The Voice of King's Cross

Why do we fall in love with places?  

People, I understand.  Animals?  Sure.  These are beings that can love you back.  But a place doesn’t care about you, so why do we care about it?

Personally, I’ve got a crush on King’s Cross rail station.   I’ll try and explain it to you, but I’m not completely sure if I can explain it to myself.  

My first experience with King’s Cross (hereafter referred to by its station code, KGX) was a combination of adrenaline and terror.  Hmm, a bit like falling in love?  By the time I left the country, I exited the station weeping the bitter tears of a break up. 

After a few months on the job, my boss suggested I extend the duration of my UK stays while we waited for my immigration to process.  Up to this point, I was going home every ten days or so.  I agreed, considering Delta Airlines was the only party truly reaping the rewards of this arrangement.  Although I was a wee bit stressed about being away from home longer, I also knew this would give me more time for weekend exploration.

I decided to celebrate my extended residency with a full weekend in London.  That first trip from Peterborough into KGX, I had the usual emotions.  You know the ones- excited and nervous.  As I waited in line to purchase my ticket, I was in a swoon from the romance of it all.  I approached the ticket agent with a smile and an earnest ‘One round trip ticket to London on the fast train please!’  

He did not share my enthusiasm and shoved the tickets my way with a grunt.  I commented it was my first train trip to London and asked if he had any advice.

He responded by taking a bite from his cheese and pickle sandwich.

A world-famous cheese-and-branston pickle sandwich

Undeterred by this decidedly unromantic gesture, I joined my fellow travelers on the platform where I controlled a strong desire to jump up and clap when the train pulled into the station.  

Apparently, my inner child thoroughly enjoys train travel.  Watching the countryside whiz by, I put my nose and hands against the window, fighting the urge to squeal every time we passed a field of sheep.  I looked around but everyone was staring down at their phones.  That’s when I noticed some loud voices coming from a few tables down.  

I peeked through the crack between the seats to investigate and strained to catch what was being said.  There were four men with a mountain of beer cans between them.  I’m pretty sure they were speaking English, but between the slurring and thick accents, it was indecipherable.  Then, they chanted something (later, I discovered they were football fans heading to a match).  I was fascinated and a bit disgusted.  This was not the classy British train travel I had imagined.  

These people are not rowdy football supporters (I think)

We pulled into the station and I sat in my seat while waiting for the crowd to thin out.  Stepping off that train was heady stuff.  Sure, I had excitement and nerves when I boarded in Peterborough.  But, now, it was ratcheted up to a whole new level.  I wasn’t just happy, I was euphoric.  I wasn’t just scared, I was terrified.

I blinked and tried to focus.  There were swarms of people, so I just let the crowd sweep me along while my eyes investigated.  The terminal was vast with an odd architectural combination of modern and old fashioned.  My ears were adjusting to the strange sounds of air brakes wooshing, accented conversations and… the announcers voice. I listened intently as she swiftly called out the names of towns I had not heard of before.  

Inside the concourse, I tried not to gape.  The ceiling is a vast white steel grid with lighting that gives off a lavender hue.  There were screens showing the various destinations of trains ready to depart the station.  Around me stood crowds of people, all staring intently.  Initially, I thought they were as confused as I was.  That is, until the announcer’s voice would call out an impending departure.  Then, all hell broke loose.  People pushed past me, galloping towards the ticket gates.  

The purple hue of KGX

Then, I was alone.

I stood under that canopy and reveled in the moment: I was alone in London and it was time to make some magic.

I spent most of that weekend in a similar fashion to many lovely weekends to come.  Mostly walking and getting lost, with a stop at a major museum and one fine meal.  That weekend, it was a day at the Victoria and Albert Museum (walking at a criminally slow pace because, well, I could!) followed by afternoon tea at Harrods.  *sigh*

I returned to King’s Cross on Sunday evening feeling quite proud.  What adventure!  What confidence!  What, wait, what train do I need to take???

I looked up at the screens that just 36 hours ago, I had gazed upon with admiration.  Now, I cursed them under my breath.  I could see Peterborough listed in 6 different journeys, but I had no idea what I was looking for.  I stared at my ticket hoping it would give me clues, but none were to be found.  

I heard the announcer’s voice call out ‘The next train departing from Platform 8 is the First Capital Connect service to Peterborough…’  and I took this as a good omen.  It was not.  I had failed to listen closely to the announcement, as she called out the 12 stops that would happen between KGX and Peterborough.  This is what is referred to as the ‘slow train’ and in addition to being a 90-minute journey (instead of the speedy 45-minute fast train), it is known for being less costly and full of drunks.  Apparently, they use their savings on extra pints.  

This turned out to be a perfect ‘teaching’ moment because I learned to read a timetable the next day.

KGX and I soon became good friends.  In addition to weekend jaunts, I occasionally had work meetings, which I particularly enjoyed.  

I know it sounds like bragging to way I actually enjoyed work, but I did.  While everyone face held the same grim expression as they rushed into the city, I walked with a Mona Lisa smile.  I always wondered if anyone else was secretly as excited as I was, thinking ‘Am I really and truly working in London today?’ 

There were so many special moments in that city.  The markets, museums, restaurants, neighborhoods, football matches, shopping trips with the girls, concerts, visits from family and friends.  Lots of living and learning.  The person I was during the first trip, was not the same person nearly three years later. 

Through it all, KGX was my gateway to new adventures and constant companion.

Now, just like in a real relationship, sometimes your beloved has quirks that irritate you.  KGX was no exception.  The station was very cold in the winter.  It cost 30p to use the toilet and the turnstile to get in there was always confounding some poor tourist.  The Pret-a-Manger was so crowded, that the line was like a scrum and getting a seat took more jockeying than the Grand National.  

What made up for these, admittedly, modest faults was the thing I loved above all- the announcer's voice.

Pleasant, proper, efficient.  While the epitome of British-ness, her voice wasn't always sweetness and light.  Sometimes, it held a hint of scorn.  Call me crazy but listen to her announce the train departing for Leeds.  Does that sound like disdain to you?  Like heading to Leeds is some consolation prize.

Sometimes, her voice induced panic.  ‘The train at Platform 1 is the 22.00 East Coast service to Newcastle.  Calling at Peterborough, Newark Northgate, Doncaster, York, Northallerton, Darlington, Durham and Newcastle.  Will passengers intending to travel on this service please join the train now as it is ready to leave.‘

At this point, it’s usually 21.57 and I’m running past Platform 8.  As the 22.00 is the last ‘fast train’ to Peterborough, if I miss it, I will be forced to ride the slow train, and nobody wants that. 

What is it about that voice?  Over time, I felt many things when I heard announcements at KGX.   The comfort and reassurance of familiarity, but also the adrenaline rush of adventure, travel and independence.  

The sensation of comfort I experienced was different than that of being at home, where routine dulls everything and the brain flips to autopilot.  I always stepped off that train as though my autopilot switch was flipped ‘off’.  Everything just snapped into focus. After a few trips, I was familiar enough to just enjoy what was happening and soak it all in.  Perry says it's ‘like playing a game you are good at’.  You know the moves, but there are enough variables to keep it interesting.  And while failure always remained a possibility, the routine avoidance of failure still managed to have a deftly skillful feel to it.

It never got old and I never took it for granted.  The last time I walked out of that station, there were fat, hot tears on my cheeks.  I could hear the announcer’s voice fading away as I rode down the escalator to the Underground.

‘Will passengers intending to travel on this service please join the train now, as it is ready to leave.’

The Refrigerator List

In the beginning, it was hard to think about what was great about Great Britain since I was a bit traumatized by all of the differences and things I missed from home.  

After a while though, Perry and I realized there are many things that are actually better in the UK.  To make sure we didn’t forget any, we started a list, which we kept on our refrigerator.  

Some of these are silly, while others are serious, and a few controversial.  However, we do stand by them 100%.  My fellow Americans, let’s get ready to rumble…

Better in the UK vs the US

• Pin & Chip credit/debit card

Honestly, I don’t know why we haven’t gotten on board with this.*  Signing a credit card slip is time-consuming and archaic.  

• Tea & biscuits

No doubt.  A hot cup of tea with a custard cream biscuit (cookie) can solve the world’s problems.  

• No gun crime

Walking down the street at night feels completely different.

• Women’s reproductive healthcare

Ladies, this country gets it.  Access to birth control is part of a woman’s healthcare.  Full stop.

• Weather

YES, I'm serious!  A place where the weather won't kill you is an improvement.

• More outdoor cats

Maybe there is more howling in the neighborhood at night, but the kitties seem pretty darn happy.

• Yellow (aka amber) traffic light flashes before it turns green

Hey America, the light is already there, why not use it?

• Public transportation

As much as they moan about it, the train service in Britain is a huge asset.

Road maintenance

It’s probably because the weather isn’t too hot or cold, but I rarely saw potholes.

• Football (Soccer)

EPL vs, MLS?  Please.

• Liquid foods in a tube (tomato paste, gravy starters, etc)

As America originated Easy Cheese, frankly, I was shocked.

• No poisonous snakes or spiders

'Nuff said.

• Postal Code system

Your postal code is related to the street and town, which is very efficient.  If you enter a house number and postal code online, it populates the rest automatically.  

• Kettles

Boiling water in one minute.  In every home and office. 

• Strawberries

No tasteless ginormous Driscolls here.  They may be small, but they taste like strawberries.

• Sweet Chili flavoured things

A benefit of being such a melting pot society.   From peanuts to potato chips to hummus- this became my favourite new flavour.

• Historical sites

Probably not fair to add this with the 1000+ year head start.  Sue me.

• Military time

This makes so much sense.  I’m pretty sure we can teach kids to understand that 15.00 means 3 pm!

• Fewer police on the roads

I’m not sure why, but I think it’s because they have more speed cameras.

• Low cost airlines

And SO MANY!  I heart Easy Jet.

• Less costly wine in restaurants

The Brits have standards and 100% mark up on wine in restaurants is not one of them. 

• Larger produce section in the supermarket

They may shorten the word vegetable to veg, but there is nothing short about the size and selection of fruit and veg at the local Tesco.  America’s stores compensate with a larger frozen pizza section.  *sobs*

The longer we lived in Britain, the longer the 'Things Better in the UK' list became.  The refrigerator list became a bit of a minor celebrity.  Friends would be sure and check the fridge during visits to see what new items had been added.

Of course, these friends would inevitably ask ‘what’s not better.’  I used to think ‘Do you really want to go there?’ but for those that really want to know, I’ve selected each of our ‘Top Two’.

• No outlets in the bathroom (#1 for Paula)
• Small and time-consuming washer/dryers (#2 for Paula)
• Small pours for hard alcohol (#1 for Perry)
• Tasteless hot chocolate (#2 for Perry)

And refrigerators?  While they are small, we found them to be perfectly serviceable.

Had we stayed much longer though, we might have needed an American sized fridge to fit the list.

*I have since discovered that conversion to pin and chip is very costly, so despite the fraud prevention savings, credit card companies are dragging their feet.

I Should Be So Lucky

I must preface this next vignette by saying that as an American with a few extra pounds on my posterior, I’m definitely NOT passing judgment on the matter.  However, I must divulge some insider information on the pervasive stereotype of the overweight American.

It’s more prevalent than I thought.  And global.   After meeting a colleague in China, her second sentence (after, ‘hello, nice to meet you’) was, ‘I thought you would be fat.’  To my face.  She actually sounded disappointed.  I felt like whipping down my skirt to reveal how my super Spanx were keeping it all sucked in.  Because that is American ingenuity.  

I know it’s not a secret that America is one of the fattest countries in the world but I was shocked as to how often it's brought up.  Then, I figured out why.  The ‘American’ food section in British grocery stores.

The first time I saw it, I was truly horrified.  A brief selection for your entertainment:

• Lucky Charms
• Pop Tarts
• Goober Grape
• Marshmallow Fluff
• Aunt Jemima Pancake Syrup
• Fruity candy like Runts, Nerds and Icebreakers
• Mountain Dew

If this is what qualifies as ‘American Food’, well it all makes sense.

A typical selection of American foods in the UK

I must defend the honor of my country.  Yes, these items exist and some of them are awful, but they represent a very small selection of American food.  The food in America is generally pretty amazing and dare I say WORTH THE CALORIES.  It gets my vote over British food, especially the British ‘interpretation’ of American foods, and particularly where American breakfast is concerned. 

British friends, take heart.  I still love an English fry up!  I don’t mind tomatoes and mushrooms with breakfast, but I realize I’m in the minority amongst Americans on that one.  However, it doesn’t top American-style breakfast, in my humble opinion.

During our time in the UK, we didn’t miss too many things, but we definitely longed for American-style breakfast.  I’m talking about your typical IHOP/Denny’s/Perkins fare:  pancakes, waffles, omelets and bacon.  To be clear, I’m talking about American pancakes- fluffy and steeped in butter-and-maple-syrup heaven.  European pancakes are what we call crepes and are typically served with fruit and cream or maybe some sugar and a squeeze of lemon.  American bacon is crispy while British bacon (otherwise referred to as ‘rashers’) is ham-like in texture.

It became a mission to not just find such a breakfast, but for it to also be edible.

We found them more often than we thought we would, but it was not a guarantee of tastiness.  The first one I came across was Harvester.  During a dinner out, I noticed the breakfast menu and was thrilled to see ‘American Pancakes’ amidst the bacon butties and Heinz beans.  We agreed that with such calorific delights, we would wait for a special occasion.  It was a couple of months later, but after a tough spin class I decided I had waited long enough.  

It was an inauspicious start.  There were no cars in the parking lot and the windows looked dark. I peered in the window and felt like I was casing the joint.  It was open, but there were only a handful of occupied tables.  Hmmmm.

We soon found ourselves seated, orders placed and feeling a giddy anticipation.  Superficially, it seemed like being at Denny’s.  Steaming cup of coffee with monkey dish of individual creamer?  Check.  Scent of frying bacon in the air?  Check.  Heaping plate of pancake heaven?  <record scratch>

There are a couple of rules with American pancakes.  One, they should be large.  For crying out loud, it’s just flour and egg so no need to be stingy.  Two, they should be steaming hot off the griddle with melted butter just beckoning to the syrup to drown it in unlimited sweet goodness.  

The plate that was set down in front of me was neither of those.  There were two small pancakes on the plate that an American would call ‘silver dollars’.  It wouldn’t be enough to feed a five-year-old.  

Even more offensive was the taste.  They had the unmistakable tang of freezer burn, which 25 milliliters of fake syrup could not mask.  Again, why be so stingy with cheap maple-flavored sugar water?  If it was the real-deal-Vermont-sourced-right-outta-a-tree sap, well then ok!  But when serving pancakes that might double as a pot-holder, it is in your best interest to ensure they are masked with fat and sugar.  Also, the bacon was flaccid and scrambled eggs derived from powder straight out of the nursing home.  Finally, the portions were so puny, the plate had more open space than actual food.  

That's about right

We stopped for ice cream on the way home, which normally would induce guilt, but in this case, we ate ravenously.

The same thing happened at Little Chef.  We debated if it would be too embarrassing to order the American breakfast after the waiter said ‘Hey, you’re American!’  We did however, and he hovered over us as we ate.  ‘How is it?’ he inquired excitedly.  My response was a decidedly underwhelming ‘It’s, um, interesting.’

Now, my British friends will say ‘What did you expect from a Little Chef?’ and they would be right.  We went in with low expectations and they were not exceeded. LC has only received a marginally higher score than Harvester as the waiter graciously brought us unlimited syrup after we requested it.

The only place we were served a decent American breakfast was at Home Sweet Home in Manchester.  The waffles were fresh and syrup plentiful.  But what really caught our eye was the front display case full of American-style baked brownies, cakes and donuts.  I did a double take when I saw a variety of brownies featuring Lucky Charms, Runts and Reese's Peanut Cups.  

I decided to forgo the calories and embrace the stereotype as I purchased a Lucky Charms brownie for the train ride home.  Lucky American?  You bet!