The immediacy of London hit me first: English language, words I understood, vowels elongated, lilting syllables tripping over cobblestone and brick, singing over wild British gardens. I came from Paris, where language moved in rushes and flows of sound, some understood, some too quick to parse. The immediacy of understanding here felt like breathing.
It was my first time in the UK, and I was used to getting that depth of classical history, art, and literature in non-English speaking countries, where a sense of remove always kept me at arm’s length from living inside the culture itself. Even learning French and Spanish, even living in France, it was simple—we didn’t share a common language. But here, even the trees breathed in commonality.
I took the Eurostar over from Paris (word to the wise: arrive at least one hour in advance of your train!), and met up with my dear friend Suryamayi at St. Pancras Station in King’s Cross. Suryamayi is half British, half French, and grew up in India; in other words, she is the ultimate global citizen with whom to get introduced to London. Suryamayi’s aunt and uncle opened their North London home to us, and we basked in their welcome, their tea, their biscuits, their garden.
After a day of travel, nearby Coldfall Wood was the perfect green immersion—ancient forest giving way to moss-covered mausoleums in an overgrown cemetery. We went to sleep sated by homemade vegetable curry, eager for the start of an ambitious two-day walking tour of London. We walked between 8 to 10 miles a day, which I feel is the best way to really take in a city. Bring a good pair of walking shoes!
Here’s all that we did, and what we missed, too.
DAY 1
After a strong cup of morning tea (is anything more glorious than an entire country devoted to my favorite morning pastime? no, the answer is no), we made our way into central London. I let my jaw go slack as we zoomed through Bloomsbury, once home to literary giants like Virginia Woolf, whose writing transformed me as a teen. These ivy-covered edifices with their brightly painted doors held genius.
Our first official stop was Fabrique Bakery. The recommendation came from itinerary creatrix Alana Kysar, whose guide to London proved a steady companion. After gawking at the most perfect cardamom buns I’d ever seen and slurping down almond milk tea lattes, we walked through Covent Garden en route to Buckingham Palace. I’d intended to stroll past the National Portrait Gallery, but one wrong turn meant we passed it up for a quick stop at the chic Dover Street Market.
After a brief dawdle in haute commercialism, we pressed on to the monuments and gilded fences of Buckingham Palace. The gates were open, providing a thrilling glimpse into the inner courtyard and a steady procession of folks emerging from what must have been some important meeting or another. It was the Monday after the Royal Wedding, after all.
From there, it was on to Hyde Park, just across the street. And thus began my absolute love affair with the organic style of British gardens. A few moments into our traverse of the park in its entirety, we stumbled across the Rose Garden. The sensory celebration was overwhelming, a riot of floral color and scent everywhere. It offered a perfect mix of wildness and restraint, a spot where I might’ve spent an entire afternoon, reveling in its magic.
Alas, we had places to go, so we continued our east-bound march through Hyde Park, past the Round Pond, and into Kensington. Our destination was one of only a few restaurants I knew I had to stop at this trip: Dishoom (another Alana recommendation). The restaurant was perfect in tenor, the lovechild of an upscale retro cafeteria and an Art Deco smoking lounge—minus the smoking, plus extraordinary food and bottomless chai. Even the menu is written with a chatty, literary wit that is instantly charming. You’ll want everything. Go with friends (we met up with a writer friend of mine from LA who’d expatriated to London two years ago). Order as much as you can muster.
Post-Dishoom, we marched just slightly north to Notting Hill, where the streets grew narrow and windy and the row houses boasted pastel facades with glorious rose gardens in front. The sun was shining and I had to remind myself regularly that this London mirage, of 72ºF and sunny, was not the year-round normal. Balmy weather urging us on, we popped in and out of shops, surveyed antiques, and marveled at the happening all around. I took a particular liking to Neal’s Yard Remedies, where I bought a luscious beeswax salve and an orange blossom essential oil as exquisite as any I’ve ever smelled. This spot has an excellent range of natural body care products.
Our time was running out by then, but we walked as far west as we could before hopping on a train to get back to King’s Cross for a pint with another friend from the US who married into London. We settled in at The Fellow, a bright and mellow spot that boasts a sweet rooftop seating area. After a rest, a pint, and a few glorious thrice-fried authentic British chips (aka the best, most delicious fries ever), Suryamayi and I walked forth into the night.
A tender, warm evening received us as we headed south to Clerkenwell for a little dinner snack at Moro. We sat outside, enveloped by the easy night air, talking about possibly maybe one day dating men our own age and the intoxication of such perfect weather. We split a mezze platter that was just fine, but the real star was Moro’s beautiful bread.
DAY 2
The next morning began with a journey through Hampstead Heath to Parliament Hill, where a panoramic view of the city awaited us. The Heath, located in North London, is a triumph of sprawling gardens, meandering trails, and bench after bench looking out into the great green beyond. The Heath is dotted with ponds and century-old trees, and was, at that moment, celebrating the bloom of its abundant rhododendron bushes.
Exiting the Heath, we made our way into Hampstead town, past the historic Keats House. The house itself (a museum of the poet’s work and life) wasn’t open, but we were able to walk through the gardens. These moments of confrontation with such historic literary greatness both quieted and fueled me, with some mix of awe and terror. How does one become so great? How do words live on forever? Seeing into the lives of these literary giants felt at once full of promise and exhausting. The answer to both those questions is, of course, WORK.
After the Keats House, Hampstead presented itself to us in a patchwork of perfect homes (colorful doors aplenty) and chic boutiques. I wanted to spend a day wandering the village, but Borough Market was calling.
After a tube ride south, we crossed the Thames and arrived at Borough Market. We’d been advised to get pasta at Padella and donuts at Bread Ahead, but ravenous after our half-day journey through Hampstead Heath without breakfast, we didn’t have it in us to brave the line for Padella. Instead, we grabbed a giant, pliant, and delicious olive, onion, and cheese focaccia from Bread Ahead and wandered the market in search of a quicker food-to-mouth option. Ultimately, we decided on fresh pumpkin ricotta tortelloni with pesto from La Tua Pasta and wheatgrass-spiked green juices. It was delicious, prepared a la minute in front of our eyes. And for dessert? Perhaps the best donut of my life, a burnt salted caramel and honeycomb from Bread Ahead.
From Borough Market, we walked just a few minutes west along the Thames to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, where we were quickly charmed by tenacious greeters (youthful, handsome actors, no doubt) into joining the next tour. The current iteration of the Globe is the third of its kind, as the first two burned down—hazards of candlelight and thatched roofs. Our droll and charming guide (her tour was a veritable stand-up routine) took us through the theatre’s history and into the theatre itself, where we got to witness twenty minutes of a The Two Noble Kinsmen dress rehearsal. Sitting in the stands at Shakespeare’s Globe, watching a stage full of superb actors play music, sing, and dance to traditional songs, the tears flowed easily. Again, the immediacy of art, of language, of history pierced right to the heart.
With eyes still full from the Globe, we continued west on the Thames toward the Tate Modern, a glory of clean lines, open spaces, and radical contemporary art. We divided our time between the living art exhibits (the table full of objects from Marina Abramovic’s iconic Rhythm 0 performance was on show, as well as a number of riveting, community-focused pieces), the expertly curated shops, the top floor city view, and the ground floor cafe. I can’t wait to return.
Our next stop was north of the Thames—Westminster Abbey—which meant a lengthy wander down the Queen’s Walk was in order. Life is bustling along the Thames, filled with theaters, skate parks, food trucks, and restaurants. The weather continued to sparkle as we passed bridge after bridge, finally crossing to get to Westminster. The Abbey, a world heritage site and marvel of Gothic architecture whose construction began in 960AD, is both an operating church and a home to hundreds of artifacts. Though we didn’t have tickets to enter, walking around the site is inspiration in and of itself.
From Westminster, under clear blue skies, we ambled north towards Piccadilly Circus and my final London dinner at Yotam Ottolenghi’s restaurant Nopi. I’d made reservations several weeks in advance, not wanting to miss the opportunity to dine at the high cathedral of Ottolenghi-ism. The food was just as I’d hoped, full of the wild convergence of tastes and textures for which we celebrate the chef. Burrata with loquats and coriander seeds was particularly delicious, as was the cardamom yogurt that came with the courgette and manouri fritters. But my favorite was the melon sorbet with basil and arak, a Levantine anise liqueur that cut through the melon’s sweetness. Next time, I’ll head straight to one of the original, casual Ottolenghi spots.
After dinner, it was time to head home, pack, and sleep before my early train back to Paris, which would be followed by a long trans-Atlantic flight back to Los Angeles. London left me eager for more. More time in the city’s expanse of architecture, art, theatre, food, gardens, grit, and history. Two days was nowhere near enough, but it was a good start.
I can’t wait to return.
