London, until we meet again...

I'll be honest, London wasn't on my list of places to travel while in Europe. If not because it was so similar to the states, because I'd heard it was the most expensive city, and also that it was often gloomy, and let's be real, I don't do well with gloom.

You're probably wondering why I ended up here then. Well, I don't know. Things just happen I guess. Spring break plans fell through, I had time, and Laurent was there. I am a leaf in the wind.



Anyways. I came, I toured, I fell in love.

As a firm believer in signs and the validity of gut feelings, every arrow I came across in this large, admittedly expensive yet incredible city, pointed to me coming back after college.

In fact, I even know where I want to live. It's called Patemoster Square, a lovely little metropolitan area by St. Paul's Church. Clean and perfectly designed to accommodate it's young working class residents, this part of the city is characterized by coffee shops on every corner, yoga studios, and organic cafes, and whoever isn't walking through dressed to impress for a day at the Wall Street Journal or Tate & Associates is jogging or enjoying a fresh salad in the sun. I've never felt more at home.

I may have never planned to experience London outside of the Heathrow Airport, but as it always does, Fate's gentle push lead me right where I was meant to be.

Day one in my future hometown, I settle at my hostel and get busy exploring the city. Laurent, Chap, and I make our way towards Harrods, a world-famous (and UK's largest) high-end department store.

Aside from its 330 departments, and million square feet of selling space, Harrods is known for its aesthetic luxury (think inner balconies and Egyptian Sphinx made of gold), and also for it's Food Hall, which was, unsurprisingly, my personal favorite.

It had walls of beautifully packaged tea and coffees of every assortment, as well as equally lovingly packaged chocolates and every other type of crumpet one might enjoy during their afternoon tea.

My one souvenir from London (other than an empty bank account), was loose-leaf afternoon tea from here. I chose a pink and gold tin can featuring Harrod's beautiful storefront, complete with quaint green awnings and one of the red busses London is so characterized by. I figure its representative of the history and culture, and once I drink the tea, I can reuse the tin to store things like flowers and jewelry, thus serving as a daily reminder of what I have to look forward to.



We went to a typical London pub for dinner, where I was finally able to order a decent salad. (I had a bite of Laurent's fish and chips, and yes, they were as mouth-watering as they are rumored to be here).

Colleen met up with us at this point, and we picked up a few English beers to enjoy in Trafalgar Square, where there was a huge digital countdown to the Olympics. Laurent "iced" Colleen here, which is something I'm sure most Americans who participate in this game wont think of doing in another country.

Day two in my future hometown was chalk-full of site-seeing to make up for how little I did in Dublin. I saw Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, The Tower of London, the Tower Bridge, St. Paul's Cathedral, and Buckingham Palace.

I also spent a lot of time beneath this monstrously large city hopping on and off the tube, which is sort of like playing a game. You have to be strategic and the better you get at it the more fun it is.

I wonder how long it will take Orange County to catch on to this incredible and efficient underworld, and why they haven't already. Can you imagine taking a 10 minute subway to Newport instead of sitting for an hour in traffic? My tan would sure appreciate it. Just sayin'.

Just a small, slightly embarrassing side-note: It began innocently enough, when I started accidentally calling things "lovely" or "brilliant". A hint of an English accent may have crept into my speech once or twice, but nothing I couldn't laugh off as a "joke". But spouting out "bloody hell" when I couldn't find my pen at one, telling, moment...well, this can't continue. At least until I am officially a UK citizen...It's just embarrassing.





Anyhow. After dutifully hitting up at least some of London's main attractions, we came to the sad realization that this was Laurent and Chap's last night in Europe, as their program in Rome had already ended and their after-program traveling had come to an end.

So we had a celebratory dinner of ginormous and wonderful burgers (a particular dish I haven't enjoyed since my last trip to In N' Out), and sat for hours nostalgically discussing the many adventures been on together.

Laurent, Chap, and I have met up all over the globe at this point, which is something most people can't boast of getting to do with their high school friends. Seattle, Newport, Florence, Rome, Dublin, and London are among the cities we have explored together, in each one having unforgettable memories (and perhaps the occasional lack thereof). It really is something special.


I saw them off the next morning, and instead of heading to the airport with them to wait for my later flight as I had originally planned, the beauty of the afternoon, the vitality of the city I was in, and the scolding of my travel bug for not maximizing my time abroad had me resolved to explore London on my own.

So I wander past the History of Natural Science Museum, Imperial College, and the Royal Albert Hall (one of the biggest music venues in London), and end up at Hyde Park.

I stroll through, ending up at Kensington Palace and, unable to afford the current Princess exhibit (yes, my inner-princess is terribly disappointed), I settle for laying in the grass in Kensington Gardens. The sun feels incredible on my back, and my deathly pale arms are just sucking up these my needed (yeah blah cancer blah) ultra violet rays.

As I lie here aside the "Round Pond" within the gardens, I realize that I am completely alone. Not figuratively, as I always have myself to keep me company, but physically. I mean, in this park, in this city, in this country, hell, this continent. Ridin' solo.

The peculiar thing about being in a foreign city alone is that, for someone not used to doing what they feel like, rather what they need to or should do- its hard to keep what I want to do straight.

For example, I decide that I want to find a place to sit and write, and I don't think the pond is the best spot so I decide to find a more private garden, but then I decide my feet hurt so I lay in the grass and end up writing after all. Then I decide its time to head towards the airport, but then I see a bench surrounded by flowers and I am inspired so I sit and write, shortly accompanied by a sweet little old lady who's feet don't even touch the ground so she keeps lifting them and clicking her little heels together.

The freedom of it all is so nice- to be able to up and change plans according to my mood or how interesting something I may stumble across is, but its still so odd to never really know exactly what it is that I want. Like a slave suddenly told- "ok, deals off, you're free, to go do as you please". Where do they even begin? At least there is some degree of security in slavery.

But basking in the sun, surrounded by daffodils, and chirping birds, I can't imagine being happier under any other circumstances. I lazily flip through a few pages of the book I picked up in Dublin, which ironically describes the main character traveling back home to Dublin after living in London for her adult life. The passage I end at seems too symbolic not to note:

"Though for the first time in ages I feel as if I’m actually alive. Maybe it's the breeze in my face, or the sun on my back or the colors of the grass. And the freedom of the open space and knowing that I can go anywhere and do anything I want. I’m in touch with a small part of myself that I thought might be gone and it’s the most wonderful feeling, as if I’m coming home, back to myself, after a terrible separation. I am, I realize with a jolt, content." - Martina Reilly in "The Summer of Secrets"

Although not quite as jolting of a realization for me, as I've been given a few months to slowly slip into this contentment, this paragraph fits like a puzzle piece right into my heart.


I didn't get to do half of the things I wanted to in London, including the Harry Potter tour and the Jack the Ripper walking tour, but I quickly came to terms with the fact that this trip was more or less a "window shopping" experience.

I already have elaborate plans of the things I will be doing in the future (shopping at Harrods being at the top of the list), and am not walking away feeling deprived, since I have a strong feeling I will be back in the near future.



An image of myself materializes, respectfully put together as all Londoners seem to be, holding a coffee in one hand, passing Westminster Abbey as I walk towards my modern corporate building, hippie flat, drinks with friends, or wherever my twenties find me. It's too clear to be called anything but a premonition ;)

Until next time London…