My day of horribleness started the night before, actually, when I found out via note on envelope that I had not, as I had thought, paid for the room online, and that I was to leave the sum of 60 quid in cash, as they did not have any sort of card machine. 60 pounds was about all I had left, so after a major stress attack, I managed to get to sleep since I knew I was going to be getting up at 5:20. Did I say 6:30 in my previous post? See, now I didn't have money for a taxi so I had to walk to town, which meant I needed an hour to get there instead of 10 minutes.
So there I was, up 4 hours later and very sad to be leaving so early, as I would not get a lift again nor even breakfast. But I was sadder still as I discovered it is extremely difficult and tiring to drag two suitcases weighing somewhere around 40-50 pounds through a centimeter of snow on a road with many little hills. And you know what? There was significantly more traffic than I anticipated for that hour (the hour being 5:40) and not a single one of those jerks who passed me offered to give me a lift.
I mean, I know I looked helpless and pathetic. I had to stop every 15 feet to catch my breath, for God's sake. My hands were shaking the rest of the day and I had trouble forming fists.
It was a good thing I left even earlier than was needed, because the walk/drag took about an hour and 45 minutes to the train station, where I think I was too late to get on the train I was supposed to (there were specific departure times on my tickets). Not that that would have mattered, because the lad working there was a ditz and most misleading. I asked him to help me figure out which tain I was supposed to be on; he looked at my tickets and told me I was going to Hayfield, and to look for the train going there; I said, "the train that says Hayfield"; and he said "yes"; and I stood there and watched 2 trains to Edinburgh: Waverly Place go by before becoming suspicious, as I seemed to recall Edinburgh being the first scheduled train transfer; another chat with the worker confirmed that I was, indeed, supposed to get on one of those, and that the next one has been cancelled, so wait another 30 minutes pleaseandthankyou; except, no, there are so many people on the train now and on the platform that you will physically not be able to get on the next 3 trains but if you're a jerk and shove your way to the front you can push on the 4th with your suitcases.
And so, 15 minutes later we arrive at Edinburgh, where I stalk a conductor to ask which platform for the train to Manchester Piccadilly, please, and that's platform 4. So from platform 2 I lug my suitcases up a very large staircase (thankfully, people in Edinburgh are nicer than people in Linlithgow cars, because, on my stair excursions I was offered a much-needed help. Arms had been worked too much already and so I had the strength of a 12-year-old the rest of the day) and down the hall and then down the next staircase (they seriously need a lift there) to platform 4, where all the trains seemed to be running to Glasgow and the north.
As I was trying to go south, and as I stood there for about 45 minutes, and as I had gotten crap information from the previous guy I asked, I decided to double-check with a different worker (back up the stairs). He said platform 4, too. I asked him if he was sure. He said yes, so I went back down the stairs and stood for another 10 minutes and miraculously my train showed up.
Now, my tickets were supposed to be specific times with reserved seats, and this whole adventure I was very scared that they would come and check my ticket, see that I was not on the correct train, and kick me off or make me buy a new ticket or something. BUT, for once, the weather worked in my favor, because all reserved seats were cancelled and since everything was delayed all over, I don't think they gave a crap.
This train was the least crowed of all the ones I rode that day, and as I was the first major station to get on, I managed to get a seat (if backwards) and thus was able to take a few pictures out the window until the next station.
Which didn't come, because our train terminated early, and we were all forced off 5 stops early to switch to a different train that was on a platform another staircase away. (Well, it was a ramp bridge, but like I said, no arm strength made it very difficult.) We waited a bit there while they found a new driver to take us, and actually I was sitting down then too but not by the window.
Then at Manchester Pic. I asked where to go to Bristol, and was told platform 6; then a different train came to platform 6, and Bristol had no platform; then it was platform 2, but then a different train came in again, but it still said platform 2, so we milled about in confusion until the Bristol trian came in on top of the other train and we ran to the end to get on and I think they stuck the trains together.
There was no more room on the luggage rack thing when I got on, so me and my trusty suitcases (now slightly more battered and with sticky wheels thanks to this morning) stood in the space between the doors and the bathroom, which sort of worked until we got to one station where everyone and their mother got on, and people kept asking me if this was the train to _____ and I would say, no, it's to Paignton, and then they would ask me if it stopped at ______ and I would say I don't know, do I look like a train person?
We were at that station for an hour before leaving (so the aboved sentences kept up for the whole time). I picked up a (my guess) Chinese girl who was also going to Bath who stood next to me to Bristol and who followed me as I searched for the train to Bath, and who kept trying to get off at each stop because she wasn't listening to what station it was.
Then I pulled a really sketch move.
Since I had no cash left, and since I did not want to bank on my hostel or the train to London taking credit cards, and since there in front of me was a nice enough girl, and since I needed cash, I proposed to take her to dinner, pay with my card, and have her give me the cash. Only thing is, I needed like 40 pounds, which is more than one dinner. But, she was meeting 2 friends at the hotel, so I tagged along and re-explained the situation to them, and after making me try to use the cash machine, we settled on the original girl getting the money out and me then paying for 40 pounds worth of food from the grocery store. I thought it worked out splendidly, and I don't think the girl minded at all, although I'm pretty sure her one friend thought I was the creepiest thing ever.
So, armed with enough money to pay the hostel, at least, I headed there (thankfully, pretty much around the corner), and checked in at the bar counter (which is apparently owned by the hostel?) where the guy said I had a slight Irish sound in my accent, which sounded nice but he's Australian so what does he know.
People in England are apparently against elevators, because the hostel didn't have one either, just about 40 staircases up to my room, which was mostly empty except for anther chatty Australian and, for about 10 minutes, an Englishman who works for PC World.
I went to bed at like 8:30. At one point some more asian girls came in but most of the beds were missing blankets so they moved to a different room for the night. (They're back in here now.)
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