[Last modified: October, 27 2024 05:30 PM]
The 10:30 train to Paris departed promptly from St. Pancras on the crisp, sunny morning of October 26th. As we pulled away from the station, my fellow passengers settled into carriage 12, placing their bags on the luggage racks and wedging smaller items onto the overhead racks that stretched the length of the carriage. I followed suit, placing my small bag on the rack above my head and settling into my pre-allocated seat. The overhead speaker bellowed from the carriage ceiling, notifying us that we were on our way. Most of my fellow passengers took little notice of this, excitedly chatting with their travel companions or lost in the world of their headphone-mediated cocoon. The first ten minutes of the journey were marked by the sound of rustling food packages—a phenomenon I have observed on many journeys. It appears that, despite every intention to save one’s food for a more appropriate hour, it is almost impossible not to demolish one’s lunch upon departure. Additionally, these first ten minutes were characterized by noticeable traffic along the carriage, with those who had not brought food eagerly striding toward the café car. As those on their feet navigated the carriage, they periodically swayed into other passengers, eliciting a “pardon” or “sorry,” and, of course, there was the inelegant dance of squeezing past fellow passengers in the narrow aisle.
As the passengers around me finished their lunch, they settled into other activities. Across the aisle from me, a young girl and her grandmother opened a coloring book to a large floral pattern. They laid out brightly colored markers and began coloring together. The young girl was buzzing with energy as she sang the French nursery rhyme “Coucou Hibou,” eliciting a stern “shhh” from her grandmother with the crescendo of each “coucou.” The passengers in our vicinity appeared unbothered and continued with their respective activities, with several peacefully sleeping and others engrossed in a laptop or tablet. I decided to walk along the aisle to get a better look at the carriage layout. The carriage largely featured a 2-2 seat orientation, with one side facing forward and the other backward. Along the carriage were sets of four seats oriented around small tables. These seats were mostly occupied by groups traveling together, evident in their communal activities and lively chatter. One table, occupied by a family of two adults and two teenage children, was playing a card game—one I couldn’t identify, but it appeared jovial and uncompetitive. Other groups at the four-seaters could be observed drinking and chatting loudly, with sporadic interruptions from conductor announcements or to share a view out of the window. As we continued our journey and were plunged into the darkness of the Channel Tunnel, I returned to my seat, rather keen to engage in some of that sleeping I had observed.
Reflecting on the experience of this exercise, I must note the difficulty I encountered regarding the task of taking field notes. Perhaps it was the closed nature of the environment I selected, but I found myself feeling awkward during the process, worrying that those around me would notice I was observing them. Additionally, the location impacted the quality of my notes, as the movement of the train made some of my handwriting difficult to decipher. Despite this, I found my notes extremely effective in transporting me back to the environment, especially my sketches, which prompted my memory of the space. Ultimately, I believe that with practice, the uneasiness I experienced during the exercise will dissipate and the quality of my field notes will improve.