Five Days in London

Samantha (center), Mia (left), and myself (right) on Big Steve's Tour, on the middle of the Tower Bridge. Samantha was able to spend 24 hours with us in London... so naturally this is the only picture of the three of us we took:)

London has been my ultimate goal since I first mastered a proper British accent as a child. I couldn’t tell you why I have always felt such a strong desire to live there, but something about it has always seemed so regal to me. In middle school when my undying love for One Direction became the premise of my being, I made the promise to myself to become a British citizen. Silly I know, but also completely valid in reasoning. So, when I realized I would have the time to see the city over my fall break, the decision to splurge and buy the plane ticket was painstakingly obvious. Mia and myself were to spend a glorious five days in the Motherland, which is not enough time in the slightest but also more than I could have ever fathomed. Landing at Stansted Airport was the most euphoric feeling I have ever had. And then as we neared closer to Liverpool Highstreet train station, and the skyline of downtown started to come into view, I think a tear or two may have fallen from my eyes. It was like I was coming home after too long away. Our first steps through the city, into Holland Park were ones of complete awe, heads looking up and down and around, trying to soak in every sight and sound as not to miss a single thing. The people were dressed to the nine, with chavs sneaking around in the background. The cars were somehow moving in the wrong direction, and the whispers all held the purest of noble tones. It was perfect. Even the air smelled English. But not everything can be perfect, because fate has a cruel and unusual sense of humor.

The two weeks leading up to the trip were dedicated to getting plane tickets, booking our accommodations, and making lists of things we needed to see. I felt so grown up, planning my first trip to another country, besides Italy, pretty much on my own. Flights were easy, and sights were easier, but accommodations is where the universe decided to play a silly little trick on us. We decided to stay at a cheap, well rated, and centrally located youth hostel near Holland Park and Kensington. Upon our arrival to this hostel, things were already starting to go wrong. Our first sign should have been how damn hard this building was to find. On the website it was advertised as being this gorgeous, old, castle-like building nestled into one of the city’s largest parks. Well, it ended up being a shady concrete structure next door to the gorgeous, old, castle-like building. We arrived about 30 minutes earlier than our stated arrival time and were pretty sure they would just let us check in and drop our bags off into our room. Wrong. We ended up having to wait until 3:00, outside, while a little too nice Scottish man, easily in his mid-forties, decided to eavesdrop on our conversation and add his own thoughts. This should have been the second sign this may not have been the best idea. Check-in time rolled around, and we were able to get the locks for our lockers, the key to our room, and go put our things away. When I tell you, entering that room for the first-time will forever be ingrained into my mind, I am not lying. Mia and I stumble into this room with our bags, sweaty bodies, and parched throats to see a middle-aged man, PANTSLESS, drying his feet. I should have turned around right then, but I am not a quitter and so I continued on. We managed to find our peculiar fuchsia bunks and get all of our stuff safely put away. The room smelled damp, like old men and feet, and the only other youths in our room were another girl, traveling solo, and a gay man who couldn’t have been much older than Mia and myself. Traumatizing is the only word I can think of to describe this place. After we finished settling in, the first day in the city was great. We explored the neighborhood, got some food, went to a bookstore, and got caught in a rainstorm. Essentially the complete British experience. The time rolled around for us to head back to the Hostel before going to the bus stop for our nighttime city bus tour. This is when I started to realize I might be a quitter after all.

The bus tour was lovely. Our guide, ‘Big Steve’, loved our American nature and made us laugh and taught us so much about his beloved London. I wont lie, this was probably one of the highlights of the trip for me; listening to a rather large man with a nearly incomprehensible accent, make fun of us and give fun facts sarcastic embellishments. After our tour ended, we needed food desperately, so we did what any rational 20-year-old girl would do, we went to Taco Bell. And let me tell you, I have been MISSING Taco Bell, the Italians are too good for it I guess. We traveled with our Taco Bell back to the death trap and got ready for bed. To say that was the scariest night of my life would be the understatement of the century. I ended up calling my parents in the middle of the night, whisper crying that I was scared I was going to die, and I couldn’t stay there for one more night, let alone four. So, we found a cute, inexpensive, hotel nearby, and the next day we were out of there. Thank god for the internet and travel websites. I will say I have a certain level of appreciation for the hostel, it taught me that I can do hard things and you can travel on a budget. But it also taught me I am too anxious, bougee, and germophobic to ever do it again. You live and you learn I suppose.

The rest of our trip was a fever dream and is so blurred in my mind I don’t know if it will ever be clear again. We ate at Nando’s, saw incredible art, walked until we had bruises and blisters, rode the tube, and saw Abbey Road. It was like everything I had been imagining my whole life was not just a dream, it was reality. It was during the changing of the guard my wants to live in London were confirmed and I decided the next part of my future. My mom says I have this way of speaking my life into existence, that everything I have ever said I wanted to do, I have done. And so, when I told her I was going to live on a Narrowboat, gut it and refinish it and learn how to drive the thing along the narrow rivers that interlace through the city, she told me that she would meet me there when the time came. It’s a strange feeling to idolize a place. It’s like when I decided I was going to move to New York, I was so terrified I would hate it after a while, and I wouldn’t be able to handle it. And at first that was my reality; fear and unsureness over whether or not I belonged there. But overtime I grew to love it, and now I call fucking Poughkeepsie, New York my home. Crazy how life works. London was different though. I expected to love it and want to live there and never want to leave. However, I didn’t expect to feel like I belonged there and fall in love with a city that had always seemed like a figment of my imagination. Being there and existing there was the first time in my life where I have felt fully and undeniably myself. My stride matched the pace of the locals and my wardrobe stood out just the right amount. My love of literature kept me grounded and I felt, for the first time since leaving Poulsbo, like I was actually at home. Isn’t it beautiful how that can happen? How a place that was once a stranger can become the place you feel most like yourself in the world? Scary hostel and all.

Our last day in London, day five, is probably on my list of greatest heartbreaks. I remember waking up that morning and knowing what was ahead of me for the day. I remember feeling so depressed and angry about having to return to Florence. Trust me, I know how pretentious this sounds but it’s the truth. Leaving London felt like leaving a piece of myself behind. When I said this to my mom, subtle tears in my eyes, she said “the part of you that is there will wait for you to go back and get it, no matter how long it takes”. I think this is true in many regards, like when you move away from home for the first time, and then leave your new home to live in another country. The bits of yourself that you leave scattered across the Earth remain in place until you can make it back to retrieve them. No matter how long it takes.

-         Miss O