London, Summer, Travelling

Rule, Britannia! Or: There’s no place like home.

An English rose in all its beauty
An English rose in all its beauty

My feet are once again walking on British soil. I am still feeling a bit seasick from the jet leg, and little L not wanting to settle back in doesn’t help. On top of it, I brought home a nasty could, thanks to the Americans’ OTT love for air conditioning. Yes, it’s hot out there, but do you have to cool down every room to minus 10 degrees Celsius?

The trip to New York was fabulous; I just love the hot wind that caresses your bare legs even when the sun is not out. A rarity of a feeling when you are used to English summers. Even though the shopping experience wasn’t quite what it used to be pre baby. Spending hours in changing rooms wasn’t on the agenda of keeping little L happy, so my souvenirs from New York come down to a pair of golden Birkenstocks (sensible with a hint of glam), Marc Jacobs sunglasses (a nice pair of shades makes even the frumpiest of outfits bearable) and an enormous suitcase (mine literally burst when stuffing in outfits for me and little L – I needed to upgrade to mummy-size).

After a few days of virtuous protecting baby-from-boiling-sun- respective icy-air-conditioning-turbines-manoeuvres, we headed to the beautiful landscapes of New England, its outstretched beaches, glistering lakes and impressive private mansions.

Ah, what a relief! What a breathe of fresh air!

Big M’s brother got married to a lovely lady from Conneticut, whose parents happen to own one of the most gorgeous and tastefully arranged mansions I have ever seen. I am not going to attempt a description of the wedding, as my words wouldn’t do its beauty justice. Think lavender, vintage lace, dusky pink and heavy scented roses in the most stunning New English setting you can imagine, and you get the picture.

Nevertheless, I am ridiculously happy to be home again. There was a time where I was always searching for this place called home, restless, quickly tired of places. Where going on holiday always held the potential of not coming back, or at least of developing the strong urge to move.

I do not have the urge to live in another country, another city anymore. Finally, I have arrived. The more I leave England for shorter or longer trips, the more I realise how much I love this place.


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