On arriving in London, after 25 hours of transit, my sleep-addled brain really wasn't able to compute that this is quite definitely the furthest I've ever been from home and I was finally in London. A place that's I've only ever dreamed of visiting, was finally a reality.
Europe has always been at the top of my Bucketlist, which is admittedly filled mostly with travel destinations (thrill-seeking activites gives me the hives and threesomes are much too generic). I hate to admit it, but up until my late teens, Europe for me really only consisted of England. Not from a lack of geography lessons, but rather from an unadulterated, overwhelming and nerdalistic love for English history. Yes, I'm that person.
So, for me, to be able to visit London was unbelievably nerve-wracking. What if it didn't live up to my expectations? What if I didn't live up to its expectations? What if I fell in love with the city only to never return? How will I explain that to my parents?
To be able to walk on the white-terrace decked streets, to be able to take the tube, to visit suburbs that are distinctly like Privet Drive and to be able to visit the Tower of London. It was a dream come true and a spoonful more!
x karen
