Tuesday night was the first time I had to say goodbye to people here, for the last time.
Coming to London, I was sad to leave friends and family in New York, but I knew that I would see them again. I knew I'd be back in a year and they would come visit and nothing would change.
But leaving London, I have to say goodbye to people here not knowing when or if I will see them again - and it's fright-fully sad.
When I first got here, I joined a small group at HTB in order to make some friends, and I was immediately adopted by the most wonderful group of people here, many of whom have become my dearest mates. I've spent every Tuesday and Sunday with them for the past 11 months, always doing a different activity. Bowling, going for NY style pizza, murder mystery parties, many, many trips to the pub, cook-outs, cook-ins, watching the Brit awards, celebrating Fat Tuesday over crepes, celebrating 4th of July over hotdogs, movie nights, cramming into the Big Easy for lobster dinners, and of course many, many wonderful evenings spent in worship and prayer together.
My final Tuesday at our group outting was emotional, to say the least. As the end drew near, all my friends gathered around me, laid a hand on my shoulders and started to pray for me, and I began to sob at the realization that I had to leave these incredible people, and leave this amazing church; for good.
It was then that I realized there really isn't a gram of me that wants to go back to America right now. I have come to love everything about living here so much, that I can't come up with a single good reason for leaving.
Several of my English guy friends have seriously offered to married me, saying "actually Anna - you would be a fantastic wife," but I've always dreamed of marrying in Paris for love - not eloping in England to get a VISA. A sham wedding is not the answer, so I have to believe that I am meant to go back, for some reason or another, and accept it. To fight my oncoming depression, I'm planning a UK visit for my annual birthday trip. I have my choice of British friends to stay with, and the promise of a homemade Victoria Sponge with candles for a birthday cake. Sounds jolly good to me!
I've been doing an excellent job of fitting in several great treats and meals before taking off.
I got to try the newly opened Cafe Colbert this week on a long lunch break with my friend Amy, since he dad is the genius behind the place. It's French, it's adorable, and it's right in the middle of Sloane Square. In other words, it's perfection.
We tucked into a red leather booth facing out to the rest of the cafe and both ordered un salade et une noisette. It was a remarkably sunny day in England and the sunshine was streaming through the giant windows of the restaurant, illuminating every face inside. The place was been open three days, but feels like it's been there for thirty years, plucked out of a quaint corner in Paris and dropped in London.
Last night I had my last leaving dinner at the gallery at Sketch, a very unique restaurant that feels more like an awesome art museum than a place to eat.
They are known for their "pod loos:" bathrooms that are individual pods, all stark white standing in an equally stark white room that is reminiscent of a set from an alien movie. It's quite weird, but quite cool.
The gallery is a rainbow-colored room with tables and chairs of every discernable shape and size, mix-matched china and cuttlerly and menus that are pop-up books. The menu is as unique and funky as the room itself, like Winter Pumpkin Soup, with sweet corn ice cream, popcorn, and goat cheese, and a beef and foie gros burger with french fries and xeres jelly.
But nothing surpassed my cocktail, aptly named "The Duchess" and served in a vintage teapot and poured into a teacup once it arrived at the table.
Coming to London, I was sad to leave friends and family in New York, but I knew that I would see them again. I knew I'd be back in a year and they would come visit and nothing would change.
But leaving London, I have to say goodbye to people here not knowing when or if I will see them again - and it's fright-fully sad.
When I first got here, I joined a small group at HTB in order to make some friends, and I was immediately adopted by the most wonderful group of people here, many of whom have become my dearest mates. I've spent every Tuesday and Sunday with them for the past 11 months, always doing a different activity. Bowling, going for NY style pizza, murder mystery parties, many, many trips to the pub, cook-outs, cook-ins, watching the Brit awards, celebrating Fat Tuesday over crepes, celebrating 4th of July over hotdogs, movie nights, cramming into the Big Easy for lobster dinners, and of course many, many wonderful evenings spent in worship and prayer together.
My final Tuesday at our group outting was emotional, to say the least. As the end drew near, all my friends gathered around me, laid a hand on my shoulders and started to pray for me, and I began to sob at the realization that I had to leave these incredible people, and leave this amazing church; for good.
It was then that I realized there really isn't a gram of me that wants to go back to America right now. I have come to love everything about living here so much, that I can't come up with a single good reason for leaving.
Several of my English guy friends have seriously offered to married me, saying "actually Anna - you would be a fantastic wife," but I've always dreamed of marrying in Paris for love - not eloping in England to get a VISA. A sham wedding is not the answer, so I have to believe that I am meant to go back, for some reason or another, and accept it. To fight my oncoming depression, I'm planning a UK visit for my annual birthday trip. I have my choice of British friends to stay with, and the promise of a homemade Victoria Sponge with candles for a birthday cake. Sounds jolly good to me!
I've been doing an excellent job of fitting in several great treats and meals before taking off.
I got to try the newly opened Cafe Colbert this week on a long lunch break with my friend Amy, since he dad is the genius behind the place. It's French, it's adorable, and it's right in the middle of Sloane Square. In other words, it's perfection.
We tucked into a red leather booth facing out to the rest of the cafe and both ordered un salade et une noisette. It was a remarkably sunny day in England and the sunshine was streaming through the giant windows of the restaurant, illuminating every face inside. The place was been open three days, but feels like it's been there for thirty years, plucked out of a quaint corner in Paris and dropped in London.
Last night I had my last leaving dinner at the gallery at Sketch, a very unique restaurant that feels more like an awesome art museum than a place to eat.
They are known for their "pod loos:" bathrooms that are individual pods, all stark white standing in an equally stark white room that is reminiscent of a set from an alien movie. It's quite weird, but quite cool.
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The pod loos |
The gallery is a rainbow-colored room with tables and chairs of every discernable shape and size, mix-matched china and cuttlerly and menus that are pop-up books. The menu is as unique and funky as the room itself, like Winter Pumpkin Soup, with sweet corn ice cream, popcorn, and goat cheese, and a beef and foie gros burger with french fries and xeres jelly.
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| The Gallery |
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| Teacup Cocktails at Sketch |
It's all very whimsical, and almost looks and feels like a set from Tim Burton's "Alice and Wonderland," so it was an appropriate spot for a final, English dinner with my favorite London girls. Dinner progressed into pudding, and pudding progressed into 2 bottles of champagne at the lounge next door, talking about the that passed so quickly, until we were properly tipsy and embracing in a tearful goodnight in front of the Green Park tube station.
I woke up this morning to my last, full day of living in London. I pushed aside the duvet, and stuck my hot pink toes into my tulip-print clog slippers I picked up from Holland, and went downstairs to make a cup of English breakfast. As I passed the window I saw it was grey, damp, and wonderfully rainy outside, and it made me smile. A quintessentially British day for my last day. I wouldn't want it any other way.
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