20 July 2001 - Platform 9B to Cambridge

Again the day started with me at the Internet Café at 10:00 a.m. I emailed work and some friends to say that I’m lonely in London – and found myself a bit ashamed of telling them this when I’ve got so many other blessings to count.

Got a new day-pass at the Underground and headed for the National Gallery. I first had breakfast at the coffee shop downstairs, then I proceeded to check out a few more paintings. There’s a Vermeer painting called “The Girl with the Pearl Earring.” I loved this painting because my sister had a replica of it that she placed on a bed of painted eggshells – quite a unique craft that she perfected – and she framed it and hung it in our house.

However, I learned that this wasn’t on display anymore. So I just went to the museum shop to get souvenirs for officemates and family, and got that Vermeer painting in its postcard form.

By 11:30, I headed for Harrod’s. From the tube station, you can already tell how many tourists flock to this place. Ironically most of them were Asian. It was kinda stuck up, as I expected. They do not allow backpacks slung over your shoulder, you have to hold it in your hand.

You can’t appreciate how huge it is at first because you go through room after room, each containing specific things and themes – perfumes, toys, designer clothes – just like any department store. You do realize how elegant everything is, and proportionally pricey. Then your legs start to ache walking through the endless maze of rooms and your hands feel uncomfortable dragging your backpack.

I passed through the food forum and saw the deli which served everything from cheese to chocolates to caviar and stuff.

Then I decided to just check out the toy section and saw an endless array of teddy bears (the Harrod’s mascot). Also saw the main section, which sold everything from pricey toy cars that had an actual working engine, to Lego and Harry Potter items. I wanted to buy some things but decided that it’s just all too snobbish here for me.

Originally, I was supposed to be in Paris by today. When I couldn't get a visa in time, I thought of going to Edinburgh in Scotland. Then I asked Angela and Lizzie where else I can go for a day trip out of London. I got two answers: Cambridge or Oxford. There was a minor debate on which one is better. Cambridge was Ange’s vote because it was just so beautiful and had fabulous scenery. Lizzie studied at Oxford and argued that it was less sprawling, closer to London and there’s obviously good reason why more tourists frequent it. Up to yesterday, I wasn’t sure where I should go. But then I realized that my guidebook only had instructions on how to get to Cambridge, so by default, my choice was made.

I reached King’s Cross station at around 1:05 p.m. I hadn’t had lunch and realized that I could catch the 1:15 train to Cambridge. So I scrambled to the ticket booth and got a ticket then made a quick stop at the toilet and then rushed to Platform 9B. For a while I thought of “Harry Potter” and how J.K. Rowling described the magical Platform 9¾ and imagined myself on the Hogwarts Express. True. I was on an express train. I was headed for a school. But that’s where the similarities end. I took out my headphones and played my mini-disc. In my bag, I discovered the half of a smoked salmon sandwich that I wasn’t able to finish from breakfast.

In the one-hour non-stop ride, I saw some of England’s beautiful landscapes. The land was a rich green and the sky was smiling blue. It was a perfect day to shoot a Jane Austen movie. I tried to keep myself awake to savor the view, but I had mastered the art of sleeping on any moving vehicle too well.

I was unimpressed with Cambridge at first. I took a local guide map from the visitor center at the train station, then started on a kilometer-walk to the town center. It was a quiet place to live in, streets weren’t too busy and life seemed to be slow. But I was here for either or both of two things – picture perfect scenery and timeless architecture – and after 15 minutes of walking, I was already getting impatient.

There are actually tourists bus from the train station that took you around the city. I knew I should’ve taken this, but this wanderlust I had told me that I could appreciate more by just walking through little alleys. Right. I also had the option of renting a bike (if I can find the place where they rented them out). But again, I wanted the freedom to just walk in and out of a place and taking my time – without having to worry about securing my bike or making sure I return it by closing time.

The first ‘old’ building that I saw was this church by the main road, The Roman Catholic Church of Our Lady and the English Martyrs – I swear, this is what it was called. I went inside and took time to say my thanks. It had a dark, gloomy interior – definitely not as grandiose as the cathedrals I’ve seen in Spain and in London, but apparently it was the highest city landmark, with a spire that rose 214 feet.

Before long I was hungry again and wanted to rest my weary legs. I was getting so desperate that I almost dove into a Pizza Hut that I saw. Fortunately I kept on going and after close to a thirty minute walk, I saw this park where groups of students lay in the grass, college kids threw a ball here and there, and basked in the glorious sun. My map marked this as Parker’s Place, and it indicated that there was a place to eat nearby so I rushed to it and sat in an outdoor table and enjoyed a rather delicious burger while watching everyone at the park. An airplane took off beyond the park, the airport must have been close by because the plane looked huge. I wasn’t able to take out my camera in time, so I took a snapshot of that one scene in my head and decided that life is beautiful. That is until a bee flew into my lemon juice.



My guidebook warned me not to miss King’s College and its chapel. So I headed for it first. Along the way, I started seeing some of the century-old architecture that I was looking forward to. Some of the buildings here dated back to the 13th century, and you won’t doubt it when you look at how time has blackened its walls like a fire attempted to demolish them at one point or another.

I was no longer feeling tired and was actually thankful that I did not board a bus or rent a bike. I wandered from busy streets to tiny alleys, ducking into this or that shop, and found myself playing artistic photographer, taking photos that just captured the sublime atmosphere of this city.


King’s College was 550 years old. It dated back to the time of King Henry VI, not that I knew which King he was nor appreciate its significance, really. But according to the guest pamphlet, King Henry did go to great lengths to make sure nothing would equal this College’s magnificence in all of Cambridge and Oxford.

I took photos of the College gateway from the busy roadside that was lined with parked bicycles and souvenir shops. However to go into King’s, you follow a footpath to the side of the chapel (which to me looks more like a basilica). You turn a bend and emerge in another world. Surreal and quiet, you find yourself dwarfed by the colossal chapel on one side and the castle-like school buildings (which even had chess piece-like towers) on the left. I looked around me half-expecting to see century-old ghosts watching from the windows.

When you enter King’s Chapel, the first thing you see is…the souvenir shop. Now, most historic churches have some form of shop at the entrance, but this one had all the works, including revolving stands of postcards, shelves filled with display items and two rather busy cash registers. It bothered me a bit, but the merchandise was so irresistible I found myself contributing to the cash register’s glee.

Venturing further inside the chapel, I imagined that this was what Westminster Abbey would look like if I did get to go in. The interior of the chapel was divided into two by a massive “screen,” an oaken structure that looked like mix between a confessional and a bridge. This screen housed the organ – and bore the initials of Henry VIII and his soon-to-be-executed Queen Anne Boleyn. Beyond it was the brass Lectern and the Stalls (seats) on either side. I remember the news footage of Princess Diana’s funeral ceremony at Westminster Abbey, and this is what it looked like. In the far wall was the Great East Window that depicted the passion and crucifixion of Christ in such grand scale.

Stepping outside the Chapel, I found myself on the other side of the gateway I was taking pictures of earlier. This was the Front Court of the College, and the first thing that awes you is the perfectly green and perfectly manicured lawn, at the center of which was a fountain which was crowned by the statue of King Henry VI, the ‘boy king.’

Walking westward, I crossed the also perfectly manicured back lawn to a path beside the river Cam and saw the two of the many bridges that spanned it (hence the name Cambridge). From here you get a spectacular view of King’s Chapel with its spires that rose over 80 feet high piercing the summer sky. And to contrast it’s height, right beside it was the wide and palatial Gibb’s Building an 18th century structure that housed most of the college’s teaching and administration rooms. Walking further down the river, you reach a point where you have a perfectly symmetrical view of the building, where you can look through the archway to see King Henry VI’s fountain at the Front Court and the gateway beyond.

On the river, there were a number of tourists punting along the Backs (the river Cam), which was basically going on boats that you pushed along on those long sticks instead of paddling – a wet way to see the colleges, according to my guidebook. I crossed the bridge and went down the path away from the tourists and onto the slice of English countryside beyond. The meadows offered some unique views of the chapel and Gibb’s Building, and I was inspired to take some ‘artistic’ photos (not all of which turned out ok).



After a short walk down the trail, I found myself by another bridge and crossed back towards town. On the bridge someone parked a lone bicycle and my snapshot of this and the river beyond was by far my favorite photo in this trip.

I walked down narrow alley again and emerged between Clare and Trinity Colleges. Something about Trinity called to me so I paid the entrance fee and wandered in. Founded in 1546, this college was home to the likes of Sir Isaac Newton (in whose honor there stood an apple tree outside the Great Gate of the college), author W.M.Thackeray, philosopher Francis Bacon, poet Lord Tennyson, and even Prince Charles.


Entering the inner courtyard, the Great Court, was like being transported back in time. I imagined suddenly looking at my clothes and seeing myself suddenly in uniform, books in hand, like Robert Sean Leonard in “Dead Poets Society.” A lone gardener was mowing the picture perfect lawn. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain and to the left side, a sundial that dated back to the 1704.

Apparently this court was named such because it was the largest University court in the world. On the north side of the yard was the Chapel, adorned by a rather ornate clock tower. You enter the chapel, through the gates beneath the tower. Like King’s Chapel, the interior was divided into two by the organ screen, one part being the ‘ante-chapel’ and the other the main chapel. In the ante-chapel was a statue of Sir Isaac Newton along with other statues and portraits of various distinguished members of the college through the centuries. Coming from the other side of the screen, I heard violins. I walked toward the main chapel and saw a string quartet practicing – or it could have been a performance for all I cared given how inspired they sounded. It took a lot of will power to exit the chapel under such conditions.
Emerging at the Great Court once more, I walked down the path toward the southern gate that was the Queen’s Gate, with a statue of Queen Elizabeth I over the archway.

At the left of this was the Hall. I walked through its arched corridor and emerged at Neville’s Court which was cordoned off. The buildings beyond were proud and serene, as the afternoon sun began to set behind it, casting an eerie glow that pierced its windows. I breathed in the moment, once more imagining what it would have been like to study here, hear the click-clack of shoes on these corridors and be sheltered from the harsh realities of life.

I walked inside the Hall again and saw the dining area. There was an attendant (I’m sure he has a more dignified name to his job) at the entrance and I asked innocently if I can have a look inside. He nodded a very welcoming yes. I walked in and it was like every period movie about students in a boarding school. The tables were lined down the long dining hall. There weren’t any place settings but you can visualize how elegant and stiflingly proper it must be. The ceilings rose high above, allowing large windows to let sunlight in through stained glass --- making it feel more like a cathedral than a dining room. Below these windows were portraits of more alumni. Again I asked the attendant if I could take photos and he allowed me, though I knew I couldn’t capture the feeling of the place in film.

I went back out the Great Court and headed out the gate. It was past 5 p.m. and I knew I wouldn’t make it to the 5:45 express train to London.

Wandered aimlessly eastward and passed streets lined with houses. I passed a small movie house that was showing some art film I’ve never even heard of. (Man! Isn’t anybody screening “Tomb Raider” around here?)
I was walking down Jesus Lane and wondered if I could see Jesus College, which intrigued me for no particular reason other than it seemed to cover a huge area on my map – though Trinity College is supposedly the largest of the Cambridge colleges.
After a long walk I wound up in an open area known as Midsummer Common. Footpaths criss-crossed it and people were walking casually across it. A lone man lay on the grass reading a book in the fading light, his bicycle lying beside him. At this point, I remembered that I should phone up Angela’s friends Karl and Jason to tell them I don’t think I’d take them up on their offer to meet for dinner since I was still in Cambridge.

I made a large U-turn around the footpaths and slowly ventured southward intending to go back to the main road. I passed houses and pubs with names like The Green King. Eventually I emerged in a park called Christ’s Pieces. There were quite a number of people lounging about the park or cutting through it on their way home. On the southern end was a rather busy bus station, and I was contemplating whether I should find a coach headed for London – but decided that I didn’t want to risk winding up in a strange part of the city. Besides I already bought a return ticket.

5:45 p.m. came and went as expected, and I was becoming rather beat walking endlessly trying to hit a familiar street. I almost missed the main road, which by now had a long queue for cabs, mostly tourists on their way back to the train station like me.

I walked faster down to the train station. It was not a short walk and I must have walked over 9 kilometers all in all here in Cambridge.

A clean cut guy in a suit was walking with me to the station and for a minute I got all hopeful again. What can I say? It was getting dark, night’s cold and you’re lonely, you know?

Of course, nothing happened. True to Ange and Lizzie’s warnings, the train schedules were messed up, but fortunately to my advantage. Just when I thought I missed the 6:15 train by ten minutes, here it was, behind schedule. I got to the platform right on time and sat by the window to gaze eastward at everything turning orange in the slow setting sun.

I fought the urge to close my eyes and sleep to savor this priceless view of England.

As the train sped by I saw two figures sitting on bales of hay in the middle of a wide expanse of land. They watched my train pass, as I watched them and pictured how they spoke of nothings or maybe they made grand plans for the future or pledged their friendship or just sat there quietly observing the world pass them by one trainload at a time. I never envied anyone as much.


It was a quarter past 7 p.m. by the time I got out of King’s Cross station. Before diving back into the Underground again, I took a moment to look at the “Victorian Gothic Revival” façade of St. Pancras Station – at least my guidebook mentioned it was worth a look.


At the spur of the moment, I decided to hop on the tube train that would take me to Westminster Bridge. I got out of the station just in time to see light fade around Big Ben. I took some time out to cross the Bridge where I could take good photos of both the width of the Houses of Parliament on one side, and the celebrated millennium ferris wheel, the London Eye on the other. On the bridge there were three mime artists blocking pedestrians – two women with tearful painted faces tied at the waist to this guy, weird.

I headed back to see the front of Westminster Abbey that I didn’t get to see last time. Took more snapshots of the area in the quickly darkening skies. Then I walked back to Trafalgar Square, rather exhausted. It started to drizzle so I decided to find a place to grab a quick dinner. Conveniently there was a McDonald’s on the way so I had today’s fill of their fantastic hotdog.


9:00 p.m. and I was back at Covent Garden, back at the internet café emailing work. Shortly after I was back at my hotel, collapsed on the bed and just gazing at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if I should go out tonight or not. On the one hand, I knew I was setting myself up for another depressing night returning home alone and unwanted. On the other, it was my last night in London.

Had a brief nap and woke up half an hour later and started to pack my stuff, leaving only what I needed to go out tonight and tomorrow.

By 10:30 p.m., I was watching the first episode of “Will & Grace” which I had seen a hundred times already and still found funny. Channel-surfed through more British TV and decided that it was time to head out.



I decided that I was going back to The Astoria. It was Friday night, and I got a flyer yesterday informing me that this was “G-A-Y’s Camp Attack.” Even my guidebook was telling me that this was the place to be on a Friday night. I braced myself for a lot of screaming queens dancing to Kylie Minogue and Donna Summer.

There was a staircase by the coat check that I didn’t notice last night. I headed up and emerged in this cozy lobby with a single bar and a lot of guys standing around chatting or cruising. Apparently this was the pub section of the club, very interesting. I decided that I’d allow myself to look like a loser and just get a beer and stand in a corner, if only to observe. After fifteen minutes or so, I decided that my self-esteem was fast being eroded by sheer self-consciousness so I headed up the stairs to the dance floor.

But instead of emerging where I was last night, I found myself at the balcony overlooking the main dance area. The atmosphere was electric. Really camp 80s music was blasting through the speakers and nobody minded that this was music you wouldn’t be caught on tape dancing to. I went up the balcony, which instead of seats had only steps and railings so that people can just stand and watch the goings on below.

They moved the DJ booth up here too, which allowed for people to dance up on the main stage by the screen. I found a cozy level and rested by the railing like everyone else, sipped my beer and tapped my feet as the Communards sang “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” followed by Diana Ross’ fun but highly camp 80s track “Chain Reaction,” and naturally, the Weather Girls’ “It’s Raining Men.” The atmosphere was so gay that you heard screams of total glee at every change of song.

Again, like the night before, as soon as I stayed put, I noticed some guys position themselves close to me. One of them was looking at me, but once more, I chickened out and avoided his direction. I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m that new to the scene.

Anyway, naturally in time I found myself alone again – and I decided that maybe it’s better this way, because making an effort would have meant it was more me rather than circumstance that was the reason for my being alone.

I downed maybe three bottles of beer and was having a great time. G-A-Y did a thirty minute preview of tomorrow’s Human League party by playing all the band’s songs from 1:00-1:30 a.m. I realized that I didn’t like Human League that much after all.

Past 2 a.m. and I was battling fatigue already and had to find a place to sit down. This had been a long day. Who was I fooling? If something did happen and I’d get lucky, I’d probably fall asleep halfway through it anyway. With that thought I finished my drink and headed off, taking one last glance at the party below. A party that would last until morning…the kind of party that I would have loved to go to if I had my friends with me.