Lady Luck

I visited a casino with my friends recently and we ended up tripling our money.

It was striking to me that a place so bogged down with serial losers could still maintain such an air of possibility. To us, three wary novice gamblers open to the possibility of losing everything we came in with, provided we left with a new experience, it felt freeing despite being at the mercy of the house.

On that night, roulette and blackjack paid me more than an eight-hour shift.

Upon returning home, the isolation of the last few months felt heavier than ever. I made the decision to take control and change my environment, even if only temporarily. For whatever reason, I decided that I would make my way to Germany by train.

Sitting in an empty train station at 1am, waiting for the first leg of my thirteen-hour journey to start, didn’t seem like much of an improvement. Flying would not only have been much more convenient but would also have preserved my personal momentum far better.

After a few minutes of pacing around the platform to keep warm and avoid the obnoxious man who apparently couldn’t stop himself from whistling, the train pulled in. In a flurry in which I witnessed an American couple be turned away for booking their tickets for the next day, which was a simple enough error, I made it on board just in time to be spoken to by a rude member of staff. After a brief confrontation, I was shown to my seat, occupied by the whistler.

In my new seat, due to the cold cabin and constant foot traffic from staff, I spent the next five hours in a state between wakefulness and sleep. After months in the middle of nowhere, Milton Keynes looked more like Night City. I was relieved when my black site on rails pulled in to London Euston.

I soon found that the handle of my suitcase had completely shattered. I’ll never know whether it was the disgruntled staff member or my own grip, strengthened by the stress of just the first few hours of my journey. Unfortunately, this meant lugging it the half-mile from Euston to St Pancras, onto the Eurostar, and around Brussels Midi, like a moron.

This, of course, wasn’t helped by the fact that, upon hearing my accent, the probably well-meaning station employee sent me across the station to the trains heading for London, instead of the ones heading for Cologne, which is what I had actually asked him for. I could’ve fallen asleep in my seat quite happily, if it hadn’t been for the four British men, presumably in the throes of their respective mid-life crises, naming types of classic British sports cars, and cheese (but loudly, such that they would feel as if they were in their twenties).

By the time I arrived in Cologne, I was sick of trains, so elected to take a taxi rather than the metro. After handing over €20, which had previously been £17.19 of my casino winnings, and a “Stimmt so”, I made my way upstairs and slept for twelve hours.

I loved my time in Cologne. Ehrenfeld felt lively but safe, bar the one man who tried to follow me up to my apartment after my food was delivered. I can only generalise based on my own experiences, but people aren’t supposed to live in isolation. Even someone like me, who doesn’t typically enjoy the company of strangers, certainly found value in their presence.

While there, I saw the Dom, which was predictably awe-inspiring, and the zoo, which inexplicably had as many robotic dinosaurs as it did live animals.

Most of my experience there was actually through food. I tried Italian, Mexican, snuck in some McDonald’s and Five Guys, and, on my day trip to Düsseldorf, ate sushi in Little Tokyo. On the way back I received the crushing news.

After months of waiting around, chasing solicitors and estate agents and the vendors themselves, the purchase of what I thought was going to be my new home fell through.

I felt so frustrated with everyone involved. They were all professionals, and yet I found myself wondering where the grown-ups had gone. I spent the rest of the night trying to make a plan, but with nothing grounding me to any particular path, I struggled.

I made the journey home soon after, my new suitcase far more mobile. Leaving Cologne felt wrong, and the train certainly felt like it was moving towards the wrong unknown.

I was struck by the number of armed police at Brussels Midi the second time around. It felt like a guard of honour, but with sniffer dogs. From the moment I left home, I had been putting my life in the hands of others, but I suppose this is never quite as overt as a man with a gun.

I was pressed for time, but luckily, thanks to the mishap with the station employee on the previous journey, I knew where to find the international terminal. I made it through the ticket gate for my connection to London with a minute to spare. In London, I made it onto the final train with a minute to spare once again.

I now realise that one can only take control of one’s life by consciously and consistently putting it in the hands of others. The alternative is endless isolation.

I have also come to accept that all revelations I write about on this blog will be embarrassingly late.