What the hell had I been thinking.
London.
It’s not as if they hadn’t warned me. And I’d had the M25 ringroad experience. Twice. How bad, did I think, can London really be. I’d done the M25, after all. Stood in a variety of traffic jams for several hours and that was that. If that wasn’t London, I thought, I don’t know what is.
Well, London itself, perhaps.
It was worse than just bad. Visualise the Harry Potter scene when they madly race through the night in a huge bus. Got it? Only that in my case it was daytime (i.e. bright, blinding sunlight, no sunglasses because, it’s England after all, right?), a bank holiday (did I mention that it was sunny and everyone was outside?) and the streets packed with people (dito). A hazard perception test come to life.
Two narrow lanes merging randomly and very unforeseeably into a single, tiny one. Enormous double-decker buses pushing in, stopping on occasion, children and adults crossing the street erratically and at all times and many, many impatient drivers. In the midst of this: me. Steering, braking, accelerating, swearing, crying, laughing. Struggling.
And yet, our arrival into the UK had been so nice: the sun was shining, it was incredibly warm (though a tad windy in Dover) and we’d taken a beautiful walk along the cliffs.
And then, the trauma that is London.
My friend welcomed me and I was so happy to see him, but it was hard to ignore the adrenaline which was still gleefully flooding my body. He felt that I had changed. I had. About 1.5 hours ago. Upon entering what we call LONDON.
We went on a nice stroll and had breakfast at an amazing place called Canvas and Cream. Aramis was welcome too, got a bowl of water and had I known that they also do doggy breakfasts (I kid you not), I would not have fed Aramis earlier. Instead, he got to taste some of my garlic bread.
We went on a lovely walk around Forest Hill, had a look at the market, which was very busy and poor Aramis was wondering to what madhouse I’d taken him this time and why. Little did he know, poor lad, that this was just an innocent taster of what was yet to come.
I left Gudrun at my friend’s place, and he kindly agreed to look after my bags during our adventures in central (read: congestion zone) London.
Packed like a yak on a trip to the Himalayas, and with Aramis on his best lead, I took the Overground to Canada Water and then the Jubilee line to, yes, how fancy indeed, Baker Street.
With an approximate estimate of 203498520394852049581309481341 more people. It felt as if two thirds of all Londoners had decided to take that precise train of the Jubilee line at that very moment too. Aramis was enjoying himself. Not.
I was busy and torn between giving death stares to anybody I identified as a potential threat to my dog (i.e. everyone) and melting out of sheer love for my beautiful, wonderful friend, who, once more, was the most trustworthy partner in crime. I’d taken him on this hellish trip, and yet he endured this heat, this incredible mass of people, this cacophony of wild, load, upsetting noises with such confidence and trust that it brings tears of love and gratitude to my eyes.
He was incessantly admired, petted and hugged by complete strangers. No matter whether we were trying to find our way in the chaotic beehive that is the London Underground, were checking in at the hotel desk or when I was holding him in my arms as we were going up an escalator. The first time it happened, he looked a little confused, checked with me if it was ok for people to touch him, wagged his tail, but then ignored them. By the third or fourth time it happened he shrugged his shoulders, took in the positive vibes, remained perfectly unfazed and waited calmly until the love attack was over.
There are no words to express how proud I am of my oh so little, oh so nervous, excitable, reactive dog. In the moments it really matters he makes the right decisions and turns into my role model of strength, resilience and adopts an ‘everything’s-going-to-be-alright’ attitude.
We walked past Baker Street (and saw 221B, of course) and eventually got to our hotel. I was not so happy when I heard that our room was going to be tiny and on the top floor, but when I saw it, I realised that it was perfect. We even have a balcony! Admittedly, the doors were a little stuck, but with a bit of skill and determination we now have access to it.
The Adventures of Aramis 