Arriving after the theatre and dinner meant I only had a short time before the classic pub curfew of 11:00pm quickly arrived. As things started to wrap up the gents I had been speaking to hugged me and wished me well on my adventure, each leaving one-by-one to meet up with girlfriends or to venture home to prepare for early mornings. Almost as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone and I was solo again and no further in my plan for the next 10 hours or so. But then just as all the lads had left, Daniel returned.
He had been on a phone call or speaking to someone else he knew, unaware that his group had left him behind. Strangely enough, upon his return he was significantly more chatty and friendly, suddenly taking a keen interest in what I was doing in town on my own that night. I told him about my layover and asked him if he had any suggestions for what I could do in my remaining time. Stunned by my idea to wander London alone, he promptly volunteered to be my chaperone.
When the bar closed we left for his guided tour of London by night. Not only was I alone in a strange city but I had left a bar with a man I didn’t know, trusting him to be genuine in his intention to take care of me that night. Again, it’s amazing I’m still around to tell this story.
What transpired that night was nothing short of a romantic comedy. The fated meet-cute in a bar I hadn’t intended to be in, a friendly stranger offering to take an out-of-towner around his home town, and breathtakingly romantic scenery in a beautiful foreign city. Over the next few hours we walked all over London, hitting some of the most touristy spots like Carnaby Street without another soul around. As we walked through Chinatown it began to softly rain. Daniel thought quickly of a spot that would be open at this late hour and where we could wait out the rain. As we approached the red door of the bar, which was flanked by a smartly dressed bouncer in a black sixpence hat, he stopped and quickly briefed me on the venue, “don’t talk to anyone and don’t touch anything. I’ll explain when we get inside.”
Frankly I love a dive bar. And the dodgier the better. A local spot that no one would venture into without knowing it beforehand is my favorite kind of place. However, I was both excited and concerned by the warning of my guide. He led me through the single red door and up the stairs. When we made it to the floor of the bar he excused himself to the toilet and I waited shyly off to the side, but before leaving he reminded me to not speak to anyone. After he left it took only seconds before an intimidating man approached me and start to strike up a conversation. Only a few lines into our chat Daniel opened the door of the bathroom, saw me speaking to this new stranger, and made his way hastily towards me. Placing himself between the man and myself, he took my hand and escorted me to an open booth. I politely thanked the strange man over my shoulder as I was whisked away. My American manners are never far behind, no matter the situation.
Once we sat down Daniel explained the reason for his stark warning: everyone in the bar was either a pimp or a prostitute. It was the only place open at this time, so it was a common hang out spot for the seedier nightlife in the area as they either tried to meet clients or waited in between appointments. I laughed, amused by the bizarre and wonderful turn the night had taken. How many people get to (safely) see this side of London?
We had a beer at our new bar and watched the people around us. Now with a clear view of the clientele I could more easily see how obvious it was. I never felt unsafe and this vantage point was exactly what I had been hoping for on this spontaneous excursion. More importantly, now with the ability to sit and talk to each other, I could see how sweet and charming Daniel was. We made the kind of first date conversation everyone hopes to make. The topics flowed naturally and without awkwardness. To this day I still smile when I think about it.
After an hour or so we left the bar and returned to the streets of London. I can’t remember everywhere we strolled, but I do clearly recall walking along Fleet Street and around Westminster. I hadn’t been down there before, and the architecture took my breath away. I’ve been back to London a hundred times since then and every time I walk in that area I think of that night.
The sky was still dark blue, but the sun was slowly making its presence known.
It must have been around 5:00am at this point. The tops of the Georgian buildings around us began to transition from midnight black to indigo as we turned a corner and made our way to the edge of the River Thames. I still get chills as I recall our walk along the river and with sunrise approaching as we reached Big Ben. The sky was still dark, but the transitioning shades of blue started to light up the city around us. The famous clock let out its first bong of the day. It was 6am.
Throughout the night Daniel had given me glimpses of his interests, hobbies, and who he was as a person. He had mentioned that he was going to watch some football with his father the next day. He was meant to meet his father early in the day for breakfast together, yet he took the time to safely accompany me around town. I can’t remember the team he was seeing as I was unfamiliar with London teams at the time, but I vaguely recall something about a cannon. It wasn’t until I ended up moving there the following year that I took a strong interest, ensuring I had the most authentic experience I could – and that mention of a cannon started to make sense.I made my loyalties carefully, fully aware I couldn’t change my alliance once it was made and Arsenal quickly became my team. A team known for having a cannon on their crest. The reason I chose Arsenal will be the subject of another story, but I always wonder if I my memory served correctly and that was the team he referenced on that fateful night.
I needed to leave for the airport around 7:00 or 8:00. We slowly made our way to Victoria station where I would catch the bus to Paddington and from there the train to Heathrow. As we approached the station our pace began to slow, both of us realizing we weren’t ready for this incredible night to end. He walked me to the bus, a classic red double-decker, ensuring I found the right one, grabbed me by the belt of my navy trench coat, pulling me close to him, and gave me a tight squeeze. I profusely thanked him for taking care of me that night and kissed him on the cheek. I boarded the bus and that was it.
As the bus began to pull away, I felt the sudden urge to create a dramatic scene worthy of the romantic comedy we had enacted that night. Perhaps shouting for the bus to stop so I could run back to him in slow motion, kiss him properly and exchange contact information. The scenario played out in my head but before I even realized it the moment to create the drama had passed. We never exchanged phone numbers, email addresses, or any way of reaching each other again.
At the time I had no idea I would end up moving to London the following year, let alone a second time in the future or spend my life in Europe after that. The first thing I did when I moved to London in 2007 was go to that bar where we met. The smoking ban had since come into affect and the vibe was different. I didn’t see him or his friends. Part of me looked for him everywhere in my first few weeks as a resident – in the Underground, on the streets, and at every football game I ended up going to. I wondered if I would remember him if we crossed paths as that night was so surreal part of me thinks it was a fever dream.
A fateful night with a stranger partially set the course for the rest of my life, but not in the way a sentence like that usually goes. It sparked something in me that still burns to this day. I’ve never been able to recapture a moment like that, perhaps because those moments by default are fleeting. I have no idea where he is more than a decade later, but I’m still grateful for the infinitely positive experience he provided that night. I’m thankful not only for keeping me safe and entertained, but creating an unwavering passion for a city that has still not ceased, no matter the years or countless hours I have spent walking her streets since. However, unfortunately the experience did nothing to quell my love of British men.
