Nightmare on Fernhead Road

The first speed-bump we encountered came shortly after landing. We had flown into London-Stansted airport which is about an hour by train outside of downtown. By the time we got through customs (which took longer than it should have because I apparently wrote my name on the incorrect line of the immigration card and the border officer was quite anal about the placement), onto the “Stansted Express” train, and back into the heart of London it was 12:40am. Not extraordinarily late but the underground ceases to run at 12:30am so we had to hail a (famously expensive) cab to get us over to Kathryn’s friend’s apartment.

While in the cab on the way to the flat Kathryn dialed the roommate’s number to inform him that we were en route, and would be arriving shortly. First try – no answer, second try – no answer, eighth try – no answer. So we try Kathryn’s friend…no answer. By this time the driver pulled up to what we assumed/hoped was the correct building. Now the problem was that we had the address but not the apartment number, and we had been under the impression that someone would be there (and hopefully waiting) to let us in. After trying the roommate two or three more times with no avail Kathryn got out to go ring the bell.

Seconds after the buzzer sounded a woman yelled into the intercom that we needed to leave and the police had been called. This obviously gave the impression that we had the wrong building so Kathryn very kindly apologized and began walking back towards the cab while trying to call her friend. Before she had even reached the street a “creature” (that could best be described as a cross between a character from “Where the Wild Things Are” and the real life version of the bus driver from the cartoon “South Park”) emerged from behind the plate glass door of the apartment building hurling fowl-mouthed insults our direction.

“What tha [expletive] do you fink you’re [expletive] doin’ ringin’ my [expletive] bell in tha middle of tha [expletive] night!” “You’d betta get tha [expletive] outta ‘ere ‘cause I called tha [expletive] police and they’re on their [expletive] way right now!” etc…

At this point I stepped out of the cab and – as calmly as possible – explained that we were searching for our friend’s flat, and reminded her that no one wanted to be out in the middle of the night (and she should watch her language, shut her mouth, and go back inside). The cabbie made a comment about having a “pleasant introduction to London,” and drove us down the street to an ATM so we could take out money to pay for the ride. It was about this time that Kathryn finally got a hold of her friend and explained our situation and that we believed we had the wrong address. She, unfortunately, explained that we had the correct building, but when you ring the buzzer for their apartment the ringer sounds in the landlady’s flat as well. So we had the taxi take us back to the building where he left us with parting words of: “make sure you have someone to let you right in because this isn’t the type of area to be hangin’ out in or wandering around in during the daytime, let alone the middle of the night. Drugs and whatnot.”

This time as we approached the building the roommate finally answered his phone. It was a welcomed relief until he uttered the only words we got from him the whole of the night, “The landlady says you pissed her off and so she won’t let you stay here.” Then he just hung up! So here we were in a “dodgy” area of London, in the middle of the night with no ride and nowhere to go. We called back Kathryn’s friend who told us there was nothing she could do. We asked if it was possible to stay with her at her friends place, we didn’t even need a bed; a floor to sit on for a few hours would be enough. She said no. This was when we started getting a little nervous because using a French cell-phone in London costs about 1euro a minute, and we were quickly running out of talk-time. The friends next suggestion was to take a taxi to the airport and sleep there; when we reminded her that we were leaving by train she said go to the train station, (it was closed for the night). Finally she asked if we could just stay outside, obviously out of the question. It was at this point that phone gave out and we were left completely stranded.

It was now 2:30am; Kathryn had been shivering uncontrollably so I gave her my coat to wear over hers. This left me in nothing but a track-jacket carrying both our bags, Kathryn was crying, bewildered that: the landlady had no compassion to let us inside (and that she said she’d stay up until 6am to make sure we were not let in), the roommate had no balls to defy her (or even the decency to call us back to tell us what was going on), and we were left to fend for ourselves with little money and no phone in the ghetto carrying luggage.

Always the calm voice of reason I explained that there is no use trying to find logic and reason behind illogical and unreasonable actions, and we started walking. When the cab took us to the cash machine we noticed a police station on the corner so the plan was to get there and hopefully find some help. As luck would have it only three blocks away we found a 24hour cab stand with some very helpful attendants. They let us come inside to warm up and then drove us about ten minutes away and helped us find a hotel for the night.

I want you to picture the nastiest, ugliest, dirtiest hotel you have ever stayed in…this was probably worse. The walls were cracked and the carpet was stained unusual colors in a number of different places. There was a sink in the room but no bathroom. To use the facilities you had to go down the hall, turn the corner, go down another hall and squeeze into the toilet room on the right with a door that would not close, or the “shower” (by shower I simply mean a drain in the floor and a hand-help water spout) on the left that was missing a door altogether. All this luxury for 45pounds(approx. $80) a night.

We slept in our clothes to avoid catching any diseases or bugs from the bed, and took off bright and early the next morning. The biting wind and cold from the previous night had turned into snow by morning. Since it more or less felt like we hadn’t slept at all a breakfast of a double whopper with cheese at the train station was the perfect dinner/breakfast. That and a large latte from Starbucks got us in the perfect mood to return to Lille, and we couldn’t have been happier when we finally made it back to our room on Rue du Molinel in Wasquehal France. 

I can’t say it was the perfect end to our vacation, but it was one more unforgettable event in a week that will forever be etched in our memory.

A bientôt,

Jordan and Kathryn