The train was noticeably emptier by the time it crossed into Germany and made a stop in Munich. Most of the passengers had already gotten off and gone their separate ways. Only the bright white light from the ceiling filled the empty spaces left behind. I kept squirming from discomfort in my seat, while almost dozing off but never quite falling asleep. Outside the train window was mostly nothing but darkness. All I could see with my half-awake, dry eyes were blurry reflections of the empty seats and tables. The train made a few more stops at empty, cold platforms until finally arriving in Stuttgart. The temperature in Stuttgart at five in the morning was rather unforgiving, making me regret once again not buying a proper jacket when I had a chance. My original plan was to spend some time in the station until sunrise, when things would start opening up. But there was nowhere to take shelter because the station was open-air. I had no idea where I was going to spend the next few hours out in the cold.
Not wanting to wait around for hours in the open platforms, I started thinking about an alternative plan. Now that I had gotten as far as Southern Germany, the problem of getting to London became a lot simpler. I just needed to get to the nearest city that had a Eurostar train and hop on it to cross the channel. In my case, that city was already decided as Paris because I had already purchased a Eurostar ticket from Paris. If there was a way to get to Paris earlier, I could even catch an earlier Eurostar train and get to London by the afternoon. This plan sounded doable because changing the boarding time was allowed. Who knows, maybe I could even get to Dublin on that very day. The day hadn’t even begun yet, and the possibilities were endless. With this idea, the first thing I did wasn’t look for shelter from the cold, but rush to the ticket vending machine. Since my train to Paris was at around 3:00PM, I needed to find a train that would leave earlier.
The ticket machine showed two trains that were leaving to Paris before mine. It showed that one of them was sold out, but the other one leaving at around 7:00AM was available. This unexpected discovery raised my hopes immensely. It was surprising to see because that option had never appeared in my searches before. That train was perfect in that it would make the following plan possible: I would arrive in Paris by 10:00AM and get on a Eurostar train to London at 11:30AM, arriving there by 1:00PM. That wasn’t all. I could even leave London by 4:00PM and arrive in Dublin by 1:30AM the next morning, on October 27th. That would have been a huge win because I wouldn’t have to look for a hostel in London where the prices were rather eye-watering. I could even leave Dublin that same day and still land in Seattle on October 27th. While I wasn’t sure about doing that because I kind of wanted to check out Dublin, that itinerary would mean beating the time constraints by one full day.
There was one problem that pulled my wild imagination back down to earth. Whenever I tried to purchase the ticket, the machine wouldn’t process the order and instead give some error message I couldn’t understand. I figured the train was most likely booked out, which kind of explained why I hadn’t seen that train earlier when I was looking for options. But hope is a funny thing that makes us ignore rational thoughts. I continued to poke around on the off chance that even one ticket was somehow available. Luckily, there was a small room near the concourse where an information desk was operating. I walked into the room and asked the staff whether I could still purchase a ticket for the Paris train at 7:00AM. The staff said that she didn’t have access to the reservation system and that I would have to go to the ticket office, which was in a nearby building and wasn’t open yet. But on the way to the ticket office, I found a little waiting room with some wooden benches. Things were pretty basic but the temperature there was at least bearable. I camped out there for a bit until the ticket office opened.
As I expected, the ticket office couldn’t help much because all the other trains to Paris had indeed been booked out. I went back to the wooden benches and passed some more time, since everything was still dark and cold. The waiting area was mostly empty except for some travelers who stayed for a short while, and some homeless people sleeping on the floor alongside empty bottles. On one side of the wall was a small television showing the upcoming departures. I watched the 7:00AM Paris-bound train leave on that screen and sort of wished that I had been on it. But missing that train gave some needed closure to finalize the upcoming steps. Today was October 26th and I would be in London in the late evening. With this closure, I booked the train and ferry tickets from London to Dublin on the following day, October 27th. And I finally booked a plane ticket to Seattle on October 28th–I would leave Dublin at around 4:30PM and land in Seattle at 7:00PM local time. The puzzle was finally coming together.
Soon the darkness was gone and the gray sky was seen outside the tiny windows of the waiting room. Cops came by and booted the homeless people out of the area. The trains on the departure screen were becoming more and more frequent, and the day was finally beginning. Although it was still cold outside and nothing was probably open, I thought I’d walk around the city and see a bit of Stuttgart, a city that I hadn’t even known existed before yesterday. Not far from the station, there was a central square with a nearby park but hardly anyone was around. The main streets were also pretty much empty with none of the shops open. I wasn’t too sure how I would pass the time until 3:00PM. It just felt like forever away, and the city looked too unfamiliar and dull. I just sat on a bench near a palace in the central square. It turned out that Stuttgart was a manufacturing hub for Mercedes and Porsche, and there were museums on the outskirts of the city. But I wasn’t even into cars. I just walked around the area alone with my giant backpack.
For what it’s worth, the city gradually started waking up. Shops were being set up one by one in the cobblestone squares where church bells began ringing. Out of nowhere, people and cars showed up and slowly filled the streets. I walked and walked, stopping by random churches and marketplaces. Then I realized that I hadn’t eaten much for the past few days apart from bread and water. So I stopped for a quick bite of some sausage with curry sauce. Anything else was too unaffordable–the rising cost was really hitting me hard as I traveled west.
When I walked out of the cafeteria, the clouds had completely cleared up and the fresh autumn sky greeted me. The main streets, once empty, were now overflowing with crowds visible for miles. The crisp air carried the sound of the church bells further and further, and the heartbreaking cold had given way to the pleasant autumn day. I didn’t know what to make of this sudden transformation of the city. It just wasn’t the same city that had appeared dull and empty merely a few hours ago.
The central square was now alive with vivid fall colors that screamed the peak of the season. Surely they didn’t emerge out of nowhere–they must have been there all along since the morning. The only thing that changed was my perception. What other things in life was I choosing to ignore because they weren’t obvious at the first glance? Maybe everything deserved a second look beyond their outward appearances. It was already nearing two in the afternoon, and I needed to head back to the station to catch the train to Paris. I walked past a sea of football fans in Stuttgart jerseys and red-white scarves, and street artists drawing, sculpting, singing, or playing instruments. I kept walking to the station, leaving the busy streets behind. I did make a quick stop, though. I went over to a nearby mall to grab some more bread and water. Soon, I boarded the train as the afternoon was at its peak.
The train departed Stuttgart and picked up the speed through the peaceful German countryside. With a bit of idle time on my hands, I started thinking about what I should do once arriving in London. A big question to answer was where I was going to spend the night. I figured I’d just stay overnight in a station as I had done in Xi’an. The cheapest hostel I could find near the station was still too expensive, and it sounded a bit crazy to pay that much for a bed in a dorm. But I kind of wanted a shower and some rest, because I pretty much had neither since leaving Istanbul two days ago. Feeling rather tired, I ended up splurging 42 pounds ($57) for a bed in a 6-person dorm room for a night. While I was at it, I also booked a hostel in Dublin to rip the band-aid off cleanly. I thought about camping out at the Dublin airport but it seemed worth staying in the city and exploring it before flying out.
The rural French landscape outside the window mostly consisted of lazy grassland dotted with huge electrical power lines. I believe that the scenery looked lazy not only because of their rustic charm, but also because for once in my trip, the path toward Dublin was finally certain. Without a problem to solve or obstacles to overcome, the road ahead was no longer imbued with the familiar sense of urgency or uncertainty. Rather, the grassland was just a grassland, the sky was a sky, the forest was a forest, and the railroad was a railroad. As the benevolent sunlight flooded the tranquil and hilly French countryside, I felt a certain peacefulness for the first time in a while. Yet, for some reason, the feeling was no more comforting than the perilous thoughts of an imminent failure or helplessness of being overwhelmed by the adverse odds. Something was slightly off and confusing, and then I came to realize why.
It was the things that I feared the most, or how I chose to approach them, that defined the finish line ahead and made it worth pursuing. Without the risk of losing the things I had put on the line, the destination ceased to be meaningful. Almost at the road’s end, I finally understood the real reason I had been so obsessed about walking down this imaginary road to Dublin. Previously, I thought it was to defy life’s forces that pushed me into conformity, but that reason only painted a partial picture. What really spoke to my heart was the risk of spectacular failure and the meaningless struggle against it. There was no point but that was precisely the point. Nothing was inherently meaningful in life, and any pursuits found their likeness of meaning only through the inconsequential steps taken with a full awareness of their meaninglessness. So the question I had been asking all along must have been flipped. It wasn’t about why someone would take on an uncertain and risky task of reaching Dublin from Beijing in twenty four days. A more pertinent question would have been why someone would not do it, rather than do it. Clouds formed overhead and the sunlight vanished. The fields deprived of lazy and bucolic charm, to my eyes, looked a bit more interesting.
The train arrived in Paris Est station by 6:20PM. When I hopped off the train, I didn’t have any bearings on my location. The only thing I knew was that I had to get to Paris Nord station where Eurostar was scheduled to leave at 8:12PM. At first, I didn’t even know where Paris Nord was, but the sign in the station said it was only five minutes away. Although there was probably enough time to safely make the connection, I still rushed to Paris Nord straight away. I couldn’t afford to miss the train, in quite a literal sense of the word because the ticket cost a fortune. After a short walk, I could see the impressive facade of Paris Nord station which was slightly taking on the color of the impending sunset. Actually, it wasn’t only the station building, but also the entire city that was being shrouded in that tension between the coming night and the last glimmer of the daylight. All the streets and buildings, confused and indecisive, were blushing in a faint color of the sunset. I stood around a little bit on the cobblestone street in front of the station just to humor myself for a bit, said goodbye to the city to conclude our brief meeting, and walked into the station.
It didn’t take long to clear the passport control and the security check, and I was sitting on a bench in the departure hall in no time. Through the small windows on the side, I watched the last traces of the daylight disappear over the city streets. I didn’t want to be sitting on that bench and wanted to be walking in those night streets instead. Despite the nonchalant goodbyes, there were some lingering regrets about having to leave the city too soon. Unlike when I was in Budapest, I had come too far and too close to the final moments of the trip to drop all my plans and listen to my heart. The road itself is sometimes more important than what is on it. After a while, there was a loud boarding announcement for the train, and I went down to the platform and got on board. Next stop, London.
The train ride was only slightly longer than an hour, but I was somewhat impatient for the whole ride. I wanted to rest and felt I needed a shower because I hadn’t had one since Istanbul. It was the same feeling I’d had on the train from Urumqi to Kashgar a few weeks ago, after not having had a chance to tidy up since leaving Beijing. Such were the woes of a traveler on a tight schedule. The train kept on moving. The speedometer on the ceiling was showing some high number, but it didn’t feel like we were moving that fast, probably because all I could see was dark and monotonous background of the tunnel walls. I tried to read a bit but couldn’t really follow the book. The last time I had any sleep was when I left Bucharest two days ago, and I felt fatigued. I just stared at the dim background and the occasional white light passing by the window.
The train arrived at St. Pancras in London at around 9:30PM. Walking down the platform, I was kind of befuddled by the little things that had been changing so rapidly over the past few days. All the signs in the station and the shopfronts were once in Hungarian, German, French, and now in English. There were numerous other little things that inundated my senses, although I couldn’t quite put my finger on them. I was too tired to make much of them, anyway. There was nothing much to see or do near the station at night, nor did I have any energy left. I slowly walked to the hostel, navigating the unfamiliar, dark streets of the new city. It was already close to midnight when I managed to unpack, took a shower, and grabbed a bite to eat.
The next day was the day that I would finally reach Dublin. This realization was more intriguing than exciting. It made me curious, not so much about what was in Dublin, but about what it would really mean to get there and how I would feel about it. Put simply, was it all worth it? Would my undertakings, insofar as they were inherently meaningless, come to bear a semblance of significance? I thought I was well aware of the pointless nature of my foolish pursuit. I thought I was fine with it. But it was terrifying to stare the lack of meaning in its eyes and declare that all I had been through was indeed for nothing. This was no longer a daydream. Dublin was no longer just an abstract destination. Now that it was within my reach, the prospect of taking the last step made me wonder what it would all mean. But neither these doubts nor the muffled bass from a nearby bar was quite enough to keep me awake. I fell asleep in no time, with my backpack packed and ready to go for the coming morning.