“You can use mine. I packed two adapters,” I said to Curtis. I opened my purse to find my adapter was missing and, more importantly, my phone was missing. “Fuck! I left my phone charging on the train,” I exclaimed.
We were in a London cab on our way to our AirBnB when I realized that I left my phone charging on the Heathrow Express. I want to take credit for starting us off on the right foot of mayhem, but the real credit goes to my mom who cut the tie wrap of my umbrella fifteen minutes before I left the house for the airport, which I sewed back together.
Thanks, mom!
I expected London to be quiet, but it wasn’t. I was happy to see throngs of locals and tourists crowding Oxford & Regent streets. The restaurants and bars were packed. The clubs were packed.
One of the reasons why I thought London would be quieter than normal had to do with everything being expensive, but food and drink, and clothes in London were cheaper than in New York City. My Starbucks Tall White Mocha with soy and no whip was $1.47 cheaper than the same drink I buy at the Starbucks around the corner from my apartment. The Ecco pumps I purchased in Covent Garden, the name of the area alone sounds really expensive, were $10 cheaper than the same pair in the U.S.
You might not think $1.47 is a big deal, but every penny counts.
“What are you going to do in London?,” my mom asked a few days before my trip. “We’re just going to chill, eat and drink, and party,” I replied.
“That sounds like a boring trip,” she countered.
Contrary to what she believed, our London trip was a success.
We laughed. We dined. We partied. And we laughed some more.
Here’s a recap of my long weekend in the Swinging City.
Day 1 – Departure & Arrival
I decided to take jetBlue because I received a $250 credit on my statement for opening a credit card with them.
I usually get the Ops Agent and the flight attendants (FA) a little something, a bag of sweets for the Ops Agent and Starbucks gift cards for the FAs. I do it out of the kindness of my heart, I swear. I also do it because I know I’ll get a little something in return as a fellow crew member.
What was the return on my investment? I was moved to their extra legroom row, which was empty and supposed to remain empty except for the asshole who decided to move to the window seat before the boarding door closed. Why is he an asshole? Because I was banking on that row remaining empty, so I could lie down and sleep.
I also received a goodie bag from the crew. I was offered champagne when I was handed the goodie bag, and I declined it like the idiot that I am. I apologized to my besties for that fuck up.
JetBlue offers meals from DIG (love DIG). I didn’t eat on the flight because I had already eaten an overpriced meal at the airport. I wouldn’t have eaten it anyway because it’s just way too late (flight was at 9:30 p.m.) to eat an American meal. Now in Europe? I’m happy to eat late because their food is healthier and lighter.
The seats are as comfortable as they’re going to get, and I was able to sleep for a little while until the woman behind the asshole who took the window seat started cussing him out for some reason. It culminated in her slamming her tray table, and then silence.
We were served breakfast (a warm chocolate croissant plus a beverage of choice), and then we landed.
I exited the aircraft and made my way to customs. I was expecting a very long wait at customs just because and when I was out in less than twenty minutes, I was flabbergasted. I was also disappointed at not having my passport stamped. I thought about returning to the customs agent but thought better of it for fear of going viral for the wrong reason.
I exchanged some money, and I gingerly made my way to Terminal 3 to meet the gents.
Three hours later the Flying Soles were reunited once again. We hopped on the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station. The trip on the Heathrow Express only takes fifteen minutes. It costs $30. The ride is fast and smooth, so fast and smooth that I forgot my phone charging on the small tray table at the window seat.
Luckily for me, someone, either a fellow passenger or one of the train attendants, saw my phone and handed it over to Lost Luggage. There are a lot of people who complain about the price of the Heathrow Express, and to them I say, “Shut up! $30 is nothing compared to the mayhem of losing an iPhone.” Yes, yes! I could’ve been more careful. We’ve all lost something at some point in our lives, or forgotten something somewhere.
We arrived at 25 Nassau Street in Fitzrovia, a district in central London located close to the West End. The place was small and cute. It had two bedrooms, one bath, and the dining room and the kitchen were one room but made to feel separate by the difference in color schemes.
We dropped off our belongings and made our way back to Paddington Station to recover my phone.
I stepped into Lost Luggage and introduced myself as the person who left their phone on the train. They asked me to describe it. “It’s blue with a clear case. Oh! My locked screen is a picture of me picking an ogre’s nose.”
Melvin and Curtis simultaneously laughed and asked, “What?!” The woman behind the counter replied, “She’s not lying.”
And that’s how you distinguish yourself, folks!
I forked over £10 and almost left my phone on the counter of Lost Luggage. “Would you charge me another £10 if I left it here?” I playfully asked. She just stared at me. Her look said, “Just leave.”
Before returning to our AirBnB, which was much faster when I got my fingers on Google Maps, we stopped at Hotel Chocolat for some sweets. I bought three packs for £12 (Chocolate Orange Pot, Salted Caramel-Milk, and a chocolate truffle-type I finished that same day).
Dinner was at Ibérica Marylebone, a Spanish tapas restaurant located on the corner of Great Portland and Devonshire streets. I’m not going to pretend to know anything about restaurant decor, so I’ll just say that the restaurant is very pretty. It has a nice bar close to the entrance and a mezzanine level.
We were seated at a round table in the corner of the room close to the kitchen. I like sitting in the corner because I can see everyone and everything that’s happening.
I’ll be brief here. We decided on the following options: Patatas Bravas, Croquetas, Pulpo, Seafood Paella, and the Vanilla Caramel Flan for dessert. I had a glass of 2021 or 2022 Albariño with dinner, and the waiter’s recommendation with dessert.
I devoured everything con mucho gusto except for the pulpo. I wasn’t a fan. I was a huge fan of the digestif, and I hate myself for not asking the waiter for the name of the wine.
We ended the night with a bang. I don’t know how it happened. I was turning to Melvin, who was on my left, when my free hand clashed with the hand holding my digestif, and the clash produced a downpour of wine down Melvin’s right side, onto the table, and onto my lovely coat a foot away.
My poor drink. I mean…poor Melvin! I couldn’t stop apologizing and laughing. Actually, it’s the other way round. I couldn’t stop laughing and apologizing.
When I told my mom what happened, her immediate response was, “Did you ruin his shirt? Are you going to buy him a new one?” No and no. I do feel horrible about the entire episode. Melvin’s top survived.
We decided the night was young, so we headed to Soho. We tried to get a table at The Vault with no luck. We had one drink at Beasy Soho, where good hip-hop was playing. Even though we were all full, the big hot dogs coming out of the kitchen were tempting. We ended up at Simmons Bar | Tottenham Court Road.
There was a brief wait to get in, no way to get to the bar, and it was incredibly crowded, yet we stayed for a little while trying to shake our asses in the little space that existed.
“I’m over it,” I said to Melvin at some point. Luckily, they agreed and we bounced.
Day 2 – Flying Soles Shop Til They Drop & Then Some
I hate AirBnBs. I’m old school. I prefer the comfort and the security of a hotel. Plus, it’s almost always quiet.
I’m an early riser and while we didn’t get in late the night before, we were looking forward to sleeping in. Well, the guests checking out and the construction taking place two floors above our apartment left us no choice but to get up early. Who in the bloody hell allows construction at 7:00 a.m. on a weekend?
I was pulled away from my daydream in which I was bludgeoning to death the people making all that racket by the flush of the toilet. I figured Melvin or Curtis was up, and it was about time I left the comfort of my bed.
Melvin was up, so I showered. Once we were both ready and while Curtis was showering, we headed out to get some breakfast. There was a pretty bakery (Fabrique) on the corner of Goodge Street & Charlotte Place, a five-minute walk from our apartment.
I grabbed a Cortado with one brown sugar and a Cinnamon Roll. We grabbed a coffee for Curtis and headed back to our apartment.
With caffeine coursing through our veins, we set out to shop. In reality, the only serial shopper on this trip was Melvin, but I was the first one to put down a credit card for a pair of shoes.
Me: I’m on a strict budget because I’m making a big move in April.
My credit cards: Budget? What budget?
Melvin’s eye caught sight of Dune, a UK shoe store, and he asked if we could stop in. I had no desire to purchase anything until my eye caught sight of a beautiful pair of white sneakers. I tried them on and loved how comfortable they felt.
And just like that, I spent $78.14 in less than twenty minutes. When in London, right?
We made our way down Oxford Street and made a right on Regent Street. Since I wasn’t interested in purchasing anything else (I did purchase two bracelets and a pair of earrings from Massimo Dutti), I became the queen at finding and securing a seat for my tush while Melvin and Curtis shopped.
We had built up an appetite, so we headed to Nando’s for a late lunch. Nando’s is well known and liked in London, and I was happy to add it to my list of places to which I’d return. I ordered the Fine Pita with flavored chicken and chips (french fries for us Americans) and a bottle of water.
With our savory taste buds satiated, it was time to make our 3:30 p.m. appointment at Cakes & Bubbles by Albert Adrià. Melvin tried to get us a table inside because it was cold, but they were fully booked. We settled for a table outside.
Thought: If a restaurant is going to offer outside seating in winter, then they need to provide heaters. I’m not taking a blanket that’s been used by everyone in London and never been washed.
There are about fifteen desserts from which to choose, and we chose the following three: Mocha Coffee Basque Cheesecake, The Cheese Cake, Chocolate & Lime Tart, and Champagne.
We devoured these desserts.
Some say these are overpriced desserts and not worth it. I can’t disagree with the former point, but I will disagree with the latter point. I was a tourist sitting at a beautiful restaurant on one of the most famous streets in London (in the world). I gladly forked over my share for my dessert and glass of champagne and had the pleasure of sharing that experience with my Flying Soles besties.
When traveling, people.
Dressed to impress, we headed to Soho to begin our night. We walked on Old Compton Street and entered Village Soho. We tried to get into The Friendly Society but were unsuccessful.
Brain fart: At some point, which I can’t recall as I type this, we went to The Alchemist on St. Martin’s Lane. The music was slamming and the drinks, some, were literally on fire. Everyone was drinking, but no one was dancing. I asked a guy close to our table about the “hotspots,” but he wasn’t helpful. One of the bartenders walked by and looked my way, so I took advantage of that look to call him over and ask about London’s dance clubs. Bartenders know the spots in any town! He gave us some recommendations, and we departed with a gift. Well, I departed with a gift.
From here, we made our way to Ku Bar. The music was on fire but not the drinks. It’s here that our love affair with tequila shots took off. We danced. We took a tequila shot. Danced, shot, danced, shot until the DJ stopped the music and someone turned on the lights at 12:45 a.m.
“What in the bloody hell is going on?” we all collectively screamed in our minds.
No one protested. We all exited the bar/club and some decided to re-enter the bar on the ground floor. We decided against it. It was time to move on and, more importantly, get some food to balance our very loose relationship with tequila shots.
I never imagined myself standing in line and staring at a KFC menu, debating if we should share a Mighty Bucket Meal for 1 or for 2. I don’t eat fast-food, but I made an exception that night. I was so hungry, and we all knew that the best thing to stave off excessive inebriation and an awful hangover the next morning was to eat an unhealthy meal.
Curtis and I opted to share the Mighty Bucket Meal for 1. We devoured our meals. I may have licked a finger or two, or three. That meal hit the spot!
No longer concerned about drinking on empty stomachs, we decided on our next destination.
London is full of bike taxis playing loud music. Who were we to deny ourselves a ride on this tourist trap? Besides, my shoes were not made for walking another block. We picked the loudest (the driver put on Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance with Somebody–heard for the second time that night) and the pinkest of the bike taxis, and we made our way to G-A-Y Late.
We joined the queue and made friends with a very handsome young man, who hung out with us for the rest of the night. We danced. We took a tequila shot. There was a lot of dancing and a lot of tequila shots. And for the third and final time that night, all three of us sang Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance with Somebody. I don’t want to listen to that song for a long time!
We called it quits at 3:30 a.m and walked back to our apartment, giggling at the night’s events the entire way.
Part Deux coming soon!