In December 1999, my wife and I went to London to visit a daughter who was studying at the University of Oxford. I had a Canadian friend who was teaching and coaching at the American School in London, and because he was going home for the holidays, he graciously said we could stay at his place in a small town just outside the city.
We were aware of Y2K concerns, but it was our only opportunity to visit. The tech-wise people we spoke with before we left told us we really didn’t have anything to worry about, that the computer issue was being blown way out of proportion. Still, predictions of doom and destruction were rampant.
That had never stopped either of us before. It wasn’t going to now.
While in England, we saw the usual tourist spots: Stonehenge, Westminster Abbey, the Imperial War Museums, Trafalgar Square. We drank Guinness in pubs. We ate fish ‘n’ chips wrapped in brown paper at a roadside pop-up on the English Channel. We also got to drive on the other side of the road. If Y2K meant that the world was about to be irrevocably changed, we would be greeting it in style. Huzzah!
On the last day of the 1900s — Dec. 31, 1999 — we found ourselves in London. That day, we visited Greenwich, the birthplace of Greenwich Mean Time and the home of the Prime Meridian at 0 degrees longitude — the line that separates the eastern and western hemispheres.
If anything was going to happen with Y2K, it would happen here first.
We tried to get something to eat, but it was impossible. The pubs and restaurants were overflowing. As the day wore into evening, the streets of London began to fill up. We didn’t know anybody in London, and we didn’t have any place in the city to stay. The atmosphere was odd — joyous and fearful, back and forth. We could feel the tension in the air. We got nervous.
What if Y2K concerns were real? What if the banks, the power grids and the transportation systems were all about to crash? We were a long way from home, and despite assurances to the contrary, there was still some doubt. We decided to get out of town.
We caught a train to our temporary home. There weren’t many passengers. When we arrived at our stop and started walking, we noticed right away that the town was dark. Even the pub was closed. The streets were empty. It was very eerie. We were hungry and cold, so we figured that we would just get home, rustle up something out of the refrigerator, crawl into bed and get warm. Whatever was going to happen — or not happen — would do so without our participation.
We turned a corner, and there it was: an open business, all lit up! An Indian restaurant! We stopped and looked in. All the tables were empty. An Indian couple, the owners, rushed out and said, “Come in! We’ll feed you! Please have a seat — anywhere!”
So we did. The food was excellent — chicken tikka masala, naan, Kingfisher beer. The owners were overjoyed to have someone — anyone — in the restaurant. We were quite glad to be their best customers that night, maybe ever.
We had been so hungry and thirsty and tired and edgy, not to mention surprised to find anything open, that we lost track of the time. The small clock on the back wall told us it was almost midnight. We were about to find out what Y2K was all about.
Out of the kitchen came the owners with huge smiles on their faces, carrying a big bottle of champagne and four glasses. They filled the glasses, and we all stood and faced the clock.
Tick tock — midnight! The only thing that moved was the second hand. The world did not come to an end.
We were no longer hungry or cold or confused or afraid. We were instead struck by how simple life can be sometimes, how kind, how pleasant. We toasted the new year, each other, the Queen, our friends and families, our health and our incredibly fortunate lives. Cheers!
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