East London is my temporary home, but I foresee a budding long-term relationship with it.

I had a conversation last night with a friend I met while in the Swiss alps regarding free will, determinism, and solo travel as we grabbed pints at a place in East London and joined a crowd of ultra-hipster residents on some colorful, claustrophobic benches.

I’ve been taking long-term solo trips since the day I turned 18 and took off with a one-way ticket to Seattle. America, Canada, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Great Britain, Mexico, Singapore, Vietnam, Philippines…. I’ve learned that these places are simply empty landscapes. What makes a place, a trip, or a meal special is the company. Every place I’ve traveled has left a string of shared experience and each person I’ve met has left an imprint; I synthesize what relevant thing was learned and return “home” bringing with me a new way of living and seeing the world.

This is what differentiates the traveler and the tourist. Travelling is a way. The word itself implies a deeper way of moving, of absorbing. Travel allows for the world to push and pull you at its will; a tourist will plan, a traveler will allow. The beauty of this lies in what is allowed and the resulting lessons learned. Cultural osmosis at its peak happens through conversation, usually over shared food or drink. When I travel, I seek out these occasions everywhere I go.

The past few weeks in London has fed my entrepreneurial fire. As I sit in coffee shops and bars sipping endless espressos, pints, and gin & tonics next to people a decade older and further into the research and development of their lives, the clarity and immensely terrifying reality of the next decade of my life becomes more and more real.

I want to take my accumulated 9 months of solo backpacking around the world and inform new entrepreneurial motivations.

The push and pull, the planing and the allowing, the free will and determinism.

Keep allowing.

fish&chip.

8/12

Overdid it with the caffeine.

Spent the day exploring, once again, the Shoreditch neighborhood of East London; ultra-hipster, quaint, just far enough away from the core of the city center…

My first stop this morning (afternoon?) was at a coffeeshop just across from the Tower of London. Stomach rumbling, head aching from a night of ball-pit frolicking, gin-drinking blasphemy, I bopped into the cafe of a four-star hotel out of necessity. Once inside, I was greeted by a perky guy who spent an exorbitant amount time explaining the various pastries underneath the thick glass dome. I obliged him and purchased an dark-chocolate, orange lump of loaf along with my Flat White. The space was sterile yet charming. The ultra-clean marble-lined tables alongside the saturated colorful artwork left me wondering if the place had ever seen any real sit-down customers.

After clicking away for awhile on my laptop, I overheard the barista talking to another cafe customer about the City of London during this time of year. He explained to her that the city center around the area where I am staying is generally vacant as a result of some political, financial reasons. I decided to take him up in conversation about the city, its culture, and where to go next.

Thirty minutes later, I have learned about probably a dozen nuggets of dining, drinking, and exploring in London. A paper receipt scribbled with 7 different specialty coffeeshops along with the names of the best baristas at each place has me now tackling a new goal: drink the best coffees by the best baristas in London.

Fast forward to three train rides, four miles of walking and a smoked-salmon and cream-cheese lunch and I’m now half way through an espresso sourced from Kenya that is highly citric, immensely powerful and actually keeping me from doing my real work..

8/14

Two days, four coffeeshops later.

Kafein, PrufRock, Climpsons & Sons, Mare St. Market

Each shop in a different area of London; my way of travel. Never would I have had the same opportunity to “come across” these specialty coffee shops without the help of a local, deeply embedded into the scene.

Business ventures on the horizon.

Being sick on the road in the summertime is the ultimate punishment. I’ve been fighting off a lingering cold since Rome a few weeks ago and for some reason it’s getting worse. I distinctly remember when I checked into my hostel in the center of Rome and learned that two of my roommates were fighting something… I’d be doomed.

This reminds me of last year during the tail end of my August ventures around western Europe. I remember finding myself sick, teary-eyed, curled up in my hostel bed in Madrid with two weeks left of travel. I am in the same position now. Last summer I found respite when I landed in Paris and my travel partner had arranged an apartment for us and he carried me off to a resting place for a few days. Imagine.. landing in Paris and wanting nothing more than a bed, rest, and some television. London provides me the same situation now.

This time I am at the whim of my own decisions. Do I walk around the city in the heat during mid-afternoon, constantly clutching a water bottle and hoping a fountain is around the next corner? Do I grab a beer or two with some strangers, chatting and enjoying conversation while silently dying? Or, lay in a hostel bed for hours, hoping no one comes in and disturbs the peace?

Health is all we have, folks.