Yes Taylor Swift, it certainly did. I’ve been meaning to write about the most wondrous time I’ve had visiting a couple of my favourite cities in Europe plus a new one, meeting up with many great friends, and experiencing the joy of being at the Olympic Games for the very first time but other commitments had to take precedence.
Within a few hours of landing from my long-haul flight from Paris on the Sunday I arrived – a gruelling journey that almost left me stranded in Dubai for a day – I had to lace up and run 18 kilometers to catch up on my training. In hindsight, I could have skipped it altogether but I felt I needed to clock the mileage more to assuage my worries than boost my physical fitness. It was anyhow a surefire way to beat jetlag.
My last run before then was six days prior in Amsterdam. On the advice of the cute Dutch mister from my hotel’s reception, I headed out early in the morning before the streets were jam-packed by tourists looking to get high, no pun intended. The nine-kilometer route had taken me through the quiet canals of the city, past some charming houseboats, the Nemo science museum, the De Gooyer windmill and, other places of interest I had not realised were significant until after reviewing the map post-run. There weren’t as many recreational runners in Amsterdam as in London, I observed. In fact, there were only two that I came across! In London, on the other hand, there must have been over two thousand, all out and about running along the River Thames, around Buckingham Palace, across Westminster Bridge, through Battersea, and Hyde Park. Running brought me to highs far better than cannabis ever could. My only regret was not managing to squeeze a run in Paris.
I spent the first 48 hours of my trip in London, one of my favorite cities in the world. So much so that when Dann, Richard, and I tried to recall my visits, we fondly recounted the five times I have been. Six almost, if only the pandemic hadn’t upended one of my plans. Other than my very first visit in 2016, the subsequent ones were sojourns of roughly 48 hours. It’s become almost a ritual for me to stop by whenever I visit Europe. There are only a few places in the world where I feel the warmth of home. London is one of them.
In February this year, one of my childhood friends, Francis, left Singapore to relocate to the Netherlands for a new job. I was ecstatic for him to start anew elsewhere. He had been such a steady support system for me in Singapore, but I knew it wouldn’t be long until I saw him again. Amsterdam sounded good in the summer. We made plans to meet, and it turned out perfectly because another childhood friend, Joseph, who lives in Hamburg, could make the trip. Their SOs, Kym (Francis) and Beth (Joseph), joined the mini reunion, and it made my heart full knowing my friends are doing well in life and in love. It doesn’t seem too long ago when we were circling the grounds of our alma mater in our sweaty uniforms, yet it also seems we have come a long way, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. We were thousands of miles away from home, but now when I think of home, I do not only remember the place I grew up in but more so the people I grew up with. I too find home in them.
There were so many things I looked forward to on this trip, but perhaps the single most important one was the Olympics. So undeterred was I that when Francis suggested they were willing to adopt me if I got stuck in Amsterdam due to the strikes, I was vehement in my objection. Not even a strike could have stopped me from going; I would have flown on a broomstick if I had to. This was a lifelong dream in the making. Gino reminded me that we’d been making plans since college to go to Rio. I shall not say more about Tokyo. So it was Paris or never.
Paris was glorious. From the moment I stepped out of the train at Gare du Nord, I immediately felt the energy of the Games. For some people, Paris is a hit or miss. It gained a reputation for being dirty, unsafe, and chaotic in some areas, and Parisians are often dubbed generally snobbish, especially if you can’t speak French. This was my second time, and I must say Paris was even sweeter this time around. They’ve hosted the Games so perfectly that even the locals were amazed at how much the city has transformed. Imagine being able to swim in the Seine! The Parisians I encountered were welcoming and helpful despite the basic French I could muster. Not only was I able to attend the Games with my very good friends Gino and Makie, we also had the rare privilege of cheering for our countrymen. It was such a fulfilling experience that I’ve told Gino we should start planning for L.A.
The trip had everything I needed to feed my soul. To say I’m grateful is even an understatement.
Sharing some of my trip favorites!
London
Amsterdam
Paris
