Since I was a child, popular culture has led me to believe that the British society was somehow superior to my meager American one. Television, movies, books, radio, all of them depict the Brits, especially the professional men, as orderly, efficient, controlled people usually above reproach, with manners to spare. Why then, is the British rail system such crap?

I’m confident my story has never happened to another tourist (ha!), but I’m exceptionally angry and much poorer after it’s passing.

See, London has a number of stations to depart from according to what city you are travelling to. Last week I went to Manchester from London’s Euston Station. The train I rode went directly through the city of Leicester, where my friend Nicky Fox lives. Today I’m on a train to take her out for a pint. At last.

Seemed like a simple task, go to Euston Station, buy a ticket, come back tomorrow and get on the train. I made a special trip to Euston to buy my ticket. There, the polite ticket agent explained that I could buy a reduced fare ticket to Leicester for 24 pounds ($42 US) with a three day advanced purchase, or a normal fare of 27 pounds ($ 47.25 US) right away. Damn, kinda pricey. I chose the 27 pound one, and told him I was traveling around 4:30 the next day. Fine. There’s a 4:00 train. I call my friend and tell her I’m arriving at 5:23 in the evening.

The next day the subway from my Hostel was delayed fifteen minutes and I arrived at Euston Station just before the 4:00, or so I thought. Unable to find the gate listing for Leicester I stopped in at Information. “I’m sorry, that train leaves from King’s Cross Station,” about a ten minute walk from Euston. Shit, maybe the ticket agent from yesterday could have informed me of that slight detail.

Whatever. I dashed out the door hopped on a bus, and arrived at King’s Cross station. Again, unable to locate the Leicester gate listing, I visited yet another Ticket agent. “Well, that train leaves from St. Pancras station across the street at 4:30.” Jesus Christ! Will no one give me correct information? I ring Nicky and explain I won’t be in till 6 now.

Fine, across the street by 4:06 and the line for the train has already formed. Here I am, sweating, with a fully-loaded backpack and a day pack hanging off the front of my shoulders surrounded by a horde of suit-clad businessmen pushing towards the conductor. Upon reaching him he curtly tells me, “This is a Super-Savers fare and is not valid on this train, the next available is at 7 o’clock. ” The businessmen look at me with disdain,”another low-life backpacker trying to cheat the system.” Will my joy never end?

Off I go to the fourth ticket agent in less than a day, to upgrade. I figure it will be 10 bucks or something. Nope, $43.75 US, and I can’t upgrade the one peak time ticket, gotta do both ways. Call Nicky again to explain, won’t be able to make it till 8:30, wanna call it off? “Maybe you can change their minds,” she offers. OK, I’d try.

Back to the ticket agent. Explain my story. He’s listening, but I’m to get no pass. If I had bought the ticket at his office they would have informed me of the restrictions. But of course. I give up. I pay the upgrade figuring it’s only money, I can always make more. Back on the phone to Nicky. I’m on my way, but you have to buy dinner.

London is hands down the most expensive city I’ve visited on my trip. Perhaps renowned in Europe are the costs of local rail travel, and today I got fucked by the system. My quick trip for a drink with a friend cost a totalcost of 56 pounds, or 98 US dollars, before the dinner. That’s a ton of money compared even to my hometown New York. You could, in fact travel from New York five hours to Washington DC, and back for around 70 dollars. Leicester is one hour and thirty minutes from London. That would cost 24 dollars return, during rush hour back home. Who woulda thought I could find New York a bargain at anything?

And where, during all this commuting madness, was the orderly, calm, intelligent, frugal Brit I’d come to expect? Maybe he turned into the pierced, tattooed dad with the screaming, misbehaved child sitting next to me and making this trip one of the most memorable on my year-long journey.