It’s the middle of the week, the heatwave has brought out the whole of London for beers and rowdy cheerfulness and the 24 bus is nowhere to be seen. I walk the 35 minutes necessary to reach my hotel, arriving sweaty and emotional. Staying in a hotel in London, alone, there’s something inherently wrong with this picture. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’m decidedly more fortunate than most – leaving a city I called home for over 20 years to live somewhere else and yet being able to come back somewhat often. When I land at Heathrow the tiredness falls away because I’m home and the streets beckon. I’m staying in Victoria this time around – a fancy hotel – and I’m thinking about all the times over the years when friends asked for hotel recommendations and I had no idea what to say. At least now I’m gathering some information and I’ll be better prepared. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walk the streets and I belong and yet I don’t belong. There is no house to return to, my stuff is now in the Bay Area and some have been sold in Dubai. My suitcase is filled with what’s necessary for a work week, with the addition of – for the first time – converters from US to UK plugs. I am however, an adult here, in my mind – whereas when I land in Athens I’m still 20 years old. In London I’m closer to my present reality and yet at bit disconnected. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regardless, I take a lovely American out for a walk; Bloomsbury, Seven Dials, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly. I point out in turn the actual seven dials, the Covent Garden market, the bridge of aspiration<\/a>, Nelson’s statue, the plinth Londoners left empty and the posh F&M. We have breakfast at The Wolseley<\/a> because that’s the most old London place I can think of. He bravely tries the black pudding. I have tea with milk instead of coffee. <\/p>\n\n\n\n In the evening I sweat it out having tapas and wine with friends in Covent Garden – feels like we saw each other yesterday but it’s been over two years. We perch on the stools, talk prices, elections and new adventures. I crash at around nine thirty and face the long walk back to the hotel with my jet-lag punishing me for choosing to have a long day. The city is breathing the humid air, I always notice the northern European pasty skin – always on men – getting redder and clammy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.stuffbysofia.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/IMG_20240625_215544_028-819x1024.jpg?resize=640%2C800&ssl=1\")
<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n