I can't thank you all enough for reading my blog these last few weeks. I've gotten so many kind comments, including some amazing ones from my own parents. I can only hope the blogs have been as cathartic for you as they have been for me. I'm sure there are still some mopey days in our future, and some more stories about my brother that need to be told, but I've honestly been meaning to write this blog about London for a long long time, so here we go, right?
Okay, so here's something you should know. I've been wanting to go to London pretty much since the first time I read the Harry Potter series, which was in 5th grade, aka 16 years ago.
I was a kid, so back then I just wanted to visit London because, hey, that's where Harry Potter caught the train to Hogwarts. As I got older though, the desire only grew. In college, I majored in English literature. That's when London became a sort of Mecca for me. It was the home of the most revered writers, the setting of the best novels and plays, the very cultural center of the English-speaking world. For all intents and purposes, London was Mecca. But it was more than that. It was fashionable, it was historical, it was trendy and awe-inspiring, old and new at the same time, beautiful, fascinating, and the one place I dreamt about visiting.
Let's be real, okay? I like to see new and interesting places but I'm not one of those people who would use the word "wanderlust" to describe themselves. I mean, I'm obsessed with seeing the sites and experiencing the history and natural beauty of places like Paris, Cinque Terra, and Berlin, but I definitely don't get a big rush from the very thought of "traveling." I put up with flying and I tolerate crowds, but I break out into a cold sweat at the very thought of being in a new, unfamiliar place where, god forbid, I don't speak the language and can't immediately identify where I am.
That's just who I am, though. Some people can't get enough of that stuff. For example, my friend Julia went all over Europe last summer. On her own. Not knowing anyone. Never having been there before. Staying in hostels and hopping from country to country via train. I mean, that's incredibly awesome, but I could never do it. I would travel all over the world if I could afford to stay in posh hotels and be driven around by a knowledgeable tour guide in an air-conditioned Mercedes. That's the kind of travel experience I like. I know lots of other people enjoy the "real," sweaty, "live like the locals" experience, but that's not me.
And that's probably why I've never gotten the chance to travel. It's not that I never wanted to, but that I've never been able to do so in the way I want to.
In high school, our theater group took a trip to London, but I didn't know anyone who was signing up, so 17-year-old me passed on the opportunity to go. (Stupid.) And after that, I had college to think about, didn't I? I'm forever jealous of people who got to travel to their heart's content during college, but that just wasn't me. My parents had three kids in college at the same time, so they deserve gold medals for being able to keep us all fed, much less cater to the travel whims and desires of three students who were trying to pay for tuition.
So, the opportunity to travel -- really travel hasn't presented itself, which is okay since London is the only place I was honestly dying to visit.
But after dreaming of going to London for so long and talking about it with my cousin Teresa, we finally decided to go. Of course, it took a long long time of saving up money to make it happen. Again, I know plenty of people who have been lucky enough to travel to Europe multiple times in their early 20s, but I wasn't born into a super rich family and I paid for my college education almost entirely on my own. So, travel had to take a back seat to...responsibility.
Nevertheless, we saved and planned and planned and saved. We finally decided to make the trip during the Fall of 2014, but money was still tight, so we postponed until 2015.
In early 2015, I was chomping at the bit. I created a "London 2015" binder to hold all my calendars and brochures and maps and tentative itineraries related to the subject. As someone who's organized to the point of lunacy, I should stress that the very act of creating a binder is akin to Kensington Palace announcing that Kate Middleton is indeed pregnant, rather than just letting the paparazzi speculate. It's a sign that this is happening, and that it's official.
So, with my cousin's help, I drafted a list of the "must see" things in London and in other parts of the United Kingdom as well. I decided roughly how long we'd need to see all the things we wanted to see, and then began writing a rough itinerary of our time in London, outlining where we'd go each day, how much everything would cost, and the steps we would take each day to get from here to there, thus taking any "getting lost" out of the equation.
As we got closer and closer, the trip became more real and none of us were backing down from the plans. It was the trip I'd been dreaming about for so long, and I wasn't going to let the fact that money was a little tight or that I didn't particularly enjoy flying deter me. We planned, we discussed the merits of staying in a flat versus staying in a hotel, and we discussed some more. We dreamt about cold, rainy London the way other people dream about lying on a white sand beach in the Bahamas.
In March or April, I bought my plane ticket. No turning back now. Not when plane tickets cost so much money.
At some point, my dad and sister got on board. I wanted to book early and my cousins weren't as anal and anxious as I am. So, to soothe my frazzled nerves (and to satisfy their own desires) Dad and Sarah booked a flat with me, while my cousins (and aunt) waited a little longer to book. Either way, London was happening. It was getting closer, and we were so excited.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Of course, I realize that's just a super dramatic way of saying that my brother died. Whatever. It's a pretty dramatic event, so I reserve the right to word it however I want.
The day after Mike died, we were shuffling around the house in a daze. Friends had delivered mountains of food which we didn't have any desire to eat. People were calling and my mom had to relay the story over and over again. The funeral home was on the phone and we were making arrangements to fly out to New York the next day. And on top of everything, there were a few nagging thoughts that needed to be dealt with.
"We're not still going to go to London, are we?" I asked at some point.
And my dad promptly responded that absolutely we were.
I didn't see why. We'd already bought our plane tickets, of course, but, in light of everything that had happened, it seemed like a small amount of money to lose out on. (In my mind, anyway.) On the other hand, the flat reservation could be cancelled and refunds given. I didn't see how we could possibly move forward with my dream vacation. Not when, among other things, money was now very tight and the notion of walking down the driveway to take out the trash seemed like an impossible ordeal, much less traveling across the ocean and visiting Europe.
But my travel companions weren't as ready to let go of the money we'd already spent, and they knew that the trip was something we needed to do, especially now.
I suppose I should mention at this point that I've always felt a certain way about London. A way that I don't think most people feel about tourist destinations they plan on visiting.
You can ask anyone. I've always felt like I was born in the wrong country. Not that the U.S.A. isn't great and not that I don't enjoy getting wasted on the 4th of July like everyone else, but I've always had this nagging feeling like my home -- my spiritual home -- was in London. I recently read Julia Child's memoir and she says something similar about the first time she arrived in France. To be fair, she probably didn't obsess about France as much as I obsess about London, but when she got to France, she immediately felt like she was at home, and it was her spiritual home for the rest of her life.
That's pretty much how I've felt about London for as long as I can remember. Even though I've never been there, I feel like I have. I can't completely explain why.
And maybe that's why this trip is such a big deal for me. I've spent more hours (more years ) than I care to mention just planning the trip, researching, buying passes, and reading reviews than I care to mention. So much time that I'm sure I'll feel a little sad when it's all over, but I think it'll be worth it anyway.
I was looking at pictures of the inside of Westminster Abbey tonight and just thinking to myself that I'll probably start crying, knowing that I'm walking down the exact same aisle Kate Middleton walked down on her wedding day. And I'm fully anticipating bursting into tears when I first turn the corner and see Big Ben for the first time in real life. I know people who have seen Big Ben before, and seen it half a dozen time, but the fact that I waited for so long and gave so much to get there makes me think it's going to be even more special than I can even imagine.
To be fair, though, it's not that hard to make me cry. I cried watching The Help the other night.
Whatever. It's just been a really really long time coming, and I couldn't be more excited -- and nervous -- that it's finally happening, no matter what the circumstances.
I hope London is everything I want it to be, but even if it's not, I think the majority of the adventure was just getting there.
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