If You Want To Shut Down London...

Shut down the tube.

I have come to London at a “fortuitous” time. I have, in my time here, the chance to see something few tourists do: how to cripple the city of London—a tube strike.

(Quick definition: The tube, for those unfamiliar with London, is London’s equivalent of the subway)

Now strikes here are, apparently, very different from strikes back home. In my experience, when American unions strike, they walk out and don’t work again until problems are resolved. A perfect example: the writer’s guild strike. No writers, no new episodes of all our favorite shows.

Here, for whatever reason, strikes don’t appear to work that way. The tube strikes have been only 24-hour strikes—two of them, one on September 7th, and one just yesterday. The strikes, as far as I can make out from BBC news, are in response to threatened job cuts. It shuts down pretty much the entire city. Skeleton crews run the least used portions of the tube lines, and the areas nearest Heathrow airport, but nothing anywhere near the city center (which includes anything near where I live, or near the school) is running.

And when I say that it shuts the city down, I really mean it.

More than 3.5 million people use the tube every day. Including me! When the tube shuts down, people have to find another way to get around town. The buses are one obvious (and thus, obviously overcrowded) method. Also, taxis. Or one could try driving, if one has a car and is willing to risk London’s notoriously bad traffic (which is obviously worse on a strike day). Here is a glimpse of the chaos that is a tube strike:

Normally, my trip to school takes me about 40 minutes or so, including the walk from my flat to the train, waiting for the train, riding the train, and then walking from the train station to school. On the day of the first strike, that 40 minute trip dragged out into nearly 2 ½ hours.

Luckily, I am located very centrally, so alternative means of public transportation are readily available—there are a bajillion bus stops nearby. The problem is that I am located centrally, so ¾ of London is also trying to travel the same way I am. Additionally, I live near King’s Cross. Almost everyone coming into London on national and international trains is coming through that station. And there is no tube. So they are getting off the train, with all of their luggage, and walking to bus stations—the ones I also need to use—in droves in order to get wherever else in London they need to be. I think I waited with several hundred people at that bus stop (when the normal average, in my best guesstimation, is 3-15).

And because 3.5 million people are all trying to get around without the tube, traffic is terrible. In some places it barely moves at all. And people are even more reckless when driving than usual. And far more impatient. The angry tension was palpable all over the city. People just walking down the streets were angry, glaring, and even pushier than usual. There are honking cars left and right. And they keep driving in the bus lanes in an attempt to bypass other cars. All of which contributes to the buses being very behind schedule. And the buses, when they did arrive, were very overcrowded. I’m talking, standing room only, push your way in and stand shoulder to shoulder to back to front, hands touching on the hand rails because there are so many people, overcrowded. There were practically fights on the rare occasion a seat did open up. It was…intense. So I wiggled my way into a corner, propped myself up between the window and rail, and read my text book for 2 hours.

The ride home was shorter, because class got out at 7 and most of London had either already made it home from work, or given up on trying to be out in public in the first place. So I got to spend the hour and 15 minute ride home sitting, for the first time, in a seat on the top level of a double-decker bus. I relaxed. I chatted with Stefani about our post-finals travel plans. “This,” I thought, “will be a much easier ride than the one to school.”

My friends here keep accusing me of jinxing things. I say, “at least it’s not raining,” and 10 minutes later it will be. I say, “at least it’s only sprinkling,” and immediately the skies open up. I’ve practically been forbidden to speak “silver lining” thoughts regarding the weather. I’m beginning to think there may be something to their accusations, because no sooner had I had this thought than our bus hit a bicycle rickshaw.

No, I am not joking. It really did.

We were pulling up to a stop light when it happened. Londoners are bad about stop lights and walk signs at the best of times. If the walk sign is red, but no cars are coming, or they are but you think you have time to get across, well then, go for it! Those walk signs are just suggestions anyway! Do it at your own risk, though, because cars aren’t appreciative of pedestrians in their way. They’ll likely stop for you if you really are in the way, but maybe not in time. And mostly, they assume you won’t be there by the time they reach you, so no problem! Who needs to slow down? And bus drivers drive like maniacs behind the wheel of a mini instead of a gigantic vehicle.

Combine all these factors with a tube strike and the resulting anger and impatience, and what you have is a situation that practically guarantees accidents.

So we feel a bump, hear a noise, and then there is a LOT of yelling for a few minutes. Thankfully, the only casualty was the bicycle/rickshaw/cart thing, but there was a whole lot of unhappiness going on. Surprisingly, when the light turned green again, the bus just left. No reports to file? No questions? I wonder still if the bus driver left because he was supposed to, or because he just didn’t care anymore, at that point on that day, about what he was supposed to do…

This last strike wasn’t quite so bad, probably because people knew little better what to expect. Traffic was marginally better. People’s attitudes seemed to be better. The buses weren’t quite so overcrowded. Honestly, I think more people just stayed home. I sure wanted to! Slightly better or not, tube strikes are still extremely inconvenient. And there are at least 2 more scheduled for next month.

This leaves me with only one thing left to say: Dear tube workers on strike, Striking once a month is not a very effective way of pressuring the city into giving you what you want, but it is an extremely effective way of messing up a lot of people’s schedules, holding up traffic to a ridiculous degree, and all around irritating a whole lot of innocent bystanders. Please stop!

London: The Grumpy City or Where it Is Dangerous to Be a Pedestrian!

Listen up, London locals, let us just address this grumpy thing right now. Yes, you live in a very expensive city. Yes, it rains a lot, and is cold, even in August, if there is so much as a single cloud in the sky. Yes, the cars here zoom around like little ants, and are just as likely to run over your foot (or all the rest of you) as said insect and with just as little regard for the fact that you are in the way. And yes, everyone rushes around and never gets anywhere because no one actually knows how to walk. But that is no reason to… Oh. Well alright, I suppose I can see why you’re grumpy. I mean, it’s not like you live in one of the most amazing cities on the planet, with fairly inexpensive access to almost *all* the *other* most amazing cities in the world, or anything. I apologize for almost raining on your grumpy parade.

But seriously, why the long, irritated faces? (And attitudes!) I don’t get it…

I am amused (with all the parts of me that aren’t dismayed) by the reality of the British tendency to be Oh So Politely Rude. For instance, the Man on the Train: One day, during the very first week of school, an older gentleman stepped off the train behind me and scolded me for defiling my book with orange highlighter. He turned to me and said, "Didn't your parents teach you to treat your books with respect?" I agreed that they had, and he then demanded to know why I was ruining my book by marking in it that way. "You could just mark the margins with pencil and then rub it out later,” he told me, and lamented, “I guess that’s just the way the world’s going now.” He was just so offended that I would permanently mar my book! Then he must have noticed the Pepperdine sweatshirt I was wearing, because he frowned a little and asked me if I was a student. I told him that I was, and he nodded and said, “Well, alright then.” Then he frowned a bit more, and walked away.

I’m really not sure whether that last statement means that my transgression is excused by my student status, or just that my student-ness explains my lack of respect for books… In any case, I spent the entirety of the conversation in a state of amused semi-shock. My mental response sort of went like this: Huh? Is he talking to me? Oh. Wha— Is he really…? I think I had a sort of half smile thing going too. Because this conversation is one that would never happen back home. The idea that a person has the right to step in and correct others for perceived mistakes is very un-American. It was very strange, and very funny, and has made me a little self-conscious about reading for school on the tube. Not that I don’t do it anyway!

Let’s see, what else…

I’ve mentioned before that people are much quieter and more subdued here. (Generally. I’ve seen a few obliviously loud people. And several loudly drunken people. And disruptive teenagers, it seems, are the same the world over. I’m talking to you, 15-year-olds making out in the seat across from me. Not only is that not polite public behavior, you’re really just too young. Stop it.) I recently had my first glimpse of why the English consider us obnoxiously loud. Three American girls, apparently studying for the year in London, got on the tube one afternoon, chatting and laughing in the usual way. My first reaction was a rush of affection for the sound of American accents. After several minutes, however, I noticed they were really the only thing you could hear. Whereas most conversations on the tube are hushed enough that, unless you’re sitting next to or across from someone, you can’t hear more than a murmuring sound, these girls were clearly audible throughout the entire car. And completely oblivious to it. It was sort of a revelation. “Oh!” I thought, “this is what it's like to be near me when I’m being loud!” ^_^ (Oops! Sorry everyone!)

Everyone queues here. Even when people are just walking down the sidewalk, or through the tube stations, they tend to line up, with everyone going one direction on one half of the sidewalk, and everyone going the other direction on the other half. It’s very odd. Also, no one here knows how to walk. Half the people rush around at crazy speeds, and the other half strolls. None of them can walk and do other things at the same time. If there’s a stroller or suitcase (or phone!) involved, forget it. This is a little frustrating for those of us walking behind them. Also, sometimes, people just walk, and shove other people out of the way. For instance, one evening, on the way home from school, there were maybe five people spread out on the sidewalk within several yards of each other. This thin-as-a-rail blond girl was barreling down the street coming towards us, with tons of room to maneuver between us, but instead she walked straight ahead, shouldered people out of her way, and demanded that we “Move!” Really?!

And now for the important stuff: Harry Potter, Part I:

I live in Harry Potter land!!! I got to go see Platform 9 ¾! A friend (who’s been here before) took me to see it after I mentioned that I had attempted, and failed, to find it on one of my previous trips through Kings Cross Station. There’s a bunch of construction going on at Kings Cross at the moment, so apparently they’ve moved it, and a nice policeman (who was hanging about looking quite bored) actually showed us where it’s been moved to. And we took pictures! Yay!