Those of you who have known me for years may know; I have always wanted to travel. This being said, most of you would also be aware that London was not high on the list of places I wanted to travel to, and to be completely honest, I'm not sure it was on the list at all. Other European countries yes, but the UK, I guess I always thought that I could take it or leave it. This being said, London is certainly a lot closer to Europe than Australia is ever going to be (not speaking for Tasi of course, because we all know that Tasi moves a few centimeters closer each year), so when the opportunity presented itself for me to move there, who was I to say no?
Yes, like everyone, I'd heard the hype. I'd read the magazines. I'd listened to British pop, read British novels, seen British movies, envied British festivals, played British board games, and bagged out David Beckam's British accent. It's not like I was disinterested in London due to lack of knowledge about it; on the contrary. I didn't think it had the romantic appeal of Paris, the exotic appeal of Barcelona, the novelty of Prague, or what I in my naivety, mistook for a different or exciting culture.
I couldn't have been more wrong if I were a sitting an advanced algebra test.
The most fascinating thing about London; apart from the history, the culture, that people drink pints of Guinness at 10am, that people drink pints at all, that people don’t seem to be phased by the lack of sunshine, that people describe something as being ‘well-good’ or that they are ‘well-tired’ or that the coffee machine is ‘well-broken’, that there are rules which dictate the correct use of ‘well’ as either a positive or negative enhancement to a statement, that there are rules which dictate the correct use of a grammatically incorrect sentence structure, (I will rant about the idiocy of the English language another day) that buses still have heaters on during ‘Summer’, that Brits think that they even have a Summer, that it is so close to everything (with the exception of Aus of course; but then nothing is close to Aus except for New Zealand and Papua New Guinea, and really, who wants to go to either of those places?) that if you’re happy to entrust your life to a budget airline, you are not forced you to spend the prospective inheritance of future children just because you feel like a vacation, that there are so many 24 hour general stores, that you pay 120 pounds for a room with a bed that takes up three of the walls and a heater that won't turn off, or that there are more deep fried chicken joints named after American states than there actually are states in America. The most fascinating thing about London is how good it is at playing hard to get.
When I first moved there, it treated me like I didn’t exist. Like it didn't even care that I was living there. Then slowly, as it was trying to woo me over, it started to warm to me and allowed me to catch glimpses of its softer side. I on the other hand, was a little nervous, a little tentative. I didn't want to move too fast, or give myself too whole heartedly... I've been hurt by cities before you know, and was afraid London was just going to be another one to pull the rug out from under me just as soon as I started to get close to it.
Typical however of all love stories, as much as I tried not to, subconsciously I began to trust London. I began to embrace it, fall for it's beauty, and understand its mood swings. It had me. Again, typical of all love stories, just as I started to feel comfortable, started 'finding myself' through the relationship, and letting London see the proverbial 'real' me, it was time to go.
Call it what you will, but deep down, as much as I hate to admit it, to this day, I still have a pretty bad case of lover's remorse. I feel that I left before I was ready, and regret the decision every day of my life.
You see somehow, at some point, without me really realising; the late night buzz of the Soho backstreets, the mid-morning coffees in Covent Garden (after scouring the market for the stall that sold the juiciest looking blueberries), the call of the 24 hour DÖner Kebab shop after a big night out, the misty morning walks to the tube station, sifting through the trash and treasure at Kingly court for the ultimate Op Shop bargain (and the invariable Devonshire tea to follow), knowing exactly where to stand on the tube platform so I got off the train right at the escalator, chilling perishable items on a window ledge rather than in the fridge, not finding it strange to see transvestites on a regular basis, eight people sharing one bathroom, wandering aimlessly down Carnaby Street, knowing the names of all the local hobos, Primark (enough said), cheesy chips with mayo being a staple item on every pub menu, oversized geese at all the London parks, nights at The Roadhouse / O'Neils / Trocadero / Tiger Tiger / any Nicholson Pub / The Roxy / Bar Soho/ Shochu Lounge or Waxy O'Connor's, Somerset House (the Tiffany & Co sponsored ice-skating rink off The Strand at Christmas time), eating Millie's Cookies on top of one of the Lion statues in Trafalgar Square, people sun-baking on the side of the Thames, night-buses, and never having to check the weather before leaving the house because the temperature was inevitably going to sit somewhere between 'cold' and 'colder', became a part of me. The fact that they no longer make up a major part of my daily routine, and my way of life, is not only saddening, but also terrifying.
And what became of London after I abandoned ship? Nothing. Like footprints in the sand, so too did my imprint disappear from the city as soon as I did. But what am I without London? Nothing.
You see, London has its routine. It is comfortable with the way its long-term plan looks, and its life has order, consistency, security... next to it, I feel inadequate, insubstantial and am well aware that my leaving was inconsequential. It will have no bearing whatsoever on London's daily ability to function, to thrive, or to cope. So much cannot be said of its lasting effect on me.... Somehow it still has it's hold, and for the life of me, I don't know how to release it.
I feel as though I am falsifying this information ever so slightly. It's not like I didn't ever get out of the city, or out of the UK. I should also mention that I spent a few months traveling around Europe... I got a taste of Irish hospitality, spent a week shivering in the north of Scotland (the Hebrides), did a Contiki tour of Europe which encompassed something like 15 cities in 29 days, spent a month in the far north east of Italy with relatives, and 2 weeks in Egypt lapping up the sun and the heat; eventually however, (as I have been taught, but never believed) all good things must come to an end, and I was brutally awoken by a thing called reality, signaling that it was time for me to end the rose-coloured version of it which had become mine.
In between each of these adventures, (or pebbles along a path in my life which I would very much like to wander back down), I returned to London. I am not sure how or when, but at some point London became home, and I felt more emotion leaving it, than I did when I left the mother country.
I am well aware that my stay in London, in the scheme of things, was not very long (it wouldn't even have registered in the time-space continuum); but had you asked me one year ago, I would never have believed that it could have had such a big impact on my life. Now that I am back in Aus, and happily so, I swear, I treasure every moment I spent in the beautiful, all-be-it a little grey, city.
Although it felt oddly confronting being in Italy and seeing the places where my grandparents came from, standing on Scottish battlefields where so many people died fighting to preserve the freedom of their country, being able to see and understand the wonder behind one of the world’s greatest unsolved mysteries; how the Pyramids were built, or feeling the impact of lost identity on the people of what I believe to be one of Europe’s most beautiful countries; Czech Republic, it was nothing compared with how confronted I felt at the idea of going home, to my real home, to Australia…
For the year that I was living there, I considered my relationship with London to be one of love-hate, where the love stemmed from being away from it; and the hate from returning. Having finally left the city indefinitely; I am now coming to realize that my relationship with it is more like hate-hate… Whilst I adamantly professed that I hated living there, I can honestly say, that I hate NOT living there more.
So, let this be my tribute. A thank-you, to London... For all it taught me, for all the ways in which it helped me to grow, for all of the things it aided me in doing and for all the windows of opportunity it created for me. Although the people in London may not appreciate the beauty of the city, or take advantage of the multitude of opportunities and windows it opens, I can no longer deny my deep love for and gratitude to the city that opened my eyes to a whole new world. It re-taught me how to be content with my life and comfortable with the idea that although I may not know what direction my future is going; there is a whole world of options, waiting to be explored, discovered and lived.
So here’s to London; the city I love to hate, and hate to love.
