Looking back… I can’t even remember why London. Out of all the possible cities in Europe, I decided to go to the biggest one. I was 15 years old, and for as long as I could remember, I’d had only one thought about the town I grew up in: get the fuck out of here.
I wasn’t unhappy. It felt more like I was living the same day over and over again. When I woke up, I already knew exactly what would happen at 8:30, at 10:00, at 15:30, and every other minute of the day.
It drove me crazy. Completely crazy.
As if I’d been placed in a movie whose plot and ending I already knew, but still had to experience every second of it again. And again. And again. With absolutely no control to change anything.
It gave me a thirst for drama. A desire to trigger something — anything — that made me feel like I could escape the predictability.
Going out didn’t interest me. Neither did drinking. Ironic, maybe, because for many people those are the things that create the unexpected twists.
But what use were memories or experiences if I couldn’t feel them or remember them?
I wanted to be fully immersed. To be part of the scene. To surrender, with my whole consciousness, to the sensation and the emotion.
That was London for me: an overload of stimuli that started quenching my thirst for the unpredictable, that made my curiosity even bigger.
And that marked the beginning of the second half of the first chapter of my life.
So why London…? Maybe it was the Harry Potter obsession, or simply the fact that at that moment there was a package deal advertised in the “Hostelling International” magazine — I honestly don’t remember anymore.
But what is true is that my then–best friend and I got the offer from my mother to spend three days in London for our 16th birthday. Convincing my friend’s mother was less straightforward — which, in itself, is maybe completely understandable. But eventually she agreed as well.
And so, on March 9th 2008, I received my first step into the world:
a HI hostel package, including the Eurostar, three nights in YHA London Central, and two activities of our choice.
We picked Madame Tussaud’s and the London Eye.
It came with my very first travel guide — which I immediately devoured from front to back to squeeze as much as possible into those three days. From 8 AM to 8 PM, every minute of those 72 hours was planned and mapped out.
I knew where we had to go, which metro to take, how long we’d stay, and what it would cost. Down to the minute.
Not because having a fixed schedule mattered to me, but because I wanted to see and do approximately 56,434 things, had no idea whether I’d ever have the money to come back, and therefore decided to do everything in 72 hours. And that was only possible if the plan fit together like a puzzle — every minute optimized.
Needless to say: we were exhausted.
Once we got to London, by some miracle, we managed to understand the metro system. Until that day, I had taken a metro maybe once or twice in my life — from Brussels South to Heysel to go to Kinepolis. And if you know the Brussels metro, you know it’s nothing compared to the insane network of the London Underground.
Again… how my mother ever allowed this, many people will wonder.
But I knew everything: the stops, the colors of every line, the duration of the rides, and exactly where to exit. We didn’t get lost a single time.
Until the very last day.
We were on the metro heading back to the hostel to pick up our bags — perfectly timed, of course — to make the most of our remaining time and still be exactly on time for the Eurostar.
When suddenly I realized: the poles in this metro are purple… and we’re supposed to be on the yellow line!!!!
My perfect 72-hour planning and time management… failed at the exact moment we needed it most.
Get off.
Switch metros.
Go back.
And then… RUN to catch the Eurostar.
This trip didn’t just give me my first ever fully planned itinerary – it also gave me a whole set of lessons and ideas, which I’m sharing with you today.
You can find the itinerary here. And the tips for your first city trip here.
