Dear Reader,
There is so much I have experienced from the moment I waived goodbye to my family in LAX, to the moment the taxi pulled up to King’s College. As you can see I had an amazing 10-hour flight to Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport (CDG). My flight buddies where an old French couple, right around their late sixties. They spoke to me about Paris of course and Europe in general. I felt ashamed that I did not know more about Europe to continue a more in dept conversation, after all I am the one traveling to these places and perhaps it would not have hurt to brush up on some historical background. Beside the facts, they were great. We laughed, we ate, and watched movies together on those six by four plane screens, and they even took me to my connection flight gate so they knew I would make it to my next destination, London Heathrow Airport (LHR).
I hit the English land alas! At this point I was tired, nervous, excited, scared, and all I wanted to do is make sure I got my Student Visa. I of course expected the worst. In all my worrying I forgot to fill out a small piece of paper detailing the reasons for my travel to the United Kingdom. As I rummaged through my travel bag for a pen, my hands touched a familiar circular shape, which I pulled out including the lone pen in my bag. It was my 1088 International Village (IV) Plaque. I used it as a stable object to write the information needed by U.K Immigration Borders. I then placed the plaque back into my bag and waited to be called to the next available window. “Now serving at window 38!” Finally the moment of truth, the officer at the desk just looked at me and asked a couple of questions and before I could answer the last question, he stamped my passport and “Your good to go Mr. Martinez”, that was it. I was so relieved. I moved quickly to get my luggage but not before stopping to exchange for currency. I made my way to the luggage reclaim and took my Hot Pink luggage, color choice made it more easily to spot and well, I like to roll in the hot pink once in a while.
I had my luggage, my visa stamp, and some money. From this point on, I was on my own to work my way to Cambridge from London. I only had the instructions from the EAP office at hand and honestly I cried a bit because I felt alone. I wanted someone to take me there so badly, but I had no choice and by this time it was already 8p.m. I walked around the luggage reclaim floor for at least 15 minutes. I had no clue as to where to catch the train. I took a moment to compose myself and reached into my bag for the one thing that could calm me in that moment, the IV 1088 plaque. It is one of the biggest reasons I was standing in LHR. It was the reason I choose to work in undergraduate housing, live in International Village my first year, and it was the reason I made the choices I did this far. I grasped it tightly and struggled with my hot pink luggage to the Underground. I was given instructions to catch the Piccadilly Line to King’s Cross. I paid the faire and stood in the crowd, occasionally asking people for reassurance of the instructions given to me. Many people were so helpful and quite kind. A woman advised me to take the line that has the least stops or no stops at all until the town of Cambridge because it would be a lot faster. The Piccadilly was late but nevertheless I made it on. I stood for the next hour with luggage in front of me, behind me, and the common person beside me. I was so close to the one thing I had been anticipating for since week 6 of Spring Quarter when I was given enough funds to pay for my summer abroad in Cambridge.
I had made it to King’s Cross. I once again lost myself for about 10 minutes until I asked how I could get to Cambridge. The line worker told me that I needed to go up the stairs and buy my ticket for Terminal 4 soon because it was set to leave in 5 minutes and it would be the last train of the night till the following morning. I went to the booth and bought my ticket and made way for terminal 4 in which the Cambridge line was located. I hurried but could not find it until a young man bolted by me. I yelled at him and asked where the Cambridge line was and he said “Just follow me NOW!” I then rushed behind him as my bright luggage wobbled and jerked. He jumped into a train and told me to get on or I would not make it to Cambridge tonight. I got on to the train as I breathed quickly to catch my breath. I asked his name and said thank you; his name is Rob. Rob is a student at Cambridge who works in London during the weekend. He was also moving from his “flat” (home) in London. We talked for a while about our schooling and where we grew up in. I once again asked for assistance and he gladly helped. He told me that I could easily get a taxi from the Cambridge stop. I was so relieved that I did not have to call for a taxi. After I got off the train he directed me where to go and I was off to King’s. As I got off from the taxi, I saw a monstrous work of art; the gothic style of the college made it mysterious and eerie. It was like a castle. I felt I had walked into another world perhaps gone back in time to another place unknown to man. At the door, two young men from the college told me to just buzz the Porters. I pressed the button and the large wooden double doors opened. An old man greeted me and welcomed me to King’s College.
Best,
Bertii
P.S: "Did I forget to mention I was tired?"
