The title of the study abroad program is "The Culture of London, Past and Present." We'd spent four jam-packed weeks delving into classic British literature, touring museums, attending plays and musicals and exploring the city on foot. Through our observation and study of London, we'd engaged in dynamic class discussion and formed educated opinions and thoughts on the essence of the city. But it wasn't until I experienced first-hand the events that will forever rock London and shape its history that I felt I could get a grasp on the city.
On the morning of July 7, I awoke to the sound of whirring ambulance sirens. "There goes Septimus," I thought to myself with a smile, recalling the tragic character from Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway." Having reached the final day of our time in London, this literary allusion had become a jest among our group of 40 University students whenever the sound of emergency vehicles was heard.
However, I wasn't halfway down the Regent's College staircase when a classmate told me the news that shook any references to our literary curriculum out of my head, though the shriek of ambulances would continue for the rest of the day and night.
He said there had been explosions in the underground system. Startled, I wondered if anyone had been killed. The thought hadn't occurred to me that explosions meant terrorist bombs.
"At that point, the news sources were saying that the problems with the Tube might have been caused by power surges," recalled my classmate in London, third-year College student Katie Bray, who "had abstractly considered the possibility of a terrorist attack, but never really thought it would happen in London."
Several minutes of watching the BBC proved otherwise, when we learned there had been seven blasts that morning (though it would later be changed to four), which were understood to be the work of terrorists. The scene in the lobby of the place we'd come to know as home was jarring. The normally loud and bustling room was now somber and urgent.
"There was a lot of silence. Some people were crying -- we were basically very caught off-guard," third-year College student Diana Hirtle said, as she remembered last Thursday morning.
Dazed, I sat down at a computer and quickly sent an e-mail home.
"Make sure you e-mail your parents before you come to class. Let them know," said a grave Jon Readey, our usually energetic and jubilant Teaching Assistant. Readey and Professors Michael Levenson and Stephen Cushman maintained a strained but calm demeanor as we tried to figure out the facts of what already had happened, and plan for what might still be possible.
"I wondered if there were going to be any more bombs," Hirtle said. "At that point we didn't know -- we were told there could still be more bombs. The main thing I was worried about was where the next bomb was going to be."
The fear we all felt and the tear-stained faces of more than a few prevented Readey from repeating the rumor he and I had overheard earlier that morning. A gentleman in the lobby had said 30 more attacks were expected within the next 10 minutes. The horror of such a possibility was too much to consider when we felt so trapped --- right in the middle of a minefield.
Instead, our group focused on taking care of three priorities. The first was to make sure everyone was safe and accounted for. After an initial scare with classmate and fourth-year College student Lara Hawkes, who stepped off a train at Liverpool station to switch lines just before that explosion, we were relieved when she returned to complete our headcount. But the chilling scene Hawkes witnessed served as a reminder of just how close we were.
"I watched the train disappear into the darkness and then heard a bang," Hawkes told us that afternoon. "Then there was smoke and everyone was running, jumping over the turnstiles to get out."
Accounts such as these were the most startling.
"I had to stop watching the television after seeing a shot of the bus with the front all torn up," Bray said.
Second, we needed to contact home and let our families know we were safe.
"I e-mailed everyone I knew at home," Bray said, though she "really wanted to hear [her] mother's voice."
Finally, we focused on the logistics of what we would do next. With half of our group holding airline tickets to return the next day to the States and the other half planning on staying in Europe to travel, the completely shut-down public transportation system posed the biggest obstacle. Some students made the 45-minute walk, with their entire luggage in tow, to Paddington Station early that evening. From there they took the Heathrow Express, an airport shuttle which had reopened after being closed midday. I was among a group of students that was able to track down a cab service, after a six-hour search, which was able to pick us up at midnight. About 10 of us spent an uncomfortable night at Heathrow Airport, but we were just happy to be able to catch our flights, which departed as scheduled the next day.
London's swift effort to return to normal life was remarkable. People just wanted to get to work, and there was a solidarity I hadn't felt in the city before. The characteristically stoic, unemotional attitude softened as strangers lent each other their cell phones, or simply took an extra moment to look each other in the eye and acknowledge that we're sharing this experience together. I'll never forget the kindness of a woman working at Heathrow, who did everything she could to get me on an 8 a.m. flight home, instead of the noon flight scheduled on my ticket.
"I know you've been here all night. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you," she told me with a smile.
As my plane took off and I sat back for the eight-hour flight home, moments from the past four weeks kept running through my mind. I thought about the previous Saturday, when I'd stood with thousands of others outside the gates of Hyde Park to listen to the Live 8 concert, and heard legendary musicians, Paul McCartney, Elton John, Pink Floyd, U2, The Who, as they strove to "Make Poverty History" with their music.
I remembered the excitement I'd felt just the day before, as the clock set up in Trafalgar Square to countdown the minutes until the 2012 Olympics decision expired, and we rejoiced that London got the bid. I couldn't shake how sharply it contrasted with the events the BBC now reported, just a day later, that we'd been bombed by terrorists. In experiencing these events, we had ceased to be an audience and had become a part of London.
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