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It's been just over a month since I returned from my tryst across the pond in good ol' London town. A little under two years since my summer there, I arrived at Heathrow airport sans companions, alone with my luggage, an old Oyster card and a wave of jetlag on the brink of rendering me incapable of functioning. I remember when I had arrived there in June 2011, fueled by nervous adrenaline and a pit in my stomach that can only be described as the harsh realization that I was thousands of miles away from every single person I knew. This time, both the pit and adrenaline were gone. I focused on getting a cab -- I knew exactly where to go, what to do and what to expect. The fear that my overseas excursion would swallow me whole and leaving me cowering in the large belly of a foreign city was a distant memory. Instead, I sleepily made my way to my friend's apartment, encouraged by familiar sights and early morning London traffic.
Despite all of this, hopping right back into things, it didn't actually hit me that I had finally returned to the place where I had so many fond memories. In fact, it wasn't until the next day (Saturday) that I was faced with the reality: I was back in London. It hit me when I was riding the London Underground -- the tube. After a bit of assistance, my Oyster card was not only re-activated, but even had some money on it. I headed to one of my favorite spots/events: Borough Market.
My friend was sleeping in, so I set forth alone, safely hiding my A to Z map in my bag, lest anyone mistake me for an annoying American tourist. I could hardly be called that -- I had a UK phone number! A working Oyster card! A decrepit tube map! As I headed towards the appropriate platform to board the tube, I was shocked at how effortless it all seemed. It had been two years, but all of the city's familiarity embraced me. Steadying myself for my ride towards the London Bridge stop, I felt like an old friend was hugging me -- granted, that may have just been the fact that I was packed like a sardine into the subway car, but I felt an amazing sense of contentedness. I was back. Had I even left? There may be a famous song about leaving one's heart in San Francisco, but in that moment, I was sure my heart had been left in London.
The rest of the week was a happy medium of sightseeing, relaxing and partying. There was no pressure to fit in tourist attractions/major sights nor was there an urgency to plan my schedule down to the very last minute. I had a few goals -- visit an old friend, see the British museum, have a Kinder egg -- that were easily attainable and would insure a successful trip.
I remember talking about my trip prior to leaving with a friend I met that 2011 summer in London. We were trying to figure out whether or not our love for London was something that would pass with time or with another visit. I wondered that too while en route to the city. However, once roaming those all-too-familiar streets, emerging myself in the London's busy activity and foot traffic, I realized that my love affair with London was far from over. If anything, it only reaffirmed my fondness for the city and its people. Certainly, I could list some of the things I love about London: the almost seamless way it blends modernity with its rich history, the wit and dry humor shared by its friendly inhabitants, the way it welcomes a diverse international population and yet still is very distinctly "British..." And yet, still, I know that other cities exhibit qualities similar to these (in their own way). I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but I believe Samuel Johnson says it best: "when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Suffice to say, I am anything but exhausted.
