Travel as its own education

“Now entering … London Bridge Station. Change here for the Northern Line and National Rail services.” As the doors opened, I was thrust out in a tide of briefcases and stilettos. Bracing myself for the eight-minute walk to my next train, I stepped onto the escalator and began to soak in the surreal and quintessentially London scene before me: the captivating advertisements for musicals in the West End, a fleeting glimpse of a red double-decker bus on the street outside — until a deep cockney accent brought me out of my daze. “Excuse me, miss — excuse me!” I hopped to the right just in time to see a burly gentleman rush past me in a dark suit. Several others followed. Flustered, I turned to the man directly behind me. He shrugged and gestured ahead. “Stand to the right. Walk to the left.” His bemused smirk told me it was obvious. He turned back...

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