The light at the end of the tunnel – my near-Chunnel “below the Thames” railway journey


Speeding through one of the pitch black tunnels connecting St. Pancras International railway station to ventures beyond, my inner claustrophobic was starting to panic, as the gap between the stops was beginning to feel more like an eternity than the short journey it in reality actually was.  Really uncertain of whether we were underground or in an above ground lengthy tunnel, all that I knew was that the walls were closing in on me and I was surrounded on all sides by an uncomfortable enveloping darkness.  No matter then, that the lights were brightly lit in the wagon car, jovial conversations taking place, the rational non-claustrophobic passengers oblivious to the mounting terror that was snaking its way throughout my entire body, unable to comprehend my irrational fear of entrapment in any type of enclosed space.  Where were the trees?  Where was the light? Absolutely nothing but the unsettling blackness which greeted me upon glancing out of the window panes! 

Seeking to appease my fraying nerves, I nonchalantly attempted to strike up random conversations with a few of the passengers, in my inquisitive intent to gather a bit of info about the excruciatingly long journey time between stations.  Sporting my Hudson’s Bay purchased 2012 Olympic jean jacket, emblazoned with a plethora of Maple Leafs and hockey badges, I was quite the sight indeed, a somewhat frazzled middle-aged crazy Canuck somewhat freaking out on a crowded train tearing along the “yet unseen” apparently lush English countryside.

Not knowing what to make of such a sight, a borderline freak-a-zoid trapped on an hour long rail journey to the white cliffs of Dover, the local Brits were beyond perplexed at having to appease the curious antics of a Canadian foreigner sequestered in a wagon car on a routinely scheduled railway sojourn to the outskirts of somewhere.

Eventually the murkiness gave way to light, the high speed bullet at long last emerging from the tunnel of darkness, the streaming rays of sunshine dancing on the glass panes, a welcoming beacon of hope to my now permanently jagged and frazzled nerves.

Vowing to remember NOT to travel by train the next time I traverse from London to Dover Priory, my mind was busily finagling other forms of non-claustrophobic transport that didn’t entail the remote possibilities of entrapment underground.  This is why the Kid and I were travelling by rail in the first place, as we were planning on taking the ferry across the Channel to Calais and continue by rail to Bruges and then onwards to Paris.  It would have been a lot quicker to cross the English Channel via the Chunnel, but there was no way that I would ever consider setting my pink-sneakered foot in such a confining space, enclosed in a speeding train, travelling at the sound of light several km below the water.  No matter then, that the entire journey underground would be a mere 20 minutes, enough time in which to completely unhinge my raw-edged nerves, sending my wildly over-active imagination into a downward tailspin of no-return.


 
 It’s a very good thing then that I hadn’t an inkling of a clue that the rail journey from St Pancras to Dover Priory, with stops at Ebbsfleet and Ashford International, would also involve several kilometres of deep underground tunnels, one of which snaked 1.5 miles under the river Thames!  Did I mention the 20 km long tunnel, which had me in quite the freaked out state indeed, resulting in my frenetic darting up and down the aisle, tapping each unsuspecting passenger on the shoulder, my quivering voice anxiously inquiring as to how much longer this subterranean portion of the journey would be?  Yes, sad but true.

No wonder then, that not one person on that excruciatingly elongated sub-terrestrial journey dared to inform me that, yes, we were indeed several kilometers deep, burrowing through the recesses of the English countryside at 140 miles per hour. Most likely they were petrified as to what that glint of knowledge would entail, unwilling to be witness to a middle-aged pink-sneaker clad Canadian screaming for the light, sobbing hysterically that she was trapped miles below the river Thames, counting down the minutes until the speeding “Javelin” emerged from the other end of the tunnel. No, just best to plead ignorance, placate the distraught and panic-stricken foreigner and change the subject by asking about life in Canada and whether or not they also have subterranean tunnels linking distant boroughs?  Yikes!!

The well-known phrase “the light at the end of the tunnel” thus took on new meaning, becoming my mantra for the remainder of the 65 minute journey, as we barreled through kilometres of underground paths, en route to the white cliffs of Dover.

 
Come discover an underground plethora of tunnels and subterranean paths kilometers below the city of London, linking far-away metropolises and towns.  Come discover the criss-crossing trails of train travel with me.

Next week – where do my pink-sneakered footprints find themselves?  Stay tuned!!

 

0 Response to "The light at the end of the tunnel – my near-Chunnel “below the Thames” railway journey "

Post a Comment