London, 2017
Mood: The Kooks
Riding Freedom in London: A Tale of Covent Garden, Beyoncé, and My Electric Scooter
Living in London was like being on a never-ending adrenaline rush. The city buzzed with energy, surprises, and the kind of cultural overload that leaves you either breathless or baffled—or both. I won’t get into how I ended up moving there (that’s a story for another day), but let’s just say that my time in London was nothing short of sensational.
When I first arrived in 2016, I landed in Kennington—not to be confused with Kensington. Kennington is next to Elephant and Castle, which doesn’t sound fancy, and frankly, it wasn’t. It wasn’t the posh, polished London you’d see in a rom-com, but it had heart. The neighbors were cheerful and solid, the type who would help you out even if they barely knew you. It had this raw charm that made it feel like a tight-knit community, and for my first taste of London, it was perfect.
But things got a little fancier a year later when I moved to Covent Garden. How did I end up living in one of the most iconic areas in London? Pure luck. I visited the flat during my lunch break, and before I could second-guess myself, I said yes. It was on St. Martin’s Lane, right in the heart of it all. The flat itself? Simple. The location? Priceless.
Covent Garden became home. Sure, tourists came in droves to snap photos and chase after celebrity premieres at Leicester Square, but for me, it was just my neighborhood. The area was chaotic, yes, but it was my chaos. I remember one night trying to get home and being stuck in a sea of people. Why? Because Beyoncé was at the premiere of The Lion King. For 20 minutes, I was trapped, elbowing my way through the crowd, muttering under my breath. And all I could think was, One day, I’ll tell my grandchildren I couldn’t get home because of Beyoncé.
But it wasn’t all chaos. London had its serene moments too. My favorite memory involves an electric scooter, a sunrise, and a route that felt like pure magic.
So here’s the backstory: my dad, ever the surprise gift-giver, had bought me an electric scooter for Christmas that year. At the time, these weren’t everywhere like they are now. I couldn’t bring it back to London initially (planes and trains have their limits), but on one impulsive trip to Paris for a family lunch, I took a 14-hour bus ride—yes, bus—to collect it. The things we do for family and electric scooters.
That Monday morning, I returned to London with my scooter, just in time for the city to greet me with golden sunlight. The air was warm, and the streets were still quiet as I zipped out of Victoria Station and headed for Covent Garden.
But instead of taking the usual direct route home, I decided to take the long way. From Buckingham Palace to Trafalgar Square via the Mall, it was just me, my scooter, and a seemingly endless stretch of iconic London scenery. The street was empty—an almost eerie stillness in a city that never truly stops. The Union Jacks waved gently in the wind, the sun painted the buildings in soft gold, and the world felt...mine.
For a few perfect moments, I wasn’t just riding a scooter. I was gliding through a memory I’d never forget. The chaos of London disappeared, and all I could feel was freedom, joy, and a deep sense of belonging.
That morning, as I rolled back to St. Martin’s Lane, ready to dive into another week of work, I couldn’t help but smile. London could be exhausting, overwhelming, and at times, absolutely ridiculous. But in moments like that, it was also magic.
