Familiar sights greeted me the minute I stepped out of the LIRR into the Penn Station in New York City. Incredible. I was 26 hours into my odessey at that time.
I had to drag my luggage and navigate through the madding crowds to get to the booking counters. Alas, they were very crowded. I could book a ticket on one of those self-service machines but... is Philadelphia Station the same as the Philadelphia 30th Street Station? You see, there are many things in the US that do not make sense. Multiple naming of the same thing is one of them.
I could either queue up for a ticket and risk missing 665 Keystone at 1.17 pm and instead take 667 Keystone an hour later, or I could take a chance. So I decided to take a chance. I booked the ticket and went to buy lunch. And why does it cost USD20 more to book the tickets on the spot,one wonders.
Lunch... the familiar shops and the familiar produce in the familiar sizes. How I love coming to the US. So I picked up a cranberry muffin for lunch. I always loved berries and between a blueberry scone and a cranberry muffin both going for the same price, let's say I prefer the moister cake. It was a huge sized muffin, which I just finished eathing the second half as I was writing the last blog entry.
Once I scored lunch, the train was in station. It was hell all the way. I had to lug my 2 bags down a flight of stairs, and while it was fortunate that there is an elevator (or lift, as the British calls it) to bring me down to trackside. However, the safety bumps on the already narrow platforms made dragging the luggage an awful chore. But the worst is yet to be.
How Ameicans can name trolley lines by direction (East/West) when there is even no reference direction to begin with puzzles me. Imagine arriving at Philly Station and then have absolutely no inkling that the trolley (aka subway) is actually not part of the larger train station. Pity the poor traveller who don't know that. And worse, after you get into the paid area, you ask yourself - 36th Street East or West? And when you try to ask someone... Hello, anyone?
And horrors of the worst kind happened in 36th Street Station. The station does not even have a lift from platform to road level. My left shoulder is most likely sprained, if lightly, and I'm in some pain. Of course, I had to get out of the wrong exit and make an additional road crossing.
On a brighter note, I found the meeting place and I'm looking forward to the meeting later.
Time for bed part 2.
1 comment:
Welcome to the good 'ol USA, where nobody knows where they are going, and all signs lead in the wrong direction, up stairs both ways, not to mention many broken elevators (lifts), escalators, and generally thoughts of "what can we do to mess with tourists next?"
Gotta love America, especially here in the East, where things are old and older, broken and brokener.
There are lots of great things if you let it be good. Stop looking for the bad and quit 'ur bitchin'. Lighten up, smile, relax, and have fun! It really is not as bad as you think, and can be much better with a bright, spunky attitude that I know lies deep within you.
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