Using nature seemed a more reasonable option, but I wondered how embarrassing it was to ask him the best place to shit in privacy. It was a bad idea to stay in a houseboat.
My daughter, if you are born and read Mom’s book, pay attention: if you ever have the opportunity to do something like this, make sure that the toilet works before you accept it.
I lay in bed determined to change accommodation the next day. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t like the house, but that green life was too radical for me. It was hard, but I accepted that there was nothing wrong with me for not wanting to adapt to that lifestyle. Maybe after visiting Asia, I could face it more easily. At that moment, I wasn’t ready yet.
We had breakfast on the small porch of the boat and I went for a walk in the park and around the neighborhood while looking for a place with wifi to plan how I would get out of the houseboat. I didn’t find a coffee shop nearby and went back to the boat, where I texted the mother of a Brazilian friend who lived in London. She had already offered me accommodation in exchange for some money, but the amount she asked me was twice what a hostel would. So I decided to negotiate and got a couch in the living room for 10 pounds a day. It was still more expensive than a hostel, but I would have breakfast so I decided to accept it.
I told my host that I had decided to accept the accommodation of a friend who lived in the city because I would spend a lot of money on transportation to get around every day, which was true. The train from his city cost eight pounds, it made no sense for me to stay on the outskirts of London if I wanted to see the sights.
Extremely kind, he understood and led me to the station. Arriving at Mari’s house, I thanked myself, as I was beginning to learn that I didn’t have to be in an awkward situation for fear of what others might think. Gary’s life did not change because I only stayed there for a night. He continued to live in his houseboat, being vegan, doing his spiritual haircuts, and using nature to pee and poop. But my life just got a little better, not worrying about someone burying my poop at the end of the day.
23 – THROUGH MAZES AND BRIDGES
On the first night, my new hostess took me to a very Brazilian bar to watch a Brazilian soccer match of the World Cup. Brazil lost, but I gained a cozy night within the culture of my country.
Mari left before me and, after a few beers, I put the address she gave me on Google Maps before leaving the bar. I had no idea which bus to take, so I decided to take the 40-minute-walk shown in the app.
I walked for more than 2 hours alone in the middle of the night but felt completely safe. When I reached the location shown on the map, I realized I had no idea where I was. I walked around the block to try to remember the building facade or some business, but I couldn’t recognize anything there.
I walked into a bar and used wifi to tell Mari that I was lost, but since it was the middle of the night, I didn’t know if she would see my text. I walked again, and at times I felt that I was near her apartment, but the truth was I was lost.
I decided to go back to the point where the map had first sent me and I found two British women talking in front of a building staircase. I asked one of them to call my hostess. I was too embarrassed to have to wake her in the middle of the night to help the drunk guest, but I had no choice. That was it or sleeping on the street.
Mari and her boyfriend picked me up about five blocks from the correct address and she couldn’t understand how I got there. So I showed the message that she herself sent me on WhatsApp. We never found out where she got that address from, but what matters is that, after almost 3 hours lost in the early hours of London, I got to my couch safely and very grateful to have been rescued.
For the past three days, I went sightseeing around the city.
On Sunday, while trying to find the National Gallery, I ended up in the heart of the Pride Parade. Many streets downtown were blocked and I spent practically all day trying to find a way to get to the museum. In an attempt to dodge the crowd, I ended up at Buckingham Palace, which was on my visiting plans for the next day.
The most logical thing to do, since I didn’t do any planning, would be to give up the museum and look for another sight. But I remembered that museums usually close on Mondays and the National Gallery was one of the places I didn’t want to miss. So I decided to take on the task of finding the way to the gallery. The plan was to enjoy the Pride Parade and have fun in the process.
I went in and out of several streets, tried to skip gates. I was almost overwhelmed by a crowd of gay men in multicolored, glittery clothes. I danced to relax a bit and tried to find new ways out of the Parade again. After almost 5 hours, I finally found the entrance line to the museum and, upon entering that gigantic building, I just sat in one of the rooms for over 40 minutes.
After visiting some permanent exhibitions, I faced the end of the Pride Parade and crossed the Westminster Bridge, walking. I stood there for a few minutes against the wall and watched a gathering of Asian tourists photographing the world’s most famous clock. Big Ben had been under renovation since 2017, and even though it was covered by an iron structure, the Chinese used all sorts of photographic equipment to capture an image.
I ended the day walking around the London Eye, and when I gave up looking for some cheap dinner, I returned to my hostess’s apartment hoping to find some fruit on the table.
I was very lucky because that night her boyfriend decided to hit the pots and we were surprised with delicious pasta with Carbonara sauce. We had some wine, talked about the difficulties of living in another country and I went to bed early.
The next morning I met Ana, my hostess’s daughter, whom I knew from Brazil. She went to my wedding while still dating a friend of Felipe.
London, like the rest of Europe, lived the hottest days of summer, and that morning we lay by a lake in Hyde Park and sunbathed. I told the story of my divorce without feeling hurt, but it was still uncomfortable to relive those memories.
After Ana left, I walked a little more through the park trying to understand the feelings that conversation caused me. I was anxious, I could not enjoy the present on its fullest, and my mind kept shifting from the pains of the past and the fear of the future.
I lay on the lawn, taking advantage of the shade of a tree to try to meditate. I spent a few minutes listening to the sounds around. Was I where I wanted to be? That question came to me like a blow and I remembered 2015 when I had the tickets bought to fly from Paris to London, but the second abortion interrupted my plans.
I wish I had spent my 34th birthday in England during my first trip to Europe. At the time, our traveling plans also included Belgium, France, and the Netherlands. I was with Felipe, but an emergency curettage in Paris forced us to give up London and go straight to Amsterdam.
It was then that I accepted that I was exactly where I should be. I needed to experience London under my own lens and finally realized what a huge gift I had in my hands. “I can do whatever I want here. By the way, I can do only what I want. I’m going to skip military museums and I don’t have to push anyone to visit modern art galleries. I can stop as often as I want to hear the talented buskers performing around the city. I can just sit in a café and watch people, as I’ve always liked to do. This trip is just mine and it’s beautiful.”
I got up enthusiastically and decided to go back to the London Eye. I crossed one of the pedestrian bridges and lost track of time dancing to the sound of a musician playing Rihanna’s and Ed Sheeran’s hits in a sort of rhythmical drum. I can’t tell what that instrument was, but I threw a few coins and let myself go with the melody, not worrying about the judgment of the tourists passing by me. After three or four songs, I continued on my way to the other side of the river, where I could see the Ferris-wheel light up at dusk.