A magical week in London, part one.

Historically, I haven’t been the greatest proponent of London.

My first trip was accompanying a friend who had recently broke up with his girlfriend; it was her friends we were staying with and he was, to put it mildly, morose. His spirits picked up only on the day trip we took to Paris, made possible by the Chunnel. In London, our interests varied—he was interested in nothing—and so our visit was compromised.

I had also recently moved to New York, and was still in thrall of that city. The night before flying I had seen Lou Reed play in the city. What could be more New York than that? Coincidentally, on arrival at Heathrow we stood behind his band in the immigration line. I mustered up the courage to tell them how much I enjoyed their show. The guitarist and dummer thanked me warmly; the bassist stood aside.

The next time I was in London was on a long layover; I forget where. A Norwegian friend who had spent some time there suggested a walking tour of the main sights by the river. It was a beautiful day and I followed his advice, starting at the Tate Modern and walking west along the river Thames. I crossed over the Westminster Bridge and walked to Trafalgar Square, past Chinatown and at lunch at 76 Dean Street, the site of the first Soho House. I definitely warmed to the city after that.

This time I had a week between visiting the Nordic countries and my return to the states. I had been in a few weeks in the Schengen area and needed to escape before I overstayed my visa. A few of the friends I had met on my first trip to Antarctica were based in London, and it seemed like the perfect time to visit.

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I arrive in Gatwick from Bergen early Friday morning and take the train into the city, transferring to the circle line where I alight at Paddington Station. Dilini’s taken the week off and has planned a slate of activities. She’s made dinner reservations at The Portrait for the views and suggests we meet at Fortnum & Mason for a drink beforehand. I’ve made lunch reservations at Plates and agree to meet up afterwards.

Lunch is fantastic. I intend to eschew the wine pairing, but after talking to the sommalier about their wines and the philosophy behind the pairings I give in. I’m a sucker for natural and organic wines, and am eager to try theirs.

With time on my hands I decide to walk the hour or so it will take to the 3’6 Bar at Fortnum & Mason. I had asked Dilini what the numbers mean; it turns out that it’s the price per person they used to charge to cater cocktail parties at private homes. I arrive early and garner a seat on a sofa. I order tea with honey, opting to take a break from drinking for a moment before my friend arrives.

Dilini’s wanted to bring me to the bar at Fortnum & Mason so that I can also visit the store itself. There’s a wealth of gifts to bring back to the States, but I don’t want to burden myself just yet. It’s my first day in the city, after all.

We walk from Fortnum & Mason to The Portrait Restaurant. The museum is closing but we’re directed to an elevator that opens up to the restaurant itself. We’re adding someone to our party and the hostess offers us a table with a view out over the city. A man at the table opposite us notices my camera and begins a spirited conversation with me about Leicas. He’s sporting two himself. His companion looks bored, and Dilini and I spend part of our dinner wondering if it’s a date; if it is it doesn’t appear to go well. She orders a bottle of champagne, and so begins my week in London.

I meet Ellie for brunch the next day. She’s the third person in our Antarctic trio. We meet in Marylebone at a Daisy Green equidistant between us. I grab a table at the window and we catch up over a smoked salmon royale and pancakes. Afterwards, she walks me to The Regent’s Park so that we can wander around Queen Mary's Rose Gardens. There are a few still in bloom. En route, we pass a number of wedding parties taking photos in the park.

Dilini has planned a Sri Lankan stand-up comedy night, and I decide to walk from the park to the venue near the Vauxhall underground station. After securing the tickets she looked once again at the flyer and emailed the organizers to ask whether the comedians would be speaking in English or Tamil. She was assured that there’d be a mixture of languages. She warns me ahead of time, but I’m still game.

The theater is freezing, which surprises me given that the audience seems to be almost 98% Sri Lankan. I am one of a handful of people who don’t speak Tamil. Dilini, while Sri Lankan, is another. There’s a single white guy who I assume is dating a Sri Lankan. We settle into our seats and the show begins.

The first comic speaks mostly English, dropping some Tamil here and there the underscore his punchlines. The next is my favorite of those we see. It’s her first time performing and she kills it. Maybe 20% of her set is in Tamil. The next woman monologues, her punchlines few judging by the reaction of the crowd. I can’t say as her entire set is in Tamil.

After an improv game done mostly in Tamil the emcee pauses for a break. I look at Dilini and ask if we should bounce. She nods her head and we go in search of pizza at my suggestion; she had had the same idea but was afraid to propose it to a New Yorker.

We walk to 50 Kalò past Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. The latter was still under scaffolding on my last trip to the city and I’m amazed at how pristine it is, how it shines in the early evening light.

There’s a wait at the restaurant and so we put our names in and walk to the Corinthia for a drink. We’re almost immediately pinged by the restaurant but we order cocktails and take our time responding. The gin & tonics are delicious.

On Sunday Dilini has made reservations at The Chalk, a relatively new pub in Chelsea. She’s determined to have me try a Sunday roast, a typical British tradition. When looking at the menu beforehand, I mention not seeing it on the menu. She calls and they assure her they have it. Otherwise, she’d have found another restaurant to try.

I walk to the restaurant, through Kensington Gardens and past the Peter Pan statue on the way. I arrive early and sit outside writing post cards until Dilini arrives and we walk inside.

We’re seated in a banquette on the far side of the restaurant with views of the bar and the entrance. We order the Sunday roast and a skate wing and fries and glasses of wine that we refill midway through the meal.

Afterwards Dilini suggests walking down Park Avenue to look at the hotels. There’s an outdoor garden cafe The Dorchester she wants to check out and we soon find ourselves in a small area in front of the hotel shielded from the street by landscaped trees and bushes. We order glasses of champagne and I try to order three mini cakes, only to be told that all of the cakes I want are sold out. We both opt for ice cream sandwiches.

The service is somewhat slow. A line of people starts to grow, waiting for a table and no one approaches them to take their names or give them a sense of how long it might be. Later, Dilini will write them a note and will be gifted a bottle of champagne to be redeemed on her next visit.

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Monday afternoon I meet up with a former coworker who happens to be in town. He’s a member at Home House, and I’m excited to visit another member’s club in London. I’ve been a member of Soho House for a while and I’m curious to see how others approach the concept. Earlier in the week I had taken a quick dip at Shoreditch House and plan to visit as many Soho Houses as I can on this trip.

Home House is in a beautiful building opposite the Portman Square Garden. I find Kyle already seated in the garden; two of his friends arrive shortly thereafter. One he’s met from the Tomorrowland music festival, the other he’s met online. I start with a glass of champagne and we while away the early afternoon in conversation.

Dilini has invited Ellie and I to hers for dinner. She’s not sure if she wants to cook for us, but we’ll start there and see where the evening takes us. It also gives us the opportunity to meet her cat Tupac.

I walk from lunch passing Paddington Station headed towards Notting Hill. It’s the perfect opportunity to visit the neighborhood and I plan to while away some time having coffee before walking the final stretch to Dilni’s.

In search of a coffee shop I’m surprised to find Portobello Road packed with tourists and vendors selling their wares on the street. I hadn’t imagined that the area was such a hotspot. The coffee shops I had written down are packed and lacking in outdoor space and so I continue walking up the street, forgetting that Electric House is an option.

I pass an outdoor art exhibition and find my way to the end of the touristed part of Portobello Road. Unfortunately, the coffee shops I had saved are closed or in the process of closing and I make do with coffee from a restaurant that agrees to serve me. I sit at a sidewalk table and write post cards and read.

Dilini’s neighborhood is an up-and-coming one. Her main street is gouged up with a construction project, but I enjoy seeing where she lives. Her apartment is beautifully decorated with art collected from her travels and furniture from Soho Home. I’m early and she pours drinks and sets out snacks after showing me her place. Tupac allows me to pet him, but doesn’t venture out to join us after we sit in the living room.

Ellie arrives shortly. She’s packing to return to the States after six months in the UK. This evening constitutes a short break from her chores. Dilini decides against cooking and takes us to a local fish and chips down the street. It’s my first fish and chips in London and I’m excited to indulge. 🇬🇧