Sabbatikos

Jet-lagged and exhausted, we crashed for a solid 12 hours of much-needed sleep. When we finally surfaced, our day kicked off with a meet-up with some friends from Seattle who, coincidentally, were visiting London at the same time. We arranged to meet at Victoria House Coffee and Food, but when we arrived, fashionably late, of course, there was a line snaking out the door. Thankfully, Michelle and Laura had already snagged a table and were waiting for us in the back. Over plates of deliciously satisfying Eggs Benedict (why are eggs so much better in Europe?!), we caught up and swapped travel stories. Despite our marathon sleep, the lingering effects of jet lag had us craving more coffee, so we made a post-brunch coffee stop with Michelle (while Laura had to work) to rinse the cobwebs of jet leg from our minds.

Feeling fully caffeinated, we said goodbye to our friends and wandered around the corner to the British Museum. Along the way, a poster caught our eye, Afghanistan’s Knotted History: War Rugs; an exhibit that intrigued us, especially given our personal connection to the topic.

Since the museum offers free admission, we headed inside, navigating a labyrinth of crowded corridors in search of Room 43a, where the exhibit was supposed to be. After some confusion, we finally found it, only to discover it was closed for cleaning until June. A bit deflated, we decided to explore the museum’s more controversial treasures, wondering which other questionably acquired artifacts might be on display. Our first finds were the iconic Rosetta Stone and the massive torso of Ramses II, ancient artifacts housed far from their rightful homes.

Next, we came across the moai Hoa Hakananai’a, a figure we had learned about during our visit to Rapa Nui last year. Having seen the moai in their rightful ahu on the island, it was a bit unsettling and almost heartbreaking, to encounter this one, isolated from his ancestral home, sealed off in the sterile confines of the British Museum. The contrast between the Moai of the lush and vibrant landscapes of Rapa Nui and this moai’s lonely, curated existence was stark and sad. There’s is a campaign to return Hoa Hakananai’a to Rapa Nui.

We wandered our way back to the Parthenon collection and took in some of the original carvings from the Parthenon we had seen as replicas we visited the Acropolis and The Plaka in Greece. Afterwards we explored a bit more of the British Museum.

We left the British Museum and strolled over to Euston and King’s Cross to pass the time while waiting for our cousin Ben, a London firefighter, to finish his shift. We stopped by the Skinner Arms for a pint before checking out the nearby Platform 9 3/4, famous from the Harry Potter series, at King’s Cross Station. Just around the corner, we also admired the impressive St. Pancras Hotel, another iconic location featured in the films.

It was almost time for Ben to finish work. As we walked toward his station, we saw a firetruck drive by. We couldn’t help but wonder if Ben was out on a call. Assuming that was the case, we sent him a text to confirm. He replied, letting us know he would be late and suggesting that we wait at a nearby pub. We went to the nearby Royal George and got ourselves another pint and some pub fare.

At last, Ben was off work, and we had the chance to meet some of his colleagues, check out his workplace, and get a quick tour of the station.

Afterward, we set out for more pints, starting at the nearby The Boot where there was a match on. As soon as the match ended we had the place to ourselves for a game of darts. They eventually kicked us out. From there, we took a late night leisurely walk from Euston into Soho, with Ben providing an impromptu architectural tour along the way, pointing out historical buildings and sharing their stories.

It was late, nearly midnight, when Ben asked, “Do you want another drink?” We were skeptical since most places were likely closed. But then he grinned and said, “I know a real dive bar drinking club nearby.” Intrigued and always up for an adventure, we soon found ourselves on Greek Street, standing before a discreet blue door. Ben led us down a narrow stairwell into the basement of Trisha’s, where, as it turns out, he’s a card-carrying member of this private club.

Trisha’s is a tiny, cramped, and legendary late-night dive bar, known for its dimly lit basement and hip, unpretentious, and welcoming vibe. The space was packed with hipsters, and despite the chaotic energy, the atmosphere was undeniably charming. Over the years, Trisha’s has drawn famous faces like Kate Moss and Anthony Bourdain, who blended into the crowd as just another patron. Tonight, however, there were no celebrities, just us and a very drunk Alice, who introduced herself with unrestrained enthusiasm before her friends gently escorted her home to prevent her from any further mischief. It was well past 1 a.m. and a gentle reminder that we should probably make our exit too. We said goodbye to cousin Ben, hailed a cab, and made our way back to the hotel for some much-needed sleep. Tomorrow, we would need to get up, pack, and leave London to continue the next leg of our trip to Malta.