October 27, 2025, Harlington, England- “Wonder of wonders! We actually have a train that stopped in York!” The solid lady, nearly out of breath, had just raced across the station in the historic northern English city, after the earlier train that she and her husband were planning to board was canceled. She told me that only the train between Edinburgh and King’s Cross, London has York as one of its stops and not all the time.

I bid mar sin leat to Edinburgh, finding my way easily to Waverley Station from the Victoria Street bus stop. The train to King’s Cross was right on time for departure, with stops at several north English and eastern Midlands cities. There were no stops in the south of Scotland, so our first was at Newcastle-on-Tyne. The only things I knew about the now fairly updated city were that it was not the place to be shipping coals (Tyneside was a major producer of the mineral) and it is the home of Eric Burdon and the Animals, a well-known ’60s band. Newcastle became the only place where I snapped a photo, on this leg of the journey. Here is the River Tyne.

Most of the rest of the trip featured tracks with high berms, factory districts and tunnels. York might have been an exception, but I was engaged in concern for the hapless fellow passengers who were trying to catch their breath. By the time all were settled and happy, the great cathedral had long passed from view.

I have rekindled an appreciation for couples, along this 7-week journey. I find most Europeans along the way are quite happy in their relationships. This has been true across generations. It was nice to see a relationship form on this train, as a Mexican gentleman sat next to a Filipina woman and engaged her in a lengthy conversation. They left the train at King’s Cross, hand in hand.

Once at King’s Cross, I followed instructions and sought the Elizabeth Line. An older couple from the Midlands were headed in that general direction, so I tagged along with them, and got on the line to Reading, which let me off at Hayes-Harlington. From the bus stop, I joined a group of college students who were headed to a hostel, just not to Apple Guest House, my lodging for the night. My trusty locator got me to the front door of Apple, only to have no one answer the door bell, nor was there any message with a numerical code.

Piffle! The only thing to do was go to dinner. So, back I went, backpack, roller case and all, to The Pheasant Inn, just up the street. The host had seen this situation before, and calmly seated me at an inside table, I fetched an N/A and the counter attendant took my meal order. He also gave me the WiFi password, the subtle hint being that now I should call Apple’s contact number and leave a message, at least. Perfect! Within minutes, I had a message that served up the numerical code for the front door. Dinner was excellent and the ambiance of The Pheasant was as welcoming and relaxing as any place I’ve been, these seven weeks.

When I got back to Apple Guest House, the door was open, as a food delivery man, who also lives there, had just returned from a run. I made my way upstairs, and settled in for the last night in Europe. Apple’s rooms are small but comfortable, so I promptly left my initial annoyance in the dust bin.

Tomorrow, a long flight will take me back to the lovely Southwest.