talked about on the radio. I heard several interviews with him on BBC radio, and they talk about him all the time even when he's not being interviewed. Apparently every topic can be related to The Hoff. And I think all TV channels are under contract to show constant airings of America's Got Talent and Meet the Hasselhoffs. I'm getting ill just thinking about it.

But, what's to be expected with a country that produces this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2Gh1U14RZA. British music at its best. I heard this song in England and it got stuck in my head; who knew the video was going to be the highlight of my life. The first time I heard the song the DJs were just playing snippets because they thought the lyrics were "like a cow on purpose", rather than clown. So they would play the refrain and the shout "COW" over the the "clown" lyric. Craziness. Craziness that was stuck in my head for 5 days straight. I can't wait for a video of The Hoff karaoking the song to surface on youtube.

Sniffing dead moles and other childhood habits

So I like to smell things – flowers as I’m walking down the street or through the woods, the aroma of yummies in the oven, the air after a spring rain, rubber cement, whiteout … all the normal things. Some people tell me I have a problem, but I don’t feel that just because I make mistakes on purpose so I can white them out means I have a problem. I just really enjoy delectable smells, which happens to include lots of office and lab supplies. And before you really start to judge me, I’d just like to clarify that I am NOT a paste eater; some things are just wrong.

I think it goes without saying that this is in no way my fault. I didn’t choose to be “That Girl” who automatically smells the sharpie or whiteboard marker every time she takes the cap off. I don’t really even like the smell of sharpies and white board markers, they make me a little queasy. But when I started the first grade, the first thing I was given to put in my desk was a set of Mr. Sketch markers. Now these markers may be the best things ever invented, but they are also the root of my odor fixation. Who gives a 6 year old a set of 12 scented markers – which, as being scented in the first place, are obviously supposed to be sniffed – and doesn’t expect them to graduate from first grade without a huffing problem? And, at the same time, we’re taking art classes that involve lots of gluing. Now at my school, we didn’t use that pansy Elmer’s nonsense; we used the real stuff – rubber cement. Rubber cement is quite possibly still my favorite smell, and it’s no wonder to me why you get carded when you try to buy it these days. It’s like getting mad at people for trying to get rid of prairie dogs – you can’t put a Whack-a-Mole game in every Chuck E Cheese’s, Showbiz Pizza, and arcade across the country, and not expect people to want to whack prairie dogs in any way possible. It’s conditioned into our being at a young age. But as for me, Mr. Sketch smells way better than whacked prairie dog.

Train Adventure Post 3: December 22, 2008 [1:35pm]

I am sitting in the Midway Airport. When my train pulled in after 10:00pm last night (nearly 24 hours after leaving Denver), I had clearly missed my D.C. train, which left at 7:05pm from Chicago. They wouldn’t even let me go to New Orleans; New Orleans sounds closer than Chicago, and like a better city in which to be stranded. I’m stuck in Chicago without a coat. So Amtrak decides to put me up in a hotel, give me cash for cab fare and food, and re-book me on the 7:05pm train to D.C. the next day. I can’t seem to figure out why Amtrak isn’t making money. Dozens of other disillusioned train riders and myself congregate in The Chicago Inn lobby, only to find that their bar is closed. What kind of hotel is this? When drinking’s not an option, I might as well sleep.

Come morning my phone ringing wakes me up; right on cue, my mother is looking for options to get me home. With my current ticket, I get home the morning of the 24th, rather than the 23rd. Normally this wouldn’t be THAT much of a problem, but I’m supposed to be hosting a part at my house on the night of the 23rd. Seems kinda awkward if I’m not there. As it turns out, one-way tickets from Midway this afternoon are quite cheap. While I’m trying to decide if I would feel like a pampered, wussy, sell-out if I fly the rest of the way home, another call comes through on my cell phone. Berkeley Physicist is calling to see what happened to the rest of my trip. [At this point I should note that he’s not actually an overboard stalker, we actually exchanged contact information after bonding over bitching about grad school, advisors, research projects, and funding situations.] As it turns out, his train to New York is running 6 hours late already. Decision made. Book me, mamma!

Not knowing what the day will hold, I begin my tour of the city. First stop Union Station. In Denver I had checked my main luggage through to Atlanta – time to find out where my clothes are. As it turns out, they’re in the station and will be waiting for me at baggage claim. What helpful people. Then I ask about a ticket refund. They’d be happy to fully refund the last two legs of my ticket. Really, why ISN’T Amtrak making money? I was comforted to find out that the majority of the other people in line around me had worse stories than I did – at least my trip (to this point, and I’m probably jinxing myself here) didn’t involve one or more busses. With luggage in tow, I hop a cab to Midway.

Upon arriving at Midway, I am firm in my belief that riding in cabs in Chicago is by far the most dangerous thing I have ever done. One cab actually tried to drive away when I was only half way out of the cab – I have the bruise to prove it. After tipping well in homage to my arrival anywhere not in an ambulance, I check in for my flight. In my search for coffee to ward off my caffeine headache, I run into another paleontologist – what a small world. As it turns out, his travel plans are proceeding just as he had planned them; I’m in awe. After an enjoyable few hours of conversation to mask our internal struggles to remember if we’re friends on Facebook, its time to part ways as his flight is boarding. I return to my gate to face my next adventure.

Train Adventure Post 2: December 21, 2008 [4:20pm]

After hearing an announcement over the speakers that we had stopped during the night for a broken rail and were running even further behind schedule, I figured I had slept – I have no memory of stopping. At 8am Central Time, less than 10 hours after leaving Denver, we are running 3.5 hours late – my layover in Chicago is only 3 hours. Awesome. My seat neighbor turned out to be a morning chatter and wanted to know all about my night’s sleep and how I was feeling. She at least seemed to be in a good enough mood to indicate that I didn’t snore in her ear all night, so that was a relief. I went to search for coffee and ended up in the dining car having a seated breakfast. This was not my intention, but was pleasantly surprised to find that they served grits. Of course, I guess it’s not THAT unexpected to have a corn product in Nebraska.

I didn’t hang out with the puppies in the morning, but I did run across them on occasion as they strayed from car to car. The one thing I did notice is that the puppy called Flowers found a gal-pal. Another chick in the Denver station was sitting in our area and was chatting with us as we waited for our train. I think she re-charged her phone three times while we were waiting. I’m just going to say that I called it last night in the lounge car, because this morning as I was making my way back to my car from breakfast, Flowers and Safeway Chick (she works at Safeway) were cuddled up in neighboring seats. However, according to Microwave, they did not make use of the larger changing room/bathroom on the lower level of the car.

Writing this in retrospect after knowing that I’m going miss my connection in Chicago, I will say that the ONE cool thing about the train is the ability to meet different people. Other than the puppies I met in the Denver station, I have met a variety of other travelers including a Boulder family (sadly the youngest son had left his suitcase of stuffed animals at home), a physicist researching at Berkeley, a person “in trade” from the Bay Area whom it took me half of lunch to figure out if he was male or female, a couple from the Denver area in which the boyfriend is getting a degree in earth sciences, and a few international students with whom I would love to vent about the fall of the American rail system. And I must say that I was quite proud to be able to identify Ohio on a US map – I’m not sure I would have been able to do this 3 months ago – but with the states color-coded and Cleveland staring me in the face, I succeeded!

And now, for the sake of my sanity, I think I need to stop writing before this turns into a bitchfest, as we sit stopped on the tracks, 5 hours behind schedule, behind a freight train, with rail work ahead (metal contracts when its cold? no shit?). I’m going to now continue watching Mamma Mia! with the hopes that Pierce Brosnan singing will make me giggle.

Train Adventure Post 1: December 20, 2008 [11:46pm]

So I had been warned that trains never run on time; and apparently these people who warned me didn’t lie. Have a cookie. My train was supposed to leave at 8:10pm; two hours later, I was still in Denver’s Union Station. At first I found this highly annoying, but then I started interacting with the people around me. Most notable were three guys I started talking to (and with whom I am now sitting with in the lounge car on the train) – I believe their names are Flowers, T-bone, and Microwave. Or at least something very close. They go to Wyoming Tech, a school I was not aware existed, and seem to want nothing more than to pretend they’re cowboys while admitting that they’re not cowboys. They’re from Illinois and ride lawnmowers. I must admit is was very odd to hang out with an 18, 19, and 20 year old, considering I spend most of my time at school making fun of undergrads. They definitely lived up to my expectations in terms of their attempts at dirty jokes, texting everyone in their cell phones, and fantasizing about beer. Resultantly, the first thing I did when I got on the train was to buy a beer for myself and drink it very slowly and enjoyable in front of them. I then allowed Microwave to drink my backwash. But they were cute little puppies.

One would think that boarding a train would be a boring process; this is true, up to the point that security is called to handle a belligerent passenger. I am proud to say that this passenger was not I. There was one noteworthy guy in a camo hat who was making the rounds in the Denver train station. He was odiferously drunk and rumor had it he had been there for two days. Everyone knew him by the time our train arrived. After causing a minor skirmish on the platform, Camo Hat settled down, only to be replaced by a large belligerent asshole, whom it was hard to identify as drunk or not – it could have gone either way. He would be unsubtly obnoxious and mouthy and then reply to every security confrontation with “No Comment” and “Do you know what ‘No Comment’ means”. After talking to security for 10 minutes with his crying wife, they let him on the train. So much for security.

In true form, immediately upon finding my seat, I parked my bags and then headed for the bar car. I managed to pick up the puppies along the way, as they were seated in a different car. We got to the snack car and found the bar was closing, but I sweet-talked a disgruntled Amtrak employee into opening the cooler for me so I could pay $4.50 for a Bud Light. At least I didn’t have to tap the Rockies. While suffering teenage sad faces as I cracked open my beer, I took much delight in making fun of the puppies for not noticing that Mr. Disgruntled Amtrak Employee failed to card me. Silly undergrads! Conversation progressed from comparing ring tones, to me teaching them what “binomial nomenclature” means and the difference between pterosaurs and dinosaurs, to them showing me how they painted their cell phones different colors in “Automotive detailing and finishing” class. Apparently I picked the wrong major. By midnight, I was no longer being entertained, and decided to go harass the person in the seat next to me for a few hours. I stretched out with my dinosaur pillow and Harry Potter blanket and thought I would never get to sleep.

The Glorious Melding of Culture and Science

In my opinion, only the South has perfected the art of combining natural history, American history, and tourist traps into a glorious, enriching entanglement that warms my heart. Just check out places like Pigeon Forge, Rock City, Stone Mountain (also doubling as one of the largest granite outcrops), and Williamsburg’s Bush Gardens if you’re prepared to be dazzled. The Midwest may have a ball of twine and a corn palace, but lacks the battlefields and topography-related beauty that can be offered by the South. As a state rich in American history, Virginia has unabashedly embraced this glorious Southern tradition. In central Virginia there is a hidden jewel (unless you were lucky enough to go to school 13 miles away) known as Natural Bridge. Natural Bridge plays host to many natural wonders such as the namesake rock bridge (there actually used to be a road that ran on top of it…until the Balrog got out of hand), and the Natural Bridge zoo (trying hard to recreate the natural habitats of its inhabitants). And in this world of natural beauty, my two favorite subjects embrace in a truly inspired merging of science and culture: dinosaurs and The War of Northern Aggression. In Dinosaur Kingdom (part of the Natural Bridge attractions), dinosaurs are waging war on tyrant Yankee soldiers, thus completing my soul.

Here’s the set up: “It's 1863 and Union soldiers have discovered a hidden valley filled with dinosaurs. Now the Yankees plan to use the dinos as weapons of mass destruction against the South.” Dinosaurs aren't just eating people, they're eating Yankees. Nothing likes to be used and have their state’s rights taken away.

Through Dinosaur Kingdom, dinosaurs can be seen plucking and eating Union soldier from horses, attacking Union soldiers in the outhouse, exacting revenge for a stolen egg (did those silly Yankees not see Jurassic Park III??), being ineffectively lassoed, and generally kicking the asses of the attempting Northern oppressors. All creationists should visit this park for a first-hand depiction of why human and dinosaurs never could have lived together – either dinosaurs would have driven human extinction, or the South would have won The War. As roadsideamerica.com so aptly and insightfully put it: “Dinosaur Kingdom is a twist on the biblical Creationist view that people and dinosaurs lived together. Here, people live with dinosaurs -- but only until the dinosaurs eat them.” I am dinosaur hear me whistle Dixie.

And for the record, I never doubted which side dinosaurs would have been on.

For more information:
http://www.naturalbridgeva.com/dinoking.html
http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/10790