My London Love Affair

Hello All,

Some of you who read my blog know that I've always wanted to go to Europe. It's been something I've wanted to do since I first knew about it in grade school. My eyes would always grow big when teachers spoke of foreign places, and I always wanted to see the places spoken of with my own eyes. Well, just after my 25th birthday (eek!) I was fortunate enough to go on the trip of a lifetime. I planned it myself, without the help of a travel agent, and had no regrets. My money was saved up, my route was planned and directions were printed, research was completed. By the time the day came when I was due to board the plane to London, my first city of a few that I would visit during my 18 day trip, I was so excited to go that it didn't really hit me..I was getting on a plane and going to a place where I didn't know anyone.

I never told my mother, but about midway through the flight, it hit me. "What if I get sick? What if I get lost? What if I get robbed or attacked, or worse? Who would be there for me?" The closer I got to London, the more these thoughts seemed to disappear from my mind and more practical things filled it instead, such as "How the hell am I going to lug this bag around? What am I going to eat? What should I see first?" I stepped off the longest flight I'd ever taken on the Atlantic and faced the unknown with the optimism of a newborn. I breathed the air, looked around me and threw my arms up in absolute joy. This gesture, along with my American accent and naivete, was greeted with laughs and grins. I didn't care, though...for 18 days, the overseas world of Europe was mine, and I intended to do all I could to conquer it.

The trip started in London, actually Heathrow Airport. I remember stepping off the plane and not knowing what to expect, if people in the Queen's Guard uniforms would be standing there or if I'd be immediately offered tea and crumpets. I certainly did not expect to be interviewed for at least 5 minutes by the UK Customs Officials, while I saw plenty of other Americans bounce past the officials in seconds. However, I took it with a grain of salt, and carried on. After getting my luggage to the train, or 'the tube', lugging it up stairs, getting lost twice and then finding my way, and finally finding my hostel....I was beginning to relax. After bumbling around until I was able to get into my room, taking a hot shower and then going out, I did not feel like a tourist, but instead like I was home.

I walked throughout the streets, the well known ones and the 'dodgy' ones and felt as if I'd lived there for years, without a map, without a compass, without a guide. I found myself in supermarkets, coffee shops, burger joints, pubs, bars and nightclubs... shoulder to shoulder with the Brits. I drank potent apple cider for the first time, and also drank absinthe. I was asked by men to sit with them and entertain them with my "cute American accent". I did not receive any rude treatment, and when I did try on a Brit accent to buy a paper and some cigarettes for a roommate, the owner of the shop asked me what part of London I was from. "Brixton", I said, as I handed the exact amount to him, darting out of the shop before more questions ensued. I also made sure to do the "typically tourist" things, like walking through Hyde Park, stopping at the Marble Arch and the Wellington Arch (which is pictured with moi to the left) and at least see the inside of the Sherlock Holmes Pub. (They serve phenomenal fish and chips there, FYI)

I found out about the history of Big Ben, rode the London Eye and walked along the Thames River. I ate fish and chips, skipped the bangers and mash and indulged in a pint of ale. I drove past Wimbledon, tried Ethopian food and learned some Brit slang. I began to count my money in terms of quid, half-quid, quarter-quid and so on. I did not mind the intermittent rain, the cool breeze that whipped through my hair, and the awkwardness in dialing 13 numbers instead of 10, and how being a "vegetarian" was not as commonplace as it is in the States. I went without coffee. I woke up in the early mornings and walked, took the tube to random places, and saw the splendor of Harrod's. I was on a bus that drove on the London Bridge, stood in a spot where people were executed, and I learned the difference between crisps, chips and fries.

I walked through Piccadilly Circus, saw Madame Tussauds and stood at the site of the 02 Theatre where a Michael Jackson sign was being erected. I was hit on by men from Australia, New Zealand, Germany, France, Netherlands, Poland and Italy. I was able to find my way through a crowd of jubilant men and women, celebrating the arrival of an upcoming weekend by dancing the night away. I took a black taxi through a ghetto and saw their version of public housing. I saw the docks where the Titanic was built. I ate one of the best meal I've ever had in my life at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant and, if I did nothing else, I danced.

I was without a care in the world, happy and the world was my oyster. Simply, because I was in love. And I had made friends there too, who embraced my bumbling American way and made sure I was given a true tour of the city. Not something you get on a double-decker bus, or from a booth in front of the Ridley's Believe It or Not Museum. The way in which I was welcomed and embraced by the city and its people, wholeheartedly and without reservation, was priceless. It couldn't be bottled or mass distributed. As I reflect, I know that there is no price for what I experienced when I was in London. During those days, I fell in love with a city blessed with a history longer than the States. I look at my pictures from those days and I realize something, that my love affair with London is ongoing.

Thoughts?

Ashley Robin

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