Life Lessons from London
December 14, 2014
December 14, 2014
Thanksgiving had me catching the traveling bug and jaunting off to London for a quickie 3-day trip. While there was no time to bring back any souvenirs, I did bring back some observations from across the pond.
Oh, London, where the squirrels are trained to attack tourists and Jack the Ripper is alive and well.
More resembling a museum than a regal residence, the London residence of the queen is “meh.” No disrespect. It’s just…a square palace with some gold gates and some strapping dudes staring stealthily. I expected more. I guess take the five minutes to see it to say you saw it and then go drinkin’ at some pubs.
The harassment isn’t all that bad. Actually, it’s harassment to come and eat delicious, delicious Indian food so who can get mad about that? Ok, I’ll admit it did get a little tedious turning down every person who hopped out of the shadows to try and convince you to come eat their palak paneer (and that is not a euphemism) but we survived and eventually found an amazing place called Sheba where the naan flowed like water and the curries curled your toes.
Unless you’re prepared to give your left nut, firstborn or a healthy dose of cash for a $3000 suit or evening gown, don’t even set foot on Sloane Street.
Near Harrod’s, this fancy schmancy row of shops shames us paupers. From Jimmy Choo to Chanel to Valentino it’s a shopping destination for rich folks from across the globe. Me and my Target shoes wouldn’t be appreciated. But I have no problem with that.
The Underground is London’s transportation system, and while at first a tad confusing to navigate, it makes getting around a breeze. However, with tons of people spending tons of time getting from place to place it becomes very intimate, very fast. People brazenly eat smelly foods, silently cropdust and have awkward conversations that should be held in the privacy of their own home while sitting thigh to thigh next to you.
When public transportation doubles as a confession booth it may be a good idea to bring in a priest.
When you imagine a complimentary hotel breakfast buffet in the states, maybe you picture a sectioned off piece of lobby with mini cereals, yogurts and cold pastries. One where you hurry down in footie pajamas amid businessmen in suits to snatch what you can before dashing back up to the room to gorge yourself.
However, in London breakfast buffets are a majestic and delicious experience. White table cloths and china. Servers and hostesses. Hot foods and NUTELLA.
WTF, America? You’ve been doing this all wrong.
Yeah, that iconic sight you picture when you sing “London Bridge is falling down” is NOT London Bridge. It’s Tower Bridge.
THIS dull thing is London Bridge.
I know I just rocked your world but the news couldn’t be helped.