The Pros and Cons of Falling for London

London was nothing like I expected. Even though the vibes screamed, “city,” it didn’t feel like one. Surrounded by modern buildings, it didn’t give me the same feeling as New York or even Boston—like the city yearned to swallow me whole. No matter where I looked, I could spot St. Paul’s Cathedral. That knowledge provided some comfort. Especially because right next to St. Paul’s was one particularly important place—Covent Garden, the place I could buy all the tea and sweets I wanted. It was also where the Burberry store was located.

Maybe Europeans really did have it better.

I crossed the Millennium Bridge (also known as the “Harry Potter Bridge”), took in a deep breath, and scoured my map for where to wander next. Checking the time, I had three hours before I needed to head back to campus for a mandatory “London Lesson.” I was debating Buckingham Palace when something on the map jumped out at me—the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens. Typing the address into my phone, I discovered it was only about thirty minutes from where I stood.

I shot my sister Nina a text, telling her where I planned on going, knowing it would make her jealous. We loved the Mary-Kate and Ashley movies as kids, and Winning London topped our favorites’ list. It probably had to do with the fact we were twins ourselves. She responded with a mad face emoji followed by one with sad eyes. While I had been partial to the character of Riley Lawrence, played by Ashley, she felt she had more in common with Chloe, played by Mary-Kate.

So, maybe, it wasn’t the nicest thing to go to the place where they filmed her favorite scene, but I am sure if she would have done the same thing to me. As if reading her mind, she sent me a photo of Rome (where she was spending her semester abroad) and told me she would be going to any and every place from When in Rome she could. I smiled and looked forward to the photos she would send—only because I know I deserved it after what I was about to do.

Fortunately, the area around the statue seemed deserted when I got there. Taking my phone out, I re-enacted the whole scene from the movie. A scene where Chloe goes with James, and they talk about Peter Pan and wanting to run off to Never Never Land. Ending the video, I watched it cringingly then sent it to Nina anyways.

So focused on waiting for her reply, I didn’t pay attention to where I was going and walked right into someone.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” I stumbled back a few feet. “I wasn’t paying attention; it was totally my fault.” My face darkened as I realized the person was not only a guy, but an incredibly attractive one. I flinched internally. He had dark brown hair and sharp green eyes which a charming pair of glasses only seemed to magnify. He backed up his tall stature with a pair of broad shoulders wrapped in a peacoat. If that wasn’t enough, he smiled lopsidedly at the babbling idiot I’d become, which only made him more attractive. Until he opened his mouth.

“Ahh, an American. Now it makes sense.”

Getting called out like that, only embarrassed me more. I’d put a lot of effort into carefully selecting the clothes from my closet back home that I thought would help me blend in with London. Then again, here I was being a stereotypical, young American. I had my nose buried in my phone not looking where I walked. I suddenly felt the desire to put him in his place a little.

“How do you know I’m not Canadian?” I responded.

“Are you?” he asked in his posh little English accent.

“No, just wanted to see if it was believable.”

He laughed and asked, “Why?”

“There is just a joke by one of my favorite comedians. She said if you’re caught doing something wrong in another country, pretend you’re Canadian, and you’re ‘soory.’”

He responded to my comment, not that I heard what he said. I could only think of one thing, “What did you mean, ‘Now it makes sense’?” voicing my thought aloud.

“I just meant the little scene you put on over there.” He gestured off to where the statue stood, “It’s not something a native Londoner would do. Maybe not even a native Englishman would do. So, the next logical question was, where were you from? Then you bumped into me, and I heard your accent.”

“I don’t have an accent,” I accused without thinking.

“And I suppose I do?” he raised a singular eyebrow in the cutest inquisitive manner.

I realized he meant accent in reference to being from the U.S., “I just meant…I’m sorry. I used to have a little bit of a twangy Southern accent and worked hard to get rid of it. So, when you said accent, I thought back to all the jokes people used to make.” Why was I telling my life story to this guy, I thought before continuing, “As for the scene, you saw that, huh?” I changed the direction of the conversation before he could ask about the jokes. I really needed to learn how to stop talking.

“Oh, yes. I couldn’t quite make out what you were saying, but I could tell you were doing some sort of scene. You looked to be playing several different characters.”

“Yeah,” I scratched the back of my neck, “ It was something for my sister. A scene from a movie we love.”

“Peter Pan? Planning to fly off to Never Land?”

I smiled. Winning London hadn’t been a huge movie in America, let alone internationally. I couldn’t imagine many people coming to the statue due to another movie’s reference.

“No, it’s from a Mary-Kate and Ashley movie that was set in London. My sister and I loved it when we were kids. So, I just wanted to send her a video of it.”

“That’s actually quite a nice thing to do.”

I grinned devilishly and shook my head, “Not really. I’m trying to make her jealous. Anyways, sorry again for bumping into you, but I’ve got to get to my English/British lesson.” I wanted to get out of this conversation before further humiliating myself or telling him any more of my life story.

That was apparently not the thing to say though. He burst out laughing, while I internally slapped myself in the face. Why did I not have a filter? This happened all the time. I felt my cheeks heat up once again as I let this hot stranger laughed at me.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But what the bloody hell are English lessons if not lessons in grammar?”

“It’s this dumb class my school is making us take. They explain a bunch of differences between the U.S. and England/U.K.—so we know not to call the lift an elevator or stand on the right side of the escalator. Which is kind of a joke because it only takes one person shoving you to learn that lesson. Also, the difference between the U.K. and England because some people apparently think they are the same thing.” Why was I still talking?

I could see he was trying to keep a straight face, “Ahh well okay. Have fun I guess.”

As I walked away, I could hear him still laughing. Did I seriously tell him that I needed British lessons? What is wrong with me? I looked back at his retreating figure. Go figure. My first interaction with a native Londoner and I essentially put a sign above my head that lit up and said, “American in London.”

Once I sat down on the Underground, I texted Nina telling her about the cute stranger. Her laughing response crushed my hope that she would offer a little support. Then again what was a sister for if not to make fun of you. I just kept my head down for the rest of the ride and tried not to draw any more attention to myself.

“British Lessons” were just as awful as I expected. The lecturer discussed how “British” refers to Great Britain and how Great Britain was the same as the United Kingdom. They explained with too much detail how all the English were British but not all British people were English. It only went downhill from there. The one thing I learned was that you could essentially add “-ed” to any word and make it mean drunk—pissed, legged, knockered, etc.

“Pub Quiz.” Those two words got me through the hour and a half long lecture about how I should expect people to ask me what I thought about that week’s episode of Love Island. We had two hours of downtime after our class then they planned for us to meet at a local pub where we were going to have a quiz and a few drinks—on them.

When I got to the pub, I got in line to grab a cider and looked around. This place seemed to be more club than a pub. Maybe they were all the same in England. Twinkle lights dripped down from the walls and rose décor hung in the forms of fake flowers, murals, and neon signs. Vines wrapped around the lights hanging above the tables. It would have been too bright if the lights on the wall and above the tables weren’t the only sources. Instead, it made the rest of the place almost glow in low lighting.

I found my friends and headed over to sit down in the booth where my friends waited for me. The booths were made from wood which gave the place a slight pub feel. But I always imagined pubs were dirty. I guess high-end pubs existed in the same way the U.S. had nicer bars.

“Hey, loser, took you long enough,” Chione yelled at me.

“All of this,” I gestured to my outfit, “takes time.”

“Amara, if you are seriously implying that your look took more than ten minutes then I am going to need an explanation,” Max called me out.

I grinned. Despite only having known them for a couple of days now I loved how well we already knew each other. Chione was the ballbuster of the group. She paired her glowing skin and long black hair with a look that said, “I could kill you in five seconds if I wanted to.” Guys didn’t know whether they wanted to dance with her or run in the other direction. It usually ended up being the first one. Max, on the other hand, elected themselves our group’s resident parental figure. They kept an eye on me and Chione when we got a little rowdy—which was most of the nights we went out. Despite that, Max still managed to bag more guys and girls than Chione and I combined. With their cropped hair and fierce makeup, they could deter anyone who decided as females, we—Chione and I—“didn’t know what we were looking for.”

“You’re right. I lost track of time watching an episode of Castle,” I shrugged.

“There was only time for, like, an hour at the dorm between the events,” Max pointed out.

“Yeah, and? The episodes are only about forty-five minutes. It left me plenty of time to get ready seeing as you just said it only could have taken me ten minutes,” I shrugged.

“Haven’t you watched the entire show? Like twice?” Max asked.

“Yes? I still don’t see your point.”

“Their point is you could have easily paused it and made it here on time,” Chione cut in.

“I have no need for your sarcasm, Max,” I said smiling, “and yes, I could have, but you can’t not watch the end of a murder show, even if you know who committed the murder. It’s like stopping before you finish a chapter in a book.”

“Okay, okay. Just sit your ass down and catch up. We’re already on drink number two,” Chione gestured to the one in her hand.

I slid myself into the booth and chugged half of my cider. The result of my action caused a small burp which sent carbonation straight up my nose. Max and Chione laughed at my discomfort.

“So, where did you guys explore today?” I asked trying nonchalantly to bring up my idiotic interaction with the guy from earlier.

“I went out to Brixton. Wanted to see where David Bowie was from,” Max said.

“I saw Camden Market. Wanted to see what Taylor Swift thought all the hubbub was about.”

“Was it as good as Taylor said?” I asked, curious about both Taylor Swift’s portrayal of it as well as the market itself.

“It was amazing. I’d say it was more like what all the Londoners said about it, that it was nothing like how she described it. It was insanely colorful with so many different stalls. It was beautiful but in a crowded kind of way. Like an open market at Christmas time.”

I looked over to Max, “I wanted to go there but didn’t get the chance. Wanna go?”

“For sure. What about you? What did you do with your walking around time?” they responded.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen. Who is ready for a pub quiz?” someone called from a microphone.

“I’ll tell you later.”

The quiz was a lot of fun. The questions ranged from “what was a double-decker” to “what is the test that London black cabbies take?” Afterward, we hung around the pub. Checking the time and realizing it was only seven, I asked my friends if they wanted to stay later and continue drinking. We had a couple of days before classes began, so why not spend one of them hungover from a night out in London?