London & A Table for One
I arrived in London on the 7th of February after flying overnight directly from San Diego. After a plane, a train, and a subway, I stepped out into a chilly sun, running on two hours of light airplane sleep, feeling stunned, apprehensive, overjoyed, and everything in between. After two months of hearing people lovingly come at me with “you’re going to come back a different person”, it took me a minute to keep my wheels from turning and eventually combusting. I appreciate the sentiment but keeping this in mind would ultimately manifest as unmet expectations and discontentment with anything short of perfection. That entire evening, I walked alone along the Thames, forcing myself to ignore my twin top bunk oasis in the hostel for a couple hours more. Although it begged me to crash, I couldn’t resist a generous offer to hop on the London Eye and absorb the delicious orange English sunset over the river.
Over those forty eight hours and forty eight miles of English soil, I discovered my obsession with parks. I love the mapping of the entrances, the fields, the trees. Each space with its own energy and intention. Carefully organized walkways leading you to a glorious focal point, most often a fountain with the most glorious naked stones (often mermaids, I swear London has a weird mermaid obsession). I love the way a park welcomes all, encouraging a picnic on a blanket, a sip, a sun soak, a nibble, a breath. Everyone seems to have the same energy in parks and it always feels familiar, romantic, nostalgic. I love hearing a weird chihuahua’s squeal as it meets a yellow Labrador that borderlines a bear. I love the small little humans with their small little backpacks and small little shoes parade down the sidewalk, guided by their frazzled teachers. I love how nobody questions a twenty five year old man laying flat on the grass with a book (yes, me).
Over those forty eight hours and forty eight miles, I found that I have rarely been with myself. I’ve been alone, I’ve taken long drives, I’ve grabbed a bite to eat, but I’ve never been truly with myself. I’ve never sat at a restaurant, eaten a full meal (off my phone of course, it’s rude to be on your phone during a date), fully taste each bite, and truly notice where I am. I used to go to the movies alone to test my ability to mindfully experience life and self love, but it always felt like just that: a test. Over the course of the week, it felt less and less like a test. My first night in London absolutely did as the “you’ll have the time of your life” swarmed my fuzzy and uncertain brain, wondering if I should go down to the weird bar in the hostel to meet some Australians who may be destined to be my life long friends even though I haven’t slept in over twenty four hours and I don’t know what day it is, but that quickly faded. Now, eating meals alone is the default and sharing the company of others is a special alternative when I feel so inclined, which is quite the contrast to my daily life up until to point. I’ve discovered that the sweetness lives in the balance.
I am now on night five, exhausted and content, at Cafe Josephine in Paris (I’ll be getting to that soon..). Having walked what feels like halfway across Europe (my shin splints can confirm), I’ve discovered that Lime bikes will be my best friend. Either way, I’m thrilled to spend the next month searching for the most scrumptious parks, sharing delicious dinners with both myself and newcomers, and making sure I don’t forget any of it. I promise not to turn into a pretentious travel blogger who pretends to be an expert after two days in a city, suddenly mimicking a local. I believe that’s why Europeans are known to hate Americans. But I say let’s normalize a lonely sad girl drink (coined by my little traveler pal from Minnesota) every now and then, highlight not only the sweet moments but also the uncomfortable ones, of course appreciate the beautiful design and aesthetics of each city, and spend this month focusing a bit more on the quarter century part of Quarter Century Modern.