So, after 24 hours of Hull: time for a first intermediate state: The journey was a hurricane over the North Sea a bit chaotic. Next 2 hours waiting at the airport Schoenefeld, is prohibited on smoking by the way - unless one checks out for each cigarette and on.
The flight itself was okay. Self the small Eastern European child next to me was up to the start nice and quiet. After several amateurish attempts to find sleep, we landed at Newcastle International already. From there take the metro to the station. Fortunately, the train had also delayed and I was able to enter towards York. Even in England, the smoking cars are way at the very end. That is on one side somehow humiliating, on the other hand are then less people the way there, that you get a place without problems.
The cleanliness in Metro, as well as train but can be desired. The delay in my schedule was so delayed that I not as intended in the light could travel through England. So half an hour had seen nothing more to Newcastle. It followed repeated attempts to find sleep, and: There's one for even in York. Actually, I thought to myself now have the next train through ask for Hull, but when I get out I see it in the corner of my eye on the adjacent track a small train - are so small, in England there trains that consist just of two cars - at the still less easy Hull claimed. Perfect. Sorry, no smokers. However, since these are twice as dirty as the average Non smoking compartments, this bothers me at the sight of rows of seats in the slightest.
rise by a further hour trip I made in Hull und mache mich auf den Weg zu den Taxis. Der Fahrer versteht wo ich hin will und wir fahren los. Die Bahnhofsgegend versprüht den Charme der 70er bloß nicht mehr so bunt und belebt wie damals. Besser gesagt: Ich hab dort keine Menschen gesehen. Je näher wir aber ans Wohnheim kommen, desto netter wird die Gegend. Hübsche Kontore und Lagerhäuser aus rotem Backstein mit weißen Fenstern, Simsen und Laibungen.
Der Fahrer setzt mich vor dem »Pacific Court« ab und ich suche vergeblich nach der Klingel. Deshalb rufe ich John (sozusagen der »Ausländerbeauftragte« des Wohnheims) an und bin erleichtert, daß es klappt. Nach zwei Minuten steht er auch schon vor mir: Zwei Meter groß, lange schwarze Haare, Beard, long black coat and glasses. He brings me to my room that I just like the flat striking reminder of our hotel in New York (ie, dirty & small). Only the outlook is not so exciting. The room has a small window overlooking rooftops and backyard. In the room are then still: a sink with vanity cabinet, a wardrobe, a writing and drawing table, a lamp without a bulb, a small table, bedside table and bed. For now, lend me John blanket, pillows, tea, sugar, coffee, milk, toilet paper, and the cable for the Internet. Nice guy. Then he shows me the next Take Away and one or two pubs. made
on my own I wanted to once a beautiful Serving fish and chips geniessen.Dummerweise I have a shop but just not displayed. After an hour of searching and a phone conversation with his brother Julius, had to determine where we, that I was here in England should get but can not if my card is empty, so I turned the final but in the take-away, the John showed me had. A "Quarter Pounder and Garlic Mushrooms later," I decided to adopt the evening with a Guinness. Kindly, found in the vicinity of the home an Irish pub. When I arrived it was still quite empty. So no problem getting through to the bar. The first Guinness and to a cigarette. Finally relax again.
filled with time, the store. Fortunately, but not with the somewhat discouraging figures I had seen in my search in the city: young boys and filthy fat girl with far too narrow and short dresses. I notice a poster and read by a singing duo that calls itself "Celtic Cross" and today still is to occur tonight. And indeed, after ten minutes, they take their instruments and get started. Funny to look at they are. Both so the 38 or 40th The one about 2 feet tall, thin, little black hair that stands vertically in a 80's mullet hairdo on end. And such a huge tooth gap, where the cutting teeth must once have been. The other slightly smaller, with blond Hair, in a turquoise Hawaiian shirt. Looks kinda like a stoned Beachboy. They make the two mood, and "Dirty old town" or "Whiskey in the Jar," feels like something alien. Unfortunately, the two will not announce their political message and call to sign on to a petition against Tony Blair. Well, to each his own.
am After the second Guinness I will be so exhausted that I'm on the way to bed. 0:00 Against Clock then I slumber in a deep sleep. I must admit that I seemed to me the first night alone, here in Hull lost something.
But it's also just the beginning.
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