Reverse Culture Shock

I am glad I am not in London for the latest tube strike. The 24-hour-long ones were rough enough — this one threatens to last 48 hours.

I once biked the three mile trek to work, dodging hundreds of other first-time bike commuters, along with buses, cabs, and cars. During a 2003 strike, my husband walked four miles; a former flat mate waited an hour for an overland train, which was overflowing with people.

On average, the strikes seemed to happen once a year. But when you throw in rain, or other inclement weather that tended to coincide with tube strikes, you end up with memories of an inconvenience seared into your mind for months beyond the next strike.

Transport for London never seemed to add extra buses or trains to make up for the missing tube service. But I suppose it’s a testament to the tenacity of Londoners that no one rioted. People grumbled, but then they got on with their commutes, trips to the pub, etc. They even joked about it. That I do miss.

I’m not sure how an American suburbanite, who is used to driving to work in temperature controlled comfort, would react to news that they had to walk more than three miles in the rain to work.