London Calling

Holy shit, you guys. I’m in London!

From the charming, brick and cobblestone sidewalks to the hidden alleyways and corner pubs, I can say that this city is where it’s at. If I could describe it to my friends, I’d say that it is like a hybrid of Washington, D.C., Boston and New York City all in one, but still with its own unique flair that cannot be matched by US cities. London reminds me of Washington, D.C. in the way the streets meet at the strangest of angles and the mingling of stately, white buildings against modern building facades. It’s like Boston with its cuteness and quaintness that hearkens back to its rich (architectural) history. And it’s like New York City where you’ll see all kinds of restaurants, colors of hair, hear every language and see how cities really are places where “everything goes.” Where I’m staying—a neighborhood in the city known for the intersection of office professionals and hipsters referred to as “Brick Lane”—lots of British stereotypes become shamelessly observable: pubs are packed at the end of the workday, with crowds spilling out onto the street (yes, even in the rain); everybody smokes (and by everybody, I mean loads more people than what I see in the US just walking down the street); people are generally friendly and happy to help you find a restaurant or tell you where to grab a drink; and everyone wants to know what you think about Donald Trump.

It’s only my second day here, and already I’ve made friends. For starters, I want to shout-out to my BWI pub pal, Casey, who shared with me that his wife had passed away unexpectedly back in January from the flu. She was only 41. While heartbreakingly sad, Casey’s destination was Iceland, and it was a trip that he and his wife had been planning to take. In her honor, he decided that he would still travel there, and I listened to his story, marveling at the fortitude of his spirit for doing so. I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like to be in his position, and I admire him for sharing his story with me—and a Jager bomb (I had Fireball, of course). It’s stories like these that give me the courage to continue moving forward and validate the voice in my head that says time is a precious thing; don’t waste it! Although he doesn’t know it, he also showed me the depths of love and gave me hope that, one day, I might have someone to share this journey with, too.

So not only did I encounter some amazing people before I even stepped foot onto a new continent, I also found some helpful folks before stepping out of the airport. Traveling alone, I’ve decided, is fun yet also tricky. You don’t have someone to watch your shit when you’re standing in the customs line and need to go pee really bad. You don’t have another set of eyes to figure out where the hell the line starts to buy tickets for the train. Before I left, however, I asked my guardian angels to help me encounter people who were kind and genuine when I was in need of help. So far, they have delivered on that request famously. I met a couple from Chicago who saved my spot in the customs line while I went to the bathroom. They also helped me figure out how to buy a train ticket, what kind of ticket to buy, and which train to take. This was HUGE! I had been freaking out the entire airplane ride, thinking “should I just shell-out $75 for an Uber so I don’t have to worry about where I’m going?” or “do I take the train and challenge myself just to figure this shit out like the world traveler I want to become?” Well, without help, I can’t say that I would’ve been so bold, but I am definitely proud of myself for a) getting on the right train, b) taking the local train instead of the express train to save 11 pounds, and c) getting off at Victoria Station and taking the correct Underground (tube) line to Aldgate East. Yeah man—it may seem silly, but I feel like a flipping champion already. Oh, except for the fact that I walked down the street the wrong way after getting off of the tube and it started to rain as I schlepped 3 heavy ass bags down the busy city sidewalk. For that, I got an Uber to take me directly to my flat, which was only .2 miles away, but you know what I’m talking about when you’re just OVER IT and want to get somewhere to lay down ASAP! (And, my god, my shoulders ache horribly from carrying my bags & suitcase up countless tube corridor stairs. Like, I for real didn’t get out of bed til after noon today because my body was sore and overwhelmed from travel. No shame in my game, people. I have a month of this to endure, so I took a few hours this morning to myself to wallow in sore shoulder self-pity.)

Since I meant to publish this the other day, please allow me to fast forward to my point of view as it is on Sunday:

On Thursday night, I stopped at a corner pub called Ten Bells, which is famously associated with Jack the Ripper. I didn’t even know that it had historical value, but there you go! People say that the best places you visit are those that you stumble upon, and I have to say that I agree. Aside from some of the most challenging bar service I’ve encountered in my lifetime (and I think we can all agree that I know a thing or two about drinking beers at pubs, right?), it was a delightful experience and full of unexpected surprises. First, I ended up sitting next to an American couple, Amanda and Andy, from Michigan. They were simply enjoying their time together, traveling the English countryside in Bath and also enjoying the excitement of London. We had a great time talking about how our lives had significantly changed within the last year; it seems I’m not the only nut job who’s given up their (comfortable) life to take-on a new job or venture. Amanda had just finished a few months (or weeks?) of some intensive schooling for web business, and she was ready as ever to take some time to get away from the stress of learning. Go Amanda!

After they left, I met 2 gentlemen who sat down next to me named Christopher and David. They were both afficianados of Jack the Ripper Lore, and were happy to share with me the pub’s history and role it played in the story of Jack the Ripper. Apparently,The Ten Bells was a pub back in the day frequented by prostitutes looking for clients, and some (or maybe just one?) of his victims were murdered after being seen there. And thus, the legend goes that The Ten Bells is of the Ripper’s hunting grounds. Interesting stuff! But, perhaps more interesting, David and Christoper were genuinely helpful, kind and welcoming. In fact, I enjoyed most David’s advice not to leave my purse unattended, to not accept drinks from strangers and to stay hyper-aware and diligent. I told him how happy my mom would be to hear him say all of those things! Okay, so that’s not all very interesting, but the point is: here I am, alone, a stranger, and once again the universe puts me into connection with two very kind gentlemen who didn’t have alterior motives other than to tell me about how lovely their city is and ask me about my thoughts on Donald Trump. In short: it was great.

I ended up that evening asking another bar patron for places to eat, and I had to laugh at his directions to get to this place called Dishoom: “You go down this road here, and then when you see the tunnel on your right, walk down through the tunnel, then you take a left and then a right. It’s kind of back an alley a bit. You can’t miss it.” Well, Tim, I didn’t miss it (THANK GOD) and those directions—however janky—were greatly appreciated. Dishoom was a treat and apparently it’s “the place” for curry. I was lucky to be able to grab a table right away and enjoy the most delicious ruby chicken with mouth-wateringly good garlic naan.

One of the main things I’ve noticed here is that London is pretty affordable...if you make your money in pounds. But to that end, if you compare food prices to New York City, for example, London is cheap AF. For a curry meal? 11 pounds. For a side of naan? 2 pounds. If you were looking at this in the dollar equivalent, it’s a bit pricey, but if you consider that a pound is like a dollar for a Brit, can you imagine being in the heart of New York City and only being charged TWO DOLLARS for a pint? Or paying less than 20 bucks for a meal? Exactly. So no matter what currency you have in your wallet, I imagine a Londoner can get away with getting drunk and full on 25 pounds in one night. No lie. That’s pretty rad any way you shake it.

My first days of London have been supremely enjoyable. From the clean cityscape and relatively tidy tube stations, it’s an ideal place to feel both posh and modern and touristy and cliche at the same time. At present, I sit in a vegan cafe in East London in full-on hipster glory, sipping an almond milk latte and nibbling tofu scrambled eggs or sourdough with olive oil and chives. Yesterday, I enjoyed hopping tube lines and site-seeing around the city to places like St. Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey in all their breathtakingly beautiful glory. St. Paul’s actually made me cry because it’s so beautiful. I walked up all 10 floors of the Tate Modern Museum to absorb a bird’s eye view of the city, and I made a meme in their #makebreakremake project lab. We stopped by Shakepeare’s Globe, situated right on the Thames, and I bought some cheesy magnets for my family (ask me sometime about my family’s connection to The Tempest). I admired Parliment and the London Eye. If you can’t assume this already, my feet really fricking hurt. But it was all worth it.

If ever you should find yourself in London, just go with it. Be as American as you need to be and ask how to buy an Oyster Card. Take shameless selfies next to the London Bridge. Order fish and chips in a busy pub with crowds of shouting Englishman watching a football match. Get a curry in East London. Stop and pet dogs because you miss yours at home. Give the barkeeps a hard time. Tell that rude Irishman that he can pound sand when he tells you you’re “so fucking American” with an acerbic grin. And be prepared to laugh, smile, make jokes and make friends in this diversely beautiful city called London.







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