The aged tube train rambled down the rickety track. Industrial age brick, lined with miles of colorful wire, rushed by the windows. I was riding the London Underground.
I finally arrived to my station, made sure to mind the gap, and took the brisk walk to our Airbnb. I passed by a lonely, stately gothic church that looked more like a museum. Turning into a one-way street lined with trees as cyclers darted past, I finally came to Peerman Street, a cozy little neck of the woods.
My mate and I went to the Anchor and Hope pub. I ventured outside my comfort zone for the bacon-braised baked duck, possibly the best meal I’ve ever had. We chatted with Kartik, our Indian-American friend, who’d come touring London to decompress. His job as a doctor is tough, especially when he has to give a six month prognosis to 25-year-old cancer patient.
The city was an amazing mix of old and new, imperial-age statues next to gentrified hipster coffee shops, steel work and 21st-century architecture next to brick and stone buildings twice as old as my country.
We came to the palace. I felt so stricken by the majesty of God when I looked at the lion with a crown on it. Perhaps we are missing something in America amidst over-democratization and our nothing-is-sacred approach. Perhaps we could use a little of kings and titles and lords and lands for a bit of reverence.
Cheers, mate. [more pics below]