Faster Than a Speeding Bullet

In my description of my trip to London, I failed to mention a fairly important event that occurred during the weekend. I took the Eurostar. As you may remember, this was on my list of things to do this summer and so I relished the opportunity. It was a large part of my excitement for the trip. Hey, if all else fails/goes horribly, at least I'll have taken the Eurostar.


For those of you who don't know what the Eurostar is, you should be ashamed of yourselves. It's one of the 10 Engineering Wonders of the World and rightly so. It's a high speed (300km/h) train that goes under the English Channel (about 50.5 km) between France and England.

It is the second longest undersea tunnel in the world (after Japan's Seikan Tunnel). And all in two hours or less. Construction of the Channel Tunnel (as it's formally called) involved huge drills, one in France and one in England and digging until they met almost exactly half way (and inches apart). It was also fantastically expensive (surprise, surprise, the project received EU funding) and I think are still trying to pay it off. But it was worth it.





My voyage began at Brussels' Gare Midi, the departure point for Eurostar trains. My ticket was purchased online and was non-refundable, non-transferable and non-losable. When he printed it out, the attendant said all of this and then warned, "So don't lose it. Otherwise..." and trailed off ominously. Then I had to go through a self-check in that involved me swiping my ticket which was way to complicated for my tiny brain, so the guy manning the turnstile sighed and did it for me.



Next was customs. Now I know I should have known it was going to happen, but I was still surprised when I was forced to show my passport. I was only taking a train. I forgot for an minute that I was crossing three countries to do it (the train passes through France before getting to London). I passed the line of non-EU citizens furiously filling visa/travel documents/mad-cow waivers on the nearby desk with a slight smirk (I may have pointed and laughed) and happily offered my EU passport to the attendant. Only to be greeted in Portuguese, with, "Bom noite, como estas?" I was thrown. He knows Portuguese! No one knows Portuguese! Flabbergasted, I paused, staring at him as I remembered the appropriate response. "Estou bem, e voce?" This exchange continued for a minute until he handed me back my passport with a Portuguese thank you of "Obrigado." That's usually my line, so my default response was a French "dernier," which prompted him to begin speaking in French. Realizing this could turn into a "Whose on First?" language-edition fiasco, I kept walking to the Eurostar l waiting area.



Ten minutes before my train left they began boarding and like a Swiss watch, we left Brussels at exactly 9:04. The ride was smooth and calm. It's similar to being in a VIA train but on time, with more leg room, assigned seating and quicker. Instructions are offered in French, English and German.





I wish I could say I knew exactly when we went in the tunnel. But I couldn't. It was dark and there were a succession of earlier tunnels that confused me. Also, the descent starts a few hundred kilometers before hand and I oh did I feel that! My ears started to pop and I had the strange sensation that my head was being squished--like in movies where they're in ancient Egyptian temples and the walls begin to close in on you, except instead of closing in on my body it was my head. It was peculiar but only lasted about 20 minutes (looking back it could have been the descent or crossing time zones). And then I think that's when we entered the Tunnel. Which is pitch black. My uncle told me this hilarious story of one of his students envisaging going through the Channel Tunnel like being in a an aquriaum with fish swimming around as you pass through it. Obviously, it's nothing like that. It's just pitch black and all you can see is your reflection. But you definetly get the sense that you're underneath literally tonnes of water and that if something were to snap, break, twist off or pop, you could drown and die in a watery grave. But at least you'd be comfortable.



The trip on the way back was the same except I got bag-checked in London . And I don't mean passing-my-backpack-through-a-metal-detector checked. Although they did do that. No, for some reason, they thought I was smuggling drugs or some other illegal substances back to Brussels with me because they took everything out of my bag. I mean everything: cell phone, passport, camera, make-up bag, underwear (dirty and clean), pads and tampons, bras, shoes, magazines, books and wallet. And I had to open every zip and clipped pocket in my bag (which if you've seen it, is a lot) And then she swabbed everything and tested the sample. Now, I'm not opposed to security. In fact, the lax security was something that I had marveled at on the way to London. But I was a bit annoyed and the laid back way she went about conducting her search. Asking me to undue to zips and snaps, swabbing, testing. Then starting again. Asking me if I knew my passport was in my purse (of course I did, who do you think put it there?) I sat there with my arms folded across my chest, foot tapping on the floor my body language clearly saying, "Take your time. No, don't worry, it's not like I have an international train to catch in the next 10 minutes (which I did). Which is non-refundable and non-transferable. Go ahead, take my tweezers while you're at it (I joke, but it was a very real threat to me at the time)." Finally she finished and I threw everything into the bag, dashed for customs, tossed my passport, spoke the requisite Portuguese (I was more ready for him this time) and went to board the train. Only to find someone in my seat. So I was sent to the next car--which was thankfully empty--and had a relaxing two hour train ride back to Brussels.