Long Journey

I'm tired, worried, scared, and lonely. Today hasn't been the best.

I woke up this morning at 5:05am to one of my roommates poking me to wake me up, since my alarm clock going off for several minutes didn't. Woops. I bumbled all my stuff together, bought an underground ticket to Padington station, and made it there 15 minutes before my train to Cardiff was supposed to leave. The problem was that none of the ticket booths were open yet, which meant I had to use an automated things, and I had really no idea what I was doing. Asking around didn't help any.

I ended up buying a one-way ticket for way more than I had expected, and jumping on the train just as they locked the doors and it took off. I spent the nearly two hours going over some of the family history paperwork my mom had sent with me. I arrived just before ten, and grabbed a sandwich to eat. I then spent the next hour trying to figure out their horrid bus system to figure out how to get to my car rental place. I stared at their maps and posters for the entire hour, as well as my maps and things, and it made no sense to me whatsoever. None of the numbers and stops on one map would coorelate with another. I finally asked a bus driver on his break to help me, and he got me on the right bus and told the driver which stop to let me off at.

Once I was all settled in my seat, I noticed it had a sign next to it that it was supposed to be reserved for elderly or handicapped. Well, there were no elderly or handicapped on the bus, so I didn't feel so bad. Of course, the first stop was at the Cardiff Elderly and Handicapped home, and they all came pouring in. Awkward.

So, I finally get to the car rental place, where I am charged way more than I expected (noticing a theme yet?) for a Vauxhall car, which looks/feels/drives exactly like a VW Golf.

Driving here is absolute hell. It's like I'm having to drive in a mirror: everything seems backwards and/or upside down. But, that I can deal with. What I cannot deal with is driving AND navigating. The british/welsh have never had the bright idea of streets at 90 degree, or even consistent street signs. Their signs, rather than on a post at every corner, are up at SOME corners, back on the buildings. Unless they aren't. So, I study my maps before I take off, but while I am driving I really have no way to tell where the heck I'm at. So, I make some random turns that vaguely resemble the directions I was supposed to turn, then I get lost and pull into a lot to look at the map. Rinse and repeat.

Somehow, I stumbled onto the street my Hostel was on. I parked the car, kissed the ground, and walked around until I found it. I've got a top-story room with a neat view. The hostel is clean and small, and the people are friendly.

After checking in, I was supposed to go to the Welsh Folk Life Museum to film/photograph... Welsh Folk Life. After studying the map, I set off. The museum was supposed to be about three miles from my hostel, but it took me over twenty minutes to get there. At one point, I was on the freeway. Another point, crossing some bridge downtown. I stopped and talked to some girl on the street, who seemed very scared by me, but gave me directions.

I got there 2.5 hours before they closed. I had grand plans to see the whole place, and film/photograph it all. About an hour later, I had to change plans, and started running around like a madman, trying to get everything that was relevant. At the last I made a mad dash for the giftshop. They were locking the door as I ran up, but I begged and pleaded to be let in. They wouldn't do it, so as they were locking that door, I ran around to the back door and rushed in before they could lock it. I grabbed a thing or two that looked interesting as I ran by, paid for it, and left. Then I repeated the whole driving thing to get back to my hostel.

I didn't bother to go inside, but instead went down the street to a cybe cafe (the one at the hostel as retarded calculator-button style keyboards), emailed my mom in hopes of hearing some kind words to relieve the stress, then went out to find a record shop that was supposed to be in the area.

It turned out to be closed, but I did manage to find the center of the Cardiff nightlife. High Street is quite the place to be on Saturday night. All kinds of people, in their best duds, going here and there, with clubs, restaraunts, and pubs all along. I found some little Indian shop and bought some Curry Chicken (the only thing I've had since the tuna sandwich at 10am). After eating, I decided to blog then sleep. And, so I sleep.