Death on a Train

OK, I had an Ugly American moment this week as I sailed along on the star of Europe, the train between London and Paris, or in my case, London and Brussels.

At 5:15 Monday evening we boarded what looked like a normal train, no star quality yet, but once we got moving you felt like you were gliding along on air, a veritable magic carpet from London to Brussels in two hours. 

Past fields and sheep, and then some places that looked more like New Jersey than London.  We were sweeping along until we weren’t.  We paused and then stopped.  The conductor announced we would be moving five minutes.

I closed my eyes and dreamt of Brussels and the meetings and the squares and lunch with some friends in the Belgian government.

I awoke 30 minutes later to an announcement that we would moving shortly.  And then “we will be moving in 10 minutes.”  And then, “there was an unauthorized exit, we need the police to investigate.”  And then, “We need to wait for the police.”  And then “we need to wait for completion of the investigation.”  And then, “there is free water in the club car.”  And then after 4 hours of these small meaningless announcements, “we are heading back to Ashland to switch trains.”  To me Ashland could be next to Brussels, but alas is it backwards, toward London. 

And finally, once the train starts going in reverse and we stop in Ashland they tell us to exit the train, “we will be heading back to London.”

The train is perfectly equipped with a colicky, croupy, crying babies, snoring old men and foul smelling people.  Someone is going to pay for this.

The announcements come in English, French and German.  I notice the ones in English are much shorter than the others.  My co-worker, who speaks all of those languages, gets a quizzical look on his face when the French announcement is made.

“Suicide,” he whispers.

“No, don’t do that, it’s only a missed train,” I tell him.

“No, the reason for the delay.  Someone jumped off the train.”

In English they called it an “unauthorized door opening.”  I guess that’s one way to put it.

We arrive back in London, it's now eleven PM, the St Pancras train station is barren, the gate agents who are supposed to help us are not helpful and they announce:  “We have no vouchers, but don’t worry, you’ll be reimbursed for hotels and cabs.  Come back tomorrow and we’ll find a train for you.”

This cannot stand!  How do I know there will be seats, I’m not going to come back without a seat, an assigned train, some assurance.  But everyone else listens and they smile and they make a queue for the free chips and orange juice and they call their spouses/partners/parents/hotels/colleagues and tell them of this “funny journey” they’ve been on.  I storm off along with a Spaniard who mumbles, “No sandwiches, just bloody crisps?”

They tell us the first train is at 6:15 the following morning and then every hour after that.

I re-arrange some meetings and plan to arrive the next morning at 8:30, take the 9:15, we lose an hour on the train ride and will arrive at 12:15 in time for lunch with the embassy and then on to our 2:00 meeting.

The next morning the station is teeming and again I rush to the head of the line, “I was on the Brussels train last night, yada, yada,” and the very sweet lady says, “Oh yes, quite a night, sorry about that, do you want to get on the next train?”

“Oh, indeed I do, thanks so much.”

“No problem and here is a food voucher.” 

“Great, this is so much better than last night.”

“OK, the next train boards in two hours.”

“No, no, no, I want to get on the 9:15, the one that leaves in 30 minutes!!!”

“There is no 9:15, just the 10:57”

“They told me there is a train every hour.”

“Who told you that?”

“The guy last night”

“He was mistaken.  Next!”

Most of the others who were stranded the previous night smile and say, “Let’s get some coffee” as they hurry off for a Capuccino.  I sit and steam myself.

We call our meetings, cancel some, re-schedule others.

It would be nice not to care.  It would be nice to view a suicide jumper and a five hour train ride to nowhere as a “funny excursion.”  It would be nice to view mis-information and cancelled trains as an extra chance for an espresso. 

But alas, I am not quite there.

The story of our fateful train ride made the news.  An Albanian man was refused entry to the UK and took the first train back to Belgium.  It was unclear if he was trying to escape or kill himself.  See below:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2050378/Eurostar-passenger-jumps-train-dies-refused-UK-entry.html?ito=feeds-newsxml