Here in London Town. Butter Butter Baby

 

The morning began with breakfast at Caravan, conveniently located across the river — because calories consumed after a scenic walk count less. The area had that effortlessly cool industrial vibe: old brick, steel, warehouses pretending not to be trendy while being trendy.
Breakfast? Excellent. Like, consider-ordering-everything-on-the-menu excellent.

As an early birthday surprise (or just exceptional hospitality), I was presented with cake complete with a candle. After I had eaten my way through half the menu.

Speaking of surprises: I forgot to mention yesterday that I received a lime body scrub from Lush for the occasion. Naturally, we also bought bubble bath because our hotel room had a bathtub and apparently I’ve entered the stage of life where soaking in hot water for 30 minutes feels like peak luxury. I spent half an hour floating there yesterday, enjoying my lemony bubble bath.

After breakfast, we wandered through Covent Garden, then headed towards Big Ben, with ambitious plans to continue to the Sky Garden. London Underground, however, had different plans for us — proving once again that no itinerary survives public transport.
So instead of panoramic skyline views, we simply walked. More walking. Endless walking. At some point, we found ourselves watching a cute squirrel, which in London somehow feels like an official tourist activity.

After lunch, we explored Leadenhall Market, before continuing to Barbican — an architectural masterpiece depending on who you ask, or a giant concrete Soviet fever dream depending on your mood.
Honestly? It’s ugly. But also weirdly fascinating. The kind of ugly that circles back into cool.

Dinner on the other hand came with drama.
We had plans to eat at Swiss Butter, so we walked there. Upon arrival: a queue of approximately 50–60 people outside.
Not a simple quick queue.
A banana queue. Like something out of Soviet times where rumours spread that oranges had arrived somewhere and everyone immediately abandoned their plans.
After about 45 minutes of waiting, we finally got a table.

And honestly? Worth. Every. Single. Minute. The menu was wonderfully short and uncomplicated: choose your protein and then surrender to the glorious fact that everything comes drowned in their famous Swiss buttery sauce. Simple. Dangerous. Incredible.

We finished the evening chasing sunset views because apparently exhaustion isn’t a real concept while travelling. The internet declared Primrose Hill the best place to see London at sunset, so naturally we rushed there.

We admired the view, both agreed that yes, this was lovely, and then promptly went back to the hotel to collapse into bed like two people who had accidentally walked half of England in a single day.