Freed From the Internet Succubus in London (UK Travels - Pt. 1)
Touching grass/asphalt is much easier abroad, especially while gawking at Big Ben
I think it was on my second day in London when my friend sent me the kind of internet ragebait that we constantly send each other. Normally, we’d go back and forth on how stupid and worthless the article or clip or tweet or note is (while we, deep down, derive a ton of enjoyment from it). But not this time. I’d welcomed the internet succubus too often lately, especially during those late bedtime hours when everything online becomes twice as interesting. I had better things to do, at least for the next week and a half.
I’d arrived in London in mid-morning and spent my first hours in the city walking from Bloomsbury (where my hostel was) to Westminster. Might as well sightsee the heavyweights first. Along the way to Buckingham Palace, I was feeling groggy since I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep. So I napped under a tree’s shade in St. James’s Park for about 15 minutes.
Honestly, I hadn’t been that excited about London as a city. I was in town mainly to watch a Tottenham Hotspur match while Son Heung-min was still in his prime. Edinburgh was actually the city I thought I wanted to see more. But I have to admit, London is a magnificent city. When you first see Big Ben nearby in the horizon, you can’t help but want to enlist in the British Navy circa 1805, grapeshot and the cat o’ nine tails and anti-imperialism be damned.
That’s what’s so transparently fake about some progressive tirades against the British, like about how bad their food is or how ugly the people are. As if those progressives wouldn’t immediately try to ingratiate themselves with some poshly accented Brit should one float into their social circles. That’s what the Meghan Markle narrative is all about, isn’t it? Or its fantasy counterpart, Bridgerton? Not overthrowing the supposedly loathed system, but ultimately carving out your own place in it as outsiders. No, we’re actually colonizing the colonizer! Right-wing hysteria about anti-whiteness can be rather endearing, because it shows how touchy and insecure we all are. It’s an antidote to how some progressive POC often end up making it seem as if white people have superpowers, thus inadvertently exposing their own fears that white people really do have more to be proud of than everybody else. If these right-wingers examined things just a little below surface level, they would see that that a lot of that supposed animus is really just envy.
On the way back to the hostel, I walked through Soho. Leading up to my travels, I’d rewatched Last Night in Soho as my London movie. I remember really liking it in 2021 when I watched it in theatres. Maybe I was doubly blinded by the thrill of going to the movies again after lockdown and Anya Taylor-Joy’s odd beauty because upon second viewing, I realized this movie wasn’t all that good.
What is my favourite movie set in London, anyway? I liked Poor Things a lot. A Hard Day’s Night. An Education. About A Boy. Phantom Thread. The 1980s BBC miniseries version of A Little Princess.
I’d travelled solo before back in 2011, which was the last time I’d spent significant time travelling somewhere new overseas (for about a month, mainly around Germany, but also Amsterdam and Paris). I also went by myself to Osaka and Kyoto during a very short trip to Japan in 2017 when I was in Seoul, visiting my parents. Traveling by yourself is great, but nighttime can be a struggle sometimes since sightseeing and street-wandering aren’t options. It’s the time when people meet up with friends and lovers, so having neither can make you feel a bit lonely, even if you’re not the type to enjoy solitude.
Luckily, I had plans for my first night since
was in town. It’d be our first time meeting in person. God bless Substack, staving off litnerd loneliness since 2017. Far more respectable than meeting some cartoon avatar with a punny handle from Twitter. We met at a basement cocktail bar in Hackney. I had the impression that East London would be hectic and hopping, but except for the bar we were at, almost everything on that street was closed.There’s a line from Barry Lyndon, I think, that says how enviable it is that a young man should not only visit Europe, but also with purpose. That’s what I would like with my travels, to not just have the time and money to go somewhere, but to have a reason to do so besides just pleasure. The dream would be to be so accomplished and renowned that all over the world, I’d be invited to give readings, talks, or to bless some party with my mere presence. But having friends to meet up with whose work you respect also lends that sense of purpose.
It was lightly raining by the time we left and said goodbye. Citymapper told me the trains had stopped running. I was going to get to ride one of the red double-deckers! Of course I sat on the upper level. There was a semi-rowdy bunch up there, probably university students. For some reason, a guy behind me kept jokingly apologizing to his friends for being a loser. When the crowd thinned out a bit, I asked the woman sitting behind me if all the telephone booths I was seeing were just for show or actually functional. She said nobody used them.
The next day, I headed to south of the river, to the Tate Modern, with my Nikon F3. I wish I could say I was going for the art, but a friend had recommended its bar for the great view.
Traveling with a film camera makes you feel like you’re always on a mission. One of my favourite computer games is Beyond Good & Evil, which came out in 2003 and has you play as an adventurer-reporter. Naturally, she has a camera and if you take good shots of enemies, you learn more about their weaknesses and become better at fighting them. My objectives are less antagonistic, but the same mission-driven principle applies: 30ish exposures a roll, with the aim of getting a handful of really memorable shots if you’re lucky. Shoot wisely, but decisively. Sometimes, I just stand in a scenic spot, waiting for an intriguing subject to emerge. Or I zero in on a subject, but have to wait for them to strike an interesting pose or gesture.
It's funny how, generally speaking, men and women seem to be opposites in what we like to display in our photos. Women direct the focus more on themselves than men do. It may come off like a case of narcissistic women vs. selfless men, but we’re all just trying to show off what society values from us. Nobody wants male selfies. But the guy with the great eye might get pretty girls all clamouring for him to be their photog.
My friend was right in that the Tate Modern bar had a gorgeous view. I sat across from St. Paul’s, drinking a gimlet that had this technicolour oil slick-like layer floating on top of it. It looked and tasted better than how I’ve just described it.
For the second night in a row, I was fortunate enough to have plans. A friend had told me about a reading featuring Eliza Clark, whose novel Boy Parts I’d read last year. I brought my copy to get it signed and I was re-reading it.
My room in the hostel was not in the main building and the wireless wasn’t working, which initially annoyed me and caused me to complain to the front desk (I didn’t want to accidentally use up all the limited data I had on my esim in just the first few days of my trip). But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise because it forced me to go to the common room in the main building more, as opposed to potentially holing myself up in my room, spending too much time online. I chatted up other hostel people, inviting some of them to the reading to come check it out. They didn’t end up coming, but at least I got to feel like a big shot: Just got here and already have people to see, places to go (at night)!
The reading was in Farringdon, a neighbourhood to the east of Bloomsbury, about a half-hour walk away. I made sure to get there early in case space was limited. Along the way, I passed by this curiously curving building that was the colour of vodka sauce. I wondered where that bend led to.
When I got to my destination, nobody was there, except for a woman on the phone, pacing around. It seemed like she was just using it as a meetup point, though. I became a little nervous, thinking I’d gotten the address mixed up or there were some secret directions. So I went to the pub across the alley to have a beer and kill some time.
Luckily, by the time I left the pub, there was a group going into the gallery where the reading was being held. One of the people knew how to use the intercom to gain entry. And it turns out the woman I’d seen outside the building was indeed an attendee. Once inside, I’d introduce myself and learn her name was Nura. I also met her friend Tosin. Both Londoners.
The gallery was like a tiny courtyard in a villa, with multiple levels for the audience to lean over the railings and gaze down on the stage. The roof was open too so we could all smoke inside. Noticing there was no bar and that this was a BYOB event, I offered to run out to a store to get some alcohol. Nura came with me to a Sainsbury Local down the street, where we got some canned vodka sodas and white wine.
A couple of readings in, I realized I didn’t know the name of the host. When we resumed following the intermission, I called out to her from above, pardoning myself for interrupting, but asking whether she’d introduced herself already. She said she hadn’t, so then she did. She asked me for my name and I said I was Chris and that this was my first time in London.
I tried to catch Eliza after the reading, but it seemed as if she’d left. Fortunately, she was just outside the building and I got my copy of Boy Parts signed. I joined Nura and Tosin in heading to the afterparty at a pub called Betsey Trotwood (fitting, since David Copperfield is my favourite Dickens novel). During a smoke break, I met some new people, including a guy named Glyn. When I told the group that I was headed for a day trip to Oxford tomorrow, one of the people said Glyn had studied there, so he gave me some tips on where to go. He also named some shows at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival I should check out (I ended up seeing two of his three recommendations). Nura, Tosin, and I went in search of chips to end the night.
Back in 2011, on my first night in Amsterdam, I’d wandered around the canals for hours. Too shy to enter any of the bars alone, but too adventurous to turn in early at the hostel (I wanted to avoid the ignominy of being the first one in bed). I remember finally returning to my hostel dorm, now full of snorers, wondering if I’d made a mistake in choosing to travel solo.
I recently re-read my journal during that time and while that trip ended up being a good one, there’d been a lot of loneliness. As someone who prides himself on his ability to be alone, such feelings are humbling.
We put a lot of pressure on ourselves when traveling, knowing that in all likelihood, we’ll only get one chance to see this new place we’re going to. All the travel writings and movies and social media postings make it seem as if you’re supposed to have a life-changing experience. What if you don’t? Does that mean there’s something wrong with you, revealing that you’re not part of the enviable few that seem to be predestined to live fascinating lives? So it can be comforting to put off trips, to allow them to exist just beyond the horizon, giving yourself the illusion that the future and freedom are always broadening, never narrowing.
I’d wanted to visit London since high school, when I was reading a lot of Dickens, Austen, Thackeray, and Hardy and all that. Sonny is also 32—the veteran and captain of the team—and sadly, he will decline as a player soon. At a certain point, you have to accept that you must cash in during the present.
Next up, Oxford.
loved reading this and loved seeing your photos as well! I'm so happy we could meet—I love your writing so much and your perspective on literature & culture!!—and also we need more defenders of British food, lol (London actually has GREAT food and great Asian food, I don't know what everyone's on about…and I say this as someone who grew up in the Bay Area!)
As a native Londoner I really enjoyed reading this outsider's perspective on the city, which I don't come across hugely often. Sounds like you had a great time! (Even if you had to sit through a Spurs match, awful stuff...)