452 to Willesden Bus Garage

London busses are world famous for their vibrant shade of rouge, their double-decker stature and their other-worldly ability to successfully maneuver the perilous streets of the British Capitol. But I'm here to give you a first-hand account of what life is like when a London bus ride is part of your every day. My dorm was located in the Shepherd's Bush area of town, out West, almost to Chiswick. My school, however, was located in the most affluent part of town just to the west of Buckingham Palace, known as South Kensington. The actual distance from my domicile to my place of study was a mere three miles, but given London's perpetual state of drizzle, walking was never advised. The bus route to school was simple: hop on the 94 east bound right outside the building, change to a 52 or 452 at Notting Hill Gate and wait until "Royal Albert Hall" was announced over the speaker system. Poof, just one block from school when you hop off. To get home, it was exactly the same only in reverse (obviously).

This deceptively simple bus route took 30 minutes on a good day, and there weren't many good days. The amount of emotional trauma I experienced on London busses is slightly disturbing. There's traffic, road work, diversions that add hours to your trip and trap you on the bus, crazy people yelling, people touching you, driver changes, random service terminations... the list goes on. My point is that as a Londoner, you spend a lot of time on busses, and a lot of your emotional state is contingent upon how your bus journey is on any given day. You also have a lot of alone-in-public time to zone out and ponder the grander questions of life; Why am I here? What on earth am I doing with my life? Why does the person sitting next to me smell like mayonnaise? Could that child scream any louder? 

A bus ride in London is never simply a bus ride. It may be your breaking point, for example. I have both seen people crying on a bus and been the person crying on a bus. Neither experience is particularly enjoyable. I have witnessed the whole scope of human emotion, from anger (a fist fight) to ecstasy (literally, people on drugs) on the London transport system.

 My own time on the bus was usually spent daydreaming about something or other, once to the point where I sauntered off without my flute bag, which I left to continue it's tour of the city from the top window seat. It must have had a lovely view. I learned a lot about the London bus system that day; and yes, I did track it down. And no, nothing was stolen. I was lucky. I think my determination and willingness to venture into the super sketchy part of town that was the home of the Willesden Bus Garage paid off in the eyes of the transit gods.

 These moments and so many others, too numerous to name, enriched and colored my time in London. So thank you, double-deckers. Thank you for giving me time to think, and at times to keep me from thinking. Thank you for keeping me on my toes, helping me to become more familiar with humanity as a whole. I am sure we will meet again some day. Hopefully after the construction at Notting Hill Gate is done.