A Bus from the City that Never Sleeps

They say the crazies come out at night. I'm certainly up late most nights. Partly a result of an unnatural body clock and partly the result of having spent three years as a university student. We arrived at the Greyhound Bus station around three AM. The ticketing area also doubled as a refuge for the damned (aka homeless or fashion innovators devoted to homeless chic). The air had the unmistakable stench of sweat, urine and aggression. It was the first time in America that I felt physically at risk. This was despite there being four armed police personnel in the station.

A Hispanic looking man became enraged when he couldn't get the ticket he wanted. "How can I get to Queens!" he shouted repeatedly. It was more of an order than a question. Somehow it was sorted out between the man, the ticket lady and two of the armed guards/police.

A far more difficult problem to solve, appeared to be the issue of Ed and my tickets. Having bought month long passes on the Greyhound bus from a Sta Travel in Leeds, they were in a style the ticket lady was unaccustomed to. She spent a good ten minutes on each one.

Before coming to the bus station we had read reviews on the greyhound bus. Probably not the smartest move, considering we had to take it either way. If you ever plan to take a greyhound bus trip, read the reviews. If you still want to take it you must really want to go.

Pessimism has its advantages. You won't be disappointed. And certainly the bus journey was completely fine. An event made all the more glorious by our expecting the worst. Seven thirty five in the morning, we arrive in Baltimore, Maryland. City of the TV show The Wire. If you've not watched it, watch it.