Trying to explain or understand my love affair with London is something I've been trying to figure for years, and I've finally come to a conclusion: there is no right answer, no rhyme or reason, it just is.
Perhaps it is genetic, as my well traveled mother and cousin also claim London as their own. As does the Queen, Shakespeare, the whole of the West End, Burberry and more. I am in fine company.
The understanding I have of the love Frances had for Italy in Under The Tuscan Sun encompasses my love for London. Sure, there are a zillion things to do--and I've done a good 80% of them, but, my favorite thing is to sit on a park bench with a bag of scones and a cup of tea and just sit. I could sit for hours.
This is a honed skill. The novice need not apply. I remember when I learned this skill. I was 18 and dating a beautiful Danish boy named Bruno. I know, I know, the name held me up too. But, he was tall, blonde, blue eyed, everything you'd expect of a Dane. Handsome. Charming. Endearingly sweet. Sarcastic in a way that only he has ever been. Kind. He was for me, the ultimate. (to be clear, it was a short lived affair but to this day he holds a special place in my life for the following reason)
I remember us piling into my car and just driving. Driving and listening to music. Not talking. Not singing. Just us. We ended up at a park, the only one in my small town and we bought some ice cream and sat on a park bench.
I, ever the sugar fiend greedily tore into my ice cream as he, the refined European took to it like a scared bird. I learned to slow down--even if it just involved ice cream. And there we sat. Talking. Not talking. Just being. He did this a lot at home, he said. How mature! How European! Sign me up, please!
Ever the go go go-er, this task challenged me for years. I was always in a hurry. A hurry to get out of California, a hurry to lose weight, hurrying to work, hurrying to finish school and so on. Which is always dumb because hey, guess what happens when you hurry? You're always early. That revelation still hasnt hit me. I spend a majority of my time waiting because guess who is always early to every damn thing in her life? Exactly.
But, back to London. If Bruno taught me how to be still, it was London that taught me how to master it (and Madrid that showed me I can share this with another).
I arrived in London bright eyed and bushy tailed, a young girl on her first travel assignment for work. Back when I dreamed of high powered PR jobs, corner offices and expensive suits. Ahhhh, youth. I was traveling with a colleague who had grown up in London and we were meeting in the hotel lobby at 7 for dinner. I arrived at the hotel at 11 am. Sure.
With nothing to do and nowhere to be, I took off, map in hand for a park. Green Park to be exact. I walked to Buckingham Palace, I strolled the mall and found a cup of tea at a cafe in St. James Park. Then, under the gray drizzle of a London autumn, sat with my tea and watched. And laughed. And watched. And thought. Of everything, of nothing. I just was. I was in London. Just as I had been thousands of miles and a hundred lifetimes ago on that park bench.
I imagined Bruno was next to me, that he was proud of the little European he'd created. But, he wasn't. I was alone. But I wasn't lonely. I was deliriously happy.
And every waking second I wasn't in meetings or touring the sights (because what 23 year old in her right mind wouldn't hop the tube and see EVERYTHING on her company's dime), I was nestled in a park with snacks and a camera, living life through everyone who passed me. And living my life too. It's a strange sort of practice, isn't it?
That is why, today, years later, I find nothing more enjoyable than sitting on a park bench in a city where I am totally unknown and watching life, living life and just being.
Why the first thing I do when I get to London is go to Green Park. Why Green Park will always be my favorite place on earth--the place where I mastered a great art, the place where I could be alone and happy for the first time, the place where I grew up in an instant and yet was still just a child, the place that changed me forever.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves--I still go approximately 300 miles a minute, but, when I do sit still, I really am me. And sometimes, my heart aches for that bench and that drizzly October day. For London. The city that taught me so much. The city I love most of all.
While Bruno may lay claim to my ability to be, it is London who is my Jedi Master. The city I love so.
Perhaps that is why my heart, soul and body feel a connection to that city. Perhaps it is my love of literature that draws me there. Or my innate need to be friends with Kate Middleton damn it. The love of accents (although that doesn't make sense considering I've never been to Australia and y'all know I love me an Aussie). Maybe it is my mother, drawing me nearer to her via her city. Or the fact that I can see musicals, opera, and Shakespeare all in a day.
At the end of the day (you're another day older) (and that's all you can say for the life of the poor) (it's a struggle--) can't it be all of those things? Or, just that maybe, maybe, we all have cities. Places that for us are exotic and comforting all the same. Maybe for you it is New York, or for my best friend it is Paris. My sister, she would say San Diego. My young cousins would say Siena.
There is a big huge world out there and I hope to see a great lot of it in my lifetime, but, for now, I'm content to know London.
