Ah well, now it’s time to dedicate a story to what it was like actually living in the heart of London for a decent 6 weeks. Not the planned 6 months, but still, 6 crazy, beautiful, emotional, strange, adventurous, amazing weeks. Discovering London had become a dear hobby of mine from the very beginning, allowing me to still live the London life in the unexpectedly little time that remained. I can safely say that despite my small morning-appetite I strongly regret having missed out on English breakfast. But always look on the bright side; my massive lunch appetite did in fact lead to me having had 2 beautiful lunches that have forever changed my view on the English kitchen. Not that I ever though negative of it, coming from a country that’s not known as a true MasterChef yet loves copying the worldwide kitchen, I found England to be very creative and cozy on the food spectrum. The first grand impression was made when, before my late reception shift, I decided to head to the most adorable corner cafe thus far, a brown bricked, covered by plants cave building that on the inside, was very English; dark, golden chandeliers, red carpets, and round, white clothed tables with beautiful flowered cups on it. That’s where my heartbeat started rising and my mouth started watering, feeling the immense pressure of having to pick an unknown dish while the friendly waiter is already coming your way. I couldn’t, so I kindly asked for a suggestion. And without any questioning, I said yes. Minutes later, a tiny fluffy pancake tower on a beautiful rosegarden plate headed my way. On top the syrup came dripping down, whereas the yogurt squeezed its way out between the layers of pancakes, and fresh fruits color-bombed the entire spectacle.
Let me get back to saying the Netherlands isn’t a very culinary country; we do pancakes very well. We prefer them savory; cheesy, meaty or saucy. It therefore was a lovely experience to finally experience sweet pancakes without them being crepes or ‘poffertjes’ (Google if you desire to know, I have to somehow make the Dutch cuisine more exciting). They were fluffy, as in a ‘melt on your tongue without chewing’ fluffy, like little pillows. I wish I’d never eaten fluffy pancakes at Burgerking a few weeks ago, which as a great disappointment yet made me forget how much I loved fluffy pancakes back in London. Had I known a worldwide pandemic waited around the corner, I’d have probably ensured myself with the secret recipe beforehand. On my way back I always strolled trough very typically English streets, consisting of big, brick (always brick) brown or grey buildings with more chimneys than dark windows and often happily painted frontdoors. The sidewalks were always a chaos of coffee-drinking people rushing anywhere, living the London Life. I just blended straight in and always had my loyal umbrella in my hand to prepare for the many unexpected raindrops. What I liked was how the streets always had extremely busy crossing points where the red buses and black cabs almost collided, while cyclists and pedestrians created a cloud of stress on the streets. But the more you keep walking, the more quiet it gets. The buildings start become more unique, bigger, with beautifully designed windows, plants and balconies. The forever so straight streets than start to bend and turn into smaller streets, turn into smaller alleys, turn into peaceful neighborhoods in the middle of the honking cars, shouting people and forgone sirens.
And that peeked my interest, these exact neighborhoods. They usually adapted the exact same style of houses, favoring grey, black, white or brown. Brick, needless to say. The feeling of them being towns into a town itself was completed as usually, undeniably clearly a fixed group of Londoners was either dining in a fancy old, golden glowing bar, or having drinks in a dark, jazzy bar, or simply cycling home from school, their eyes fixated on anything but the complicated labyrinth of roads or the endless war between pigeons and seagulls. So for a second, I pretend to be living here too, and I let my eyes scan the stores that seemed to have had the same owner forever, having stayed loyal to its first one. Old, wooden design, soft glowing, orange lights, and often a very specific taste; books, paintings, candles, cups. All having one thing in common; that they were English. Whereas London swallowed cultures from all over the world and spit them out into an English-flavored concept, here it was simply that; English. This neighborhood also came with some sort of square hiding in the middle of some stone porches, with some very green grassfield, very mysterious, university alike buildings around it, and some very red postboxes. The rain dripping down made this place all the more mysterious, as if I found myself on the square of an old boarding school. London wouldn’t be London without a decent amount of liquid falling from the skies unannounced but strong every now and then, which was pure luck for me, as it led me to probably the biggest surprise of all surprises I’ve had thus far, a little alleyway full of containers, lanterns and postboxes, looking all gloom, turned out to be the porchway into the land of rainbows, a colourful little yard called ‘Neils yard’.
Here, on a quiet street in Covent Garden, Neals Yard pops up. Hidden away by a simple collection of grey alleys, lies an area once used as a trash place, with rats. Now, thanks to Nicholas Saunders, this tiny yard became the most colorful place of London. This gathering of around 20 buildings, all intertwined, explode with colors. For those that aren’t blue, orange or green from head to toe, those remaining steal the show by means of green windows, yellow balconies, pink doors. Whatever you can think of, like a My Little Pony land. Some buildings are hardly visible as ivy took over, perfectly emphasizing the concept of this little cozy square; sustainability. Within this yard, with nothing but colorful tables and plants in the middle, you find only sustainable inventions. From homemade pizzas to locally produced veggies, to plantbased ointments and slowly produced coffees. I wish I could give a recommendation but, by the time I arrived everything had already been closed, forcing me to take some quick pics with my already soaked phone, and promising myself I’d come back. Sad news, I never got a chance. Good news, I have another reason to come back. I just felt like I was on a pretty decent trip looking at the explosion of colors that really didn’t mix, such as blue and orange or green and pink, as if someone just waved their paintbrush around screaming screams of joy. It is one of the many things about London that obsess me, the ability to never spill all their secrets and leave the beauty in the eye of its beholder. Follow your nose and thee shall find what thee seeks – London, forever. From trash to that, how genius is that?
Lastly, I just want to express my most grateful gratitude to a lady I spoke with one the phone on the very beginning of the Covid pandemic. She was supposed to visit our hotel, yet coming from America, could no longer risk the uncertainty and cancelled her booking. She then offered me her tickets to a musical, named Hamilton. Me, not necessarily being theatrical but being born with the fun ability to enjoy almost everything, thankfully accepted. As if it was all meant to be, I was off the day after, and on that rainy, dark February evening, having put on heels and lipstick for the special occasion, I walked off to my tram taking me to Victoria Palace Theater, an absolutely beautiful massive theater with golden ceilings, chandeliers, green velvet seats, and basically Royal circles only. I felt incredibly out of place between those highclass Londoners which made the experience all the more movie-alike. The stage itself was an interesting setup of wood, clearly presenting an historic event. I don’t have enough space to write the story of Hamilton, but all I can say is that it has turned me into a theater fan. My love for musicals will always be owed to Hamilton, the most intense masterpiece I ever experienced. The costumes of the olden, golden New York days, the singing, which went on for the entire show, activating every nerve in your body and setting your spine straight. The overwhelming amount of emotion, expressed trough every word, look, and melody of these wonderful actors. I have never ever felt the emotions of actors so well, as they sang the entire story about the adventures of Alexander Hamilton, the founding Father of the united States. London itself, was an amazingly preserved time capsule as it was, but this masterpiece, made me feel like I had just time traveled, and played a pawn in a game of human history.
- It's an amazing life
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