If New York is the Big Apple and Paris the City of Love, what is London? London is probably a huge colourful, blotted paint box, which inspires you to see things through bright coloured glasses. London cranks whacks in a row and cultivates tea time at 4pm on the dot. It has inhabitants for whom politeness means the world, who rarely mean what they say and who take themselves with a pinch of salt. It has parks, which are bigger than an average market town and prettier than Hugh Grant.
​London has so much energy and little rain. I was lucky enough to have lived in this city for 5 years, but in this short period of time I became Londoner at heart. I started a love affair with a city, which is moody like a diva, arrogant, full of itself and so incredible charming in the very next moment. London flirts with you in endless summer nights (no kidding, London has plenty of them!) and on its countless colorful street markets all over the city. There is nothing like ambling on Portobello Market or Brick Lane on a lazy Sunday afternoon, where the streets are packed, people enjoying all kind of culinary goodies and listen to the jazzy tones of more or less talented street musicians. There is nothing like window shopping in noble South Kensington and Chelsea, where you still suck in the unfading aristocratic splendor of the past, or in the dusty second hand bookstores in charming Notting Hill. London is full of magic alleyways with tiny dusty shops, where you could expect to buy owls, wands and old enchanted parchments, instead of vintage cloth and dusty antiques. Just a few miles away you are suddenly confronted with the unvarnished honesty of the streets of Battersea, where shopkeepers and neighbours are rougher but still incredibly friendly.
London is a bizarre adventure and it never lost its bewitching charm. You feel the spark of this vibrant city almost everywhere. I guess I never felt so inspired and attracted by all these contrasts before and I have never seen something