From the moment we landed in UK the entire process was surreal – completly contactless.  Passport control.  Customs.  Train.  Hotel.  Not a single human interaction required.  And it was smoooth.  No problems, follow the directions on the screen and it was seamless – except perhaps overpaying for a train ticket.  

We exited the train station via the door suggested through our “Citymapper” app and entered into what can only be described as a street party.  The cobbled ⅓ mile between the train station and our hotel was packed!  Shoulder to shoulder.  Spilling out of pubs onto the sidewalks and into the streets.  Laughing, carousing, pints in hand.  If Ketchikan Tourist Season and New Orleans had a baby, it would be SOHO on a Saturday night.  

Rick Steves said in his guide, “Once seedy Soho has become trendy – with many recommended restaurants – and is well worth a gawk.  Its the epicenter of London’s colorful youth scene, a fun and funky Sesame Street of urban diversity.”

And it was truly worth the gawk. 

 I have never had so much fun people watching. The average age of the group hovered around 30.  There were packs of hen parties – like flocks of colorful birds, you would see them in the distances with their micro skirts on and the bride-to-be in a white version of the slinky dress and a sash, maybe a mom or an aunt in a more subdued dress.   I am certain there were stag groups there as well, harder to spot until you saw clusters of young men in ultra tight t-shirts and more product in their hair than the women.  

They all roved in packs.  The clearly underaged ones.  The fashion forward one. The funky ones. The look-at-me ones.  The bro packs, the dude and his wing man, the just-one-more-pint pack, all of them dressed with intention.   

We wandered a bit aimlessly looking for something to eat, stopping at Soho Square Garden a lovely little green space flooded with picnicking crowds which prompted Scott to ask if this was the first sunny day in awhile.

In spite of the milling crowds outside of the pubs, we were able to secure a table at the “Dog and Duck.” A proper pub where Scott had his first quintessentially British meal, Steak and Ale pie.  

After an extremely weird night of sleep trying to adjust to jet lag, we awoke early.  6:30 and wandered off in search of coffee.  The streets were deserted, pubs shuttered, only a few were out and about. It was there in the bright morning sun that we saw “our people.”  Grandparent aged tourists and locals alike (they were few and far between the night before).  We followed one woman with a bakery bag to an exquisite little corner bakery and had a delicious breakfast.  It was there that we saw someone walk by with a runners bib and number on it.  Scott looked it up and sure enough, The London Marathon was going to be run this am.  So we are off, to wander down by the Thames and watch and cheer and the leaders of the 56,000 person race come in.  A spontaneous and carefree adventure.

And just-like-that we were in it! London.  The UK, the kick off to our month of Wandering Well.