Day 1 and 2: Greek and Unique

One thing to make clear from the outset is that I am not doing this journey as a penance. I am avoiding hardship, unnecessary discomfort and overtly unhygienic travelling companions. However, nor am I travelling business class. You might say I am going middle class.

Well, that’s not strictly true. For the first leg of my journey – Cardiff to London – I bought a first class ticket. My excuse is simple; because I booked the rest of the trip well in advance, I decided to book my UK ticket at the same time.

There is no such thing as a standard price for a British train ticket these days. Prices are now determined by a baffling, secret algorithm that pumps out seemingly random amounts. Sometimes you can pay 15 quid for a standard return to London, other times it is closer to a hundred. But it can also work in the traveller’s favour.

Usually a first class ticket is over 100 pounds, but because I bought in advance, it’s 30 quid one way. I must confess to liking first class. The seats are wider, and leather. The carriages are never overcrowded and even the idiots are a cut above the ones in standard class.

The tables are broader and there are electrical sockets for laptops etc. You also get unlimited free coffee, tea and biscuits. Well, that’s the theory but Melissa, a former media studies teacher in the seat across the gangway, tells me that they don’t deliver to your table anymore. ‘You have to go to the buffet car yourself and ask for it,’ she said.

The train arrived, predictably, late at Paddington. I reached Elena's place at 1945 and after a farewell meal (Greek-style, of course) and a few pints at the Golden Lion, awoke on her sofa at 0700. Lay there dozing for the next two hours with the perpetual motion on the Great North Road outside and the leaden-footed owner of the flat upstairs providing the soundtrack.

It is virtually impossible to find quiet in London. Even in the parks there is always some man-made noise. I guess all big cities are like this but London is an extreme. And it is one of several reasons that I don’t really care for the place.

Another is the ability that London dwellers have to isolate themselves behind newspapers, iPods and emotionless eyes. The silence on tube trains is almost deafening at times. People crammed together, invading each other’s space and, bizarrely, pretending that no one else is there.

When I used to travel to London a lot on business, I often tried to spark up a conversation with someone on the tube. By the looks I received in return, you’d think that I’d stolen their children. So I would return to my crossword and wait impatiently to get on the train out of the city.

This is not to say that Londoners are inherently unfriendly; they are perfectly sociable to their friends. But even in pubs, arguably the greatest British invention, there is rarely the chaotic, magical mixing that you see elsewhere in the UK. People are wary of strangers and tend not to mingle with unknown quantities. This is ironic when you consider that the city is full of foreigners and short of space.

But when you do get to know a Londoner, you have a friend for life. Elena is the classic example. We met three years ago and she is now one of the few people on the planet that I would trust with my life. Not only does she feed and house me if I am ever in town, but she is also supportive, non-judgemental, compassionate and infinitely patient.

But now, I must go. I need to collect my passport from the Taiwanese Consulate and then take a final tube journey to St Pancras to catch the Eurostar to Brussels. Stage two of my journey beckons. London will not be missed. But Elena certainly will.