London, Baby! For the third time. I don’t really know why I decided to go back to London, I guess it was in my head and it made the most sense as a central hub to fly out of. Either way, I am incredibly happy I started here. I also experienced so much sunshine that it was a large cry from the dreary London I had experienced in the past. Anyway, let’s begin. After taking a pseudo-red eye flight over to the UK, I hopped on the Piccadilly line to Covent Garden to meet my incredible graphic designer (and the creator of this sexy website) for breakfast at The Black Penny. It was scrumptious, I couldn’t tell you what I ate because I was running on about two hours of sleep, but it was one of the better meals I had in London. Also, there were brick walls, cute plants and books on the shelves, the coffee was great, but the company was better. As I am constantly dealing with all the allergies and intolerances in the world, it was awesome to see how accommodating the London food scene is to food sensitivities. (Although, the food scene is kind of lacking - someone PLEASE show me otherwise) After a wonderful catchup with B, I then ventured out via double decker bus to Barbican to pick up the keys to my friend’s flat while trying not to fall asleep mid-ride. I then met her insanely cool co-workers at G Adventures (if you’re looking to book a trip, go through them - they’re awesome), did some editing that I’ve been seriously neglecting and still haven’t finished, and then headed out way too far east looking and feeling like a pack mule for a nap. I then ventured back to Barbican (and have now become one with the Tube) and we went for a pint at a local pub down the street. And when I say pint, I mean I had cider, being a glutard and all - and it was HUGE. We had been meaning to go for drinks for ages back in Kelowna, and finally decided to have a week of them together in the UK - I’d say that’s much cooler. After a quick catch up, I then went as far west as possible, took three tube lines, headed to a country club, got lost and had to sprint through the back like a commoner in the mist (very What a Girl Wants when she’s trying to break in to her dad’s home-castle thing - estate? Whatever) while watching British prep boys tackle each other while playing rugby. I don’t know if that’s the right terminology, but I’m rolling with it. I then waited for a friend of my brother’s to meet me for dinner, where we decided as we both aren’t 50 + year old British white men in polos, it was time to head to a gypsy jazz bar called Le Quecumbar, ladden with twinkle lights and a live band for dinner and a bottle of Bordeaux. It was glorious and filled with unending conversation and enticing music until the trek home began and the jet lag started to kick my butt. The next day after waking up after solely an hour of sleep, getting caught up on emails, and trying to understand if it was pure excitement or solely jet lag keeping me up, I went to Covent Garden again to have breakfast with another friend from Kelowna at Grind. It was so lovely to see her, laugh, drink green juice, and have sweet potato harissa cakes and matcha lattes with almond milk. I then headed to Paddington to have lunch (always when I travel it’s basically where can I eat next? Although, the food was not great - are you sensing a theme here?) with another friend, while getting lost and soaked in the rain. After a lengthy nap, H and I ventured out to have drinks at several different places such as traditional English pubs, retro euro bars, and what felt like a frat pub, with a couple of new friends where we discovered potentially a long lost relative as the portrait on the wall was uncanny to S. Wonderful conversation, a typical British experience, some French fries on the way home, and I was a happy camper. Now this is where things get really good. I finally slept, I met H after work (it became an adorable routine and I’m already worried but so okay with our co-dependence), and we went for tiny tacos at a mexican restaurant around the corner from her work and then a bus over to the Top Secret Comedy Club where the only seats left were along the corner of the front row. We were both expecting some amateur comedy and a night of laugher, which was delivered expertly and were completely shocked and blown away when JACK WHITEHALL started off the show and we lost our minds. LOST. OUR. MINDS! I screamed, clapped, fell against the wall and he was so close I could see every sweat dribble, every sparkle in his pretty blue eyes and I definitely got my ab workout for a year from laughing so unbelievably hard. Trip made. 100 percent. My only disappointment was that I couldn’t find him later and completely fan girl like an idiot. We then went to Honest Burger (we basically never ate dinner for the rest of the time in exchange for drinks, getting lost, and night fries - and instead had two dinners that night), marveled at what had just happened and then headed home with the biggest smiles on our faces. We both thought oh maybe we’ll see someone cool, but not our all time favourite JACK WHITEHALL - I’m still in shock and if H hadn’t experienced it with me and was able to back up my story I would never have believed it myself. Friday resulted in me walking everywhere I could with B, taking #bunsabroad photos. I finally saw Tower Bridge (and a castle!) and walked from London Bridge where we stopped at Borough Market and other street markets for lunch, sat in the sun in front of St Paul’s like a couple of kittens and then wandered by foot all the way to King’s Cross Station to wait 45 brilliant minutes in line at Platform 9 3/4 to watch one of the staff, a hilarious, wonderfully eccentric Italian man with a bun, guide and pose all the tourists to get the perfect photo. I then ventured back out to Barbican to meet H for another night of pub crawling. We made it to two bars, danced at a hip-hop bar, and then proceeded to walk in the wrong direction for HOURS, to then take an uber unsuccessfully, get lost again, and finally hop on the Central line back to her flat. Let’s have an early night, we said, home by 10 we said. Ugh. The next morning we ventured out for a perfect day trip to Bristol (that deserves its own post) to come home, get stranded on the tube, to finally get back after being horribly creative with our route, order in Vietnamese, and watch Netflix. We then parted ways (tragically, I miss you already) the next morning after soaking up some sun in Trafalgar Square before I headed to Heathrow to fly to Faro, Portugal. It’s time for some sun and a constant, yet happy allergic reaction courtesy of pastel de natas.
