The London Problem
When I was in high school, we were very poor. We had almost nothing to our names and we lived in this tiny 864 square foot house in the middle of the Charleston, Tennessee countryside. I’ve never lived in a more beautiful place, but those were bittersweet times for my family. In the fall of 2003, my senior year of high school, I had the opportunity to go to London with my high school band. Being as poor as we were I would have never been able to afford to go without the loving generosity of our neighbors, who have been family friends for decades. I won’t ever forget the kindness that allowed me to go on that trip.
It didn’t exactly go to plan.
I didn’t think about the fact that I am terribly prone to motion sickness and how that would translate to air travel. Apparently I get altitude sickness. And apparently it takes arriving back in the States for me to get over it. The band marched in the New Year's Day parade, and being a non-marching member of the band, I marched in the front with the banner. It was an exciting day, and maybe the only day I felt right the whole time I was there. On my worst morning, I had actually gotten sick in the hotel lobby. The group had a trip planned to see The Tower of London and later Warwick Castle. Since I had been sick that morning, the last thing I wanted to do was walk around and pretend to be interested in historical things. I felt so bad I decided to go back to the hotel by myself. I felt so comfortable in London, I can’t explain how or why. Maybe it was the weather, I’m not sure. But everything felt familiar and comfortable, to the point that my 18 year old unaccompanied self got on the tube (subway) and rode by myself back to the hotel to try to sleep before the band director heard and came and got me himself.
I got to experience a lot of once-in-a-lifetime things on that trip: seeing Stratford Upon Avon, Buckingham palace and the changing of the guard, Warwick Castle, and some of our group even went to see Stonehenge or Paris and the musical We Will Rock You. It was an incredible trip, and I wish I could remember it all.
I’ve been thinking about this for years. How is it that I’ve been to multiple cities in my life, and every single one of them felt overwhelming and overstimulating and alien EXCEPT for London? One of the most populated, ancient and busy cities in the world and I felt *at home*. Me, who was used to early mornings waiting on the bus being surrounded by cow fields and mist. I keep coming back to what my friend had once said about blood memories. Some part of me, deep in my DNA knew where it was and settled, almost against my will.
The real problem with London is that I’ve only been there once.
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