I arrived in London on a Friday; I am leaving it on a Wednesday. Within these five days, I witnessed the massive metropolis of London Town, teeming with so many different streams of life. Everywhere you go there are throngs of people, all rushing to some place or another. This organized form of chaos is best observed on the Underground, the efficient subway system that threads the city together. I never waited more than two minutes for a train, as they came so frequently. Cool British voices greet you every time you exit, kindly warning you to “Mind the Gap” between the train and the platform.

Me + Camden Lock Market

My friend, Katie, and I spent a lot of time riding the subway, trying to see as much as possible. We saw the tourist spots like Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, and the Houses of Parliament. We went to Camden High Street and saw quirky London fashionistas tromping down the street in Doc Martens. We walked through Piccadilly Circus, the streets aglow with revelers looking to be entertained for the night. I tasted the best mustard in the world at Byron’s burger joint on Charing Cross Road. It was called Colman’s English Mustard, please do try it when you get a chance.

When we finally made it to Westminster Abbey on our last day I had to pause from all this seeing and doing when I got to the grave of Charles Darwin. I had to stand for a moment, immobile, because I actually felt something. This is a man I know about. I know how his children died. I know so well how his accomplishments have shaped my world, yet he will never even know my face. It felt a little too voyeuristic, me standing there in front of his plain gravestone. London, in all its grand beauty and impressive architecture, had up until that moment made me marvel, but not connect.

Westminster Abbey looking sharp

I then felt sad for all the people who will never be remembered by history, the ones who led simple, ordinary lives and just tried to make it as best as they could through life’s trials. I felt guilty because I know so many intimate details of Queen Elizabeth’s life, but I couldn’t tell you the names of my great-grandparents. The people whose hands laid the stonework in Buckingham Palace, the ones who labored to create the tunnels of the Underground… Where are their names? Not in Westminster Abbey, I can tell you that much.