London, England

Traveling while living paycheck to paycheck is anything but easy. But in my early 20s my wanderlust could not be squashed by a minimal budget. So when my friend, Sarah, found flights to Sweden and London for $300 I hopped on it.

Our other friend Carl was doing a short-term work program in London, so it made sense to go now, when he could show us the town. But as a lifelong procrastinator, I waited to book my flight and found myself in a predicament where I would need to stay a few days longer than my friends to score that deal.

What seemed like an awkward blunder brought on by my own laziness ended up being one of the best decisions I’ve unintentionally made.

It turns out there was a reason flights were so cheap. Late November in Stockholm and London is freezing-cold and dark, weather that no one in their right mind would choose to visit. Call me crazy, but I loved it.

My friends left London early on a Saturday morning but my flight wasn’t until Tuesday. So that weekend being the A+ host he is, Carl showed me Notting Hill and Portabello Market before we went back to get ready for a big night out in Shoreditch. He blasted remixes and poured us glasses of wine as we got ready.

We were thoroughly tipsy by the time we began our hour-long tube ride from Kensington to Shoreditch. But we were not going to lose this buzz. So we packed water bottles full of vodka and wine, grabbed a seat on the tube and popped in one iPod earbud each so that Carl could continue to DJ during our ride.

It wasn’t until we were running to catch the next train in Kings Cross and passed Platform 9 ¾ where I almost involuntarily screamed “‘ARRY POTTER!” that I realized how drunk I was.

By the time we got off of the tube, Carl and I were giggly and ready to dance the night away. We waddled through the crowded streets of Shoreditch and heard someone yell “Carl!” His coworkers we were planning to meet up with were towards the front of an impossibly long line for a blues club.

Carl went around the circle, introducing me to everyone. I sobered up (and I’m pretty sure audibly gasped) when it came to his Italian coworker, Alessandro. He was taller than my six-foot frame and had a scruffy beard and fluffy hair that contrasted his put-together peacoat. He shook my hand and motioned to get in the line.

After shivering outside for a good 20 minutes we finally made it in. Alessandro led us to the back to drop our coats and immediately got me another drink at the bar.

The club was unlike any place I had ever been. It was packed to the gills and the band was playing blues versions of all the best pop songs. On the dance floor, people were actually dancing. Not grinding awkwardly like in the clubs back home, but swinging each other around, facing each other. I thought to myself how much I love Europe.

As soon as I finished my drink, Alessandro swept me onto the dance floor. I felt as if I was in sixth grade cotillion again, learning the most basic steps with wide-eyed wonder. He twirled me, stepped to the side and swooped me down in one smooth motion. I was dizzy and drunk but having the time of my life. Then all of the sudden, he dipped me down and kissed me like one of those 1950s movies. When I stood up I could see Carl laughing out of the corner of my eye.

By the time we stumbled out of the club at 4am, my cheeks hurt from smiling. Carl, Alessandro, Alessandro’s roommate and I piled into a cab for the long ride home. It was a bit squished but I somehow folded my tall body to sit on Alessandro’s lap. When we pulled up to his place there was almost no question about where I was sleeping as he pulled me inside. Carl smiled and waved me off as if he accomplished his mission of wing-manning both of us.

We didn’t sleep much that night.

In the morning, I became painfully aware that I only had last night’s clothes. So at 7am I slipped out and grabbed an Uber back to Carl’s. There we had a very hungover full english (??) to celebrate and pore over details of the night earlier.

We spent the whole day on Carl’s couch watching Schitt’s Creek and falling in and out of sleep as we nursed our hangovers. We were only awakened when Carl’s phone dinged with a text from Alessandro. He was asking if he could take me out tonight. So with a little help from Carl, we made a date for 8pm and I began to get immediately nervous.

Carl was laughing and snapchatting all our friends back home as I got ready for my date with my “Italian Prince”. I drank a few glasses of wine to calm my nerves (I was 24 and still really needed to pregame my dates) and walked outside to see Alessandro standing outside waiting for me. In the chilly London November we walked to a pub across from a park as he told me about the little neighborhood and himself.

The pub was nearly empty, just a few older men in one corner, so we made ourselves comfortable in a secluded corner. It was Sunday and the kitchen was closed, which I could tell Alessandro didn’t plan on. I found his frustrated muttering under his breath about the lack of food utterly adorable and reassured him it was okay. We ordered bowl after bowl of olives and nuts to make up for it.

We stayed in the cozy pub for hours, talking about everything from family to where I was from ( San Diego, turns out he lived there for a bit). It wasn’t until the barkeep told us they were closing up that we even thought of leaving.

As we stepped out of the pub snow began to gently fall down.

I just stood on the sidewalk laughing. Okay, where was the production crew? This stuff doesn’t actually happen in real life. As I stood there, Alessandro asked me, “Have you ever seen snow?”

“Yes,” I laughed. “I just love it!”

He grabbed me and kissed me under the lantern-lit London streets and snow.

I spent those last two nights before I left with Alessandro. Talking about everything and anything, exploring Kensington and just living out a dream. I was sad to go, but just chalked it up as a little vacation romance that would end with that cinematic ending.

By the time I left I couldn’t tell if I had fallen in love with the city or with the boy.