A Rather Auspicious Start
Thwack, thwack, thwack…it felt like rubber bullets raining down on me.
I looked down expecting to see blood, but instead, discovered splatters of white and green goo saturating my pale, lacy top. The stench was unmistakable.
I then looked up to the rafters and saw a line of pigeons, squatters taking up residence in the roof of the dreary English bus station.
My family had just endured an overnight economy-class flight from San Francisco to Heathrow, London. The bus trip was the last leg of our journey to visit our relatives who run an organic sheep farm on the west coast of England.
My husband and I could have rented a car to drive our teenage sons down the M4 and on to the narrow and windy roads that weave through the North Devon countryside, but we were advised to take the bus to Barnstaple, against our better judgement.
“Certainly beats driving jet-lagged on the wrong side of the road,” I said to my husband and kids. After collecting our luggage, we made our way to the nearby bus station.
We had an hour or so to spare. The timing was right.
After purchasing our bus tickets, we found a space to hang out until our bus arrived and scooped us up for our journey west. A modern looking bus pulled into the station and a sense of relief washed over me…I would snuggle down into the comfy chair and snooze while the bus whisked us towards our destination.
But no, this bus was headed to the South of England.
Then another contemporary bus appeared, but this one was headed east into London.
As the minutes ticked away, there was a dearth of buses…a deadly stillness descended on the bus station.
We walked back up to the ticket window, to inquire about the bus to Barnstaple, and were told that there had been an accident on the Hammersmith Flyover, the main access road heading west, and all westbound buses were delayed until the accident was cleared. I looked around the dingy bus station and felt a pit of despair in my stomach.
The four of us returned to our luggage, feeling despondent and ill-tempered by the never-ending wait.
And that is when the invasion from above occurred. I could feel the guano start to run down my hair and soak through my blouse to my bra and skin. I ran to the “loo” to try and stem the damage, sticking my head under the sink and using paper towels to wipe up the mess.
I returned to my family and found them in stitches, tears running down their faces from laughter. I was not amused!
As time passed, I became more uncomfortable and irritated. Why hadn’t we simply rented a car and braved the other side of the road?
Five hours later, after a procession of sleek, modern buses, ours finally pulled into the station. Keeping in line with our series of mishaps, it was an older vintage, looking the worst for wear. We climbed aboard and found our seats near the back, where we settled in for the 5-hour journey ahead of us. The length of our trip had been doubled by our misfortune.
When we arrived in the evening, we were greeted by our family’s smiling faces. A pot of aromatic, steaming tea with homemade biscuits suddenly made our ordeal worth the journey. I changed into clean clothes and deposited my stained blouse into the rubbish bin…a rather auspicious way to begin our vacation!
On subsequent trips to North Devon, we have rented cars and appreciated the comfort and control of our destiny.