It was the Sunday after St. Patrick's Day of this year. My friend Amy (a London local) and I were just stepping out after doing a touristy round of Shakespeare's Globe Theater and people watching around the London Eye. With a belly full of Ethiopian food I had grabbed for lunch from a food truck, I was ready to meander through the city on foot, making my way towards Piccadilly Circus. However, the city had different plans for the day. Before we knew it, we had stumbled into and been swept away by a vast street crowd speckled with waving Irish flags. But... St. Patrick's Day was a full two days ago? Having finally recovered from my hangover after one too many Guinness pints at an Irish pub in Camden with my darling roommate Courtney on the actual night of the holiday, I had put St. Patrick's Day far out of my mind. Nonetheless, here it was: a massive parade flowing down the streets of London past the Parliament building and Big Ben. At first we were confused - there were numerous floats, not all of them traditionally Irish... For example, a large float blasting rap music (the song playing at the moment they passed us by was "In Da Club" by 50 Cent) with black men and women dressed head to toe in green. Another was a float of Hare Krishnas dancing with Guinness hats, sitar music twanging in the background. Mexican men and women twirled by in traditional clothing, dancing in and out of the crowd and beckoning for onlookers to join them. While terribly puzzling, it was by far the most enjoyable St. Patrick's parade I have ever attended.
**We later learned that the parade was a tribute to Irish citizens who had immigrated to Ireland or who did not identify as ethnically Irish.
Rewind to the previous night. After strolling through South Bank and catching up over delicious tacos from Tacos El Pastor in Borough Market, Amy and I returned to her flat near Kings College. The plan for the night was to attend a birthday party of an acquaintance/friend of hers at his flat. (I later discovered this friend is lowkey Insta famous - check it out @merrickwinter.) We set off after a dramatic photo shoot involving a Gryffindor pillow as the main prop (don't ask). Once realizing the party was more of an intimate gathering of 15 or so people not including Amy, myself, and two of her other plus ones, we made haste to the kitchen to devour the party snacks (Doritos, duh) and then politely excused ourselves. On the walk home, we happened to bump into three very intoxicated British women who were excitedly pointing at a man sitting on a curb across the street. "It's that lead singer from Oasis!!" One of them started squealing and the other two tried to summon us over. Upon closer examination, all four of us in my party determined with absolute confidence that the person sitting on the curb was nowhere close to being Liam Gallagher, and was rather a terribly confused homeless man.
London, I love you, please never change.
**We later learned that the parade was a tribute to Irish citizens who had immigrated to Ireland or who did not identify as ethnically Irish.
Rewind to the previous night. After strolling through South Bank and catching up over delicious tacos from Tacos El Pastor in Borough Market, Amy and I returned to her flat near Kings College. The plan for the night was to attend a birthday party of an acquaintance/friend of hers at his flat. (I later discovered this friend is lowkey Insta famous - check it out @merrickwinter.) We set off after a dramatic photo shoot involving a Gryffindor pillow as the main prop (don't ask). Once realizing the party was more of an intimate gathering of 15 or so people not including Amy, myself, and two of her other plus ones, we made haste to the kitchen to devour the party snacks (Doritos, duh) and then politely excused ourselves. On the walk home, we happened to bump into three very intoxicated British women who were excitedly pointing at a man sitting on a curb across the street. "It's that lead singer from Oasis!!" One of them started squealing and the other two tried to summon us over. Upon closer examination, all four of us in my party determined with absolute confidence that the person sitting on the curb was nowhere close to being Liam Gallagher, and was rather a terribly confused homeless man.
London, I love you, please never change.
