I got a later start this morning than I would have liked, after yesterdays epic 20 hours of pounding pavement my feet and legs refused to cooperate with my 6am alarm. When i finally make it to the bus I get on on the wrong direction and ride all the way to the wrong end of the line – the British refusal to drive on the right side of the road like the rest of the world is as confusing to me as the American refusal to adopt the metric system is to them. No matter, it’s a lovely foggy day and my misadventure provides a chance to see a bit more of the city. When I finally arrive at the train station I grab a large Cornish steak pie. Cornwall, another Celtic region in the south of Britain, retains a fiercely distinct ethnic identity but is struggling to survive as their region has become a popular destination for English retirees and the largely working-class Cornish can no longer afford to live in their own country. The line between gentrification and ethnic cleansing gets very thin in places like this. On the plus side, their meat pies are delicious.
My platform is way off in the back and by the time I reach it the train is about to depart – the conductor hollers at me to hurry up or they’ll leave without me – there’s laughter in his voice but the door still closes on me as I enter. No matter. I grab one of the last vacant seats. Continue reading