In my dreams, I think about living somewhere quite literary like a grey London or a dreamy Paris. I would spend my days strolling about, rubbing elbows with intellectuals, and working on my writing. Such dreams led me to New York, only to have me realize that I'm a Californian through and through, completely in love with our sunny winters. However, that doesn't mean I don't enjoy the occasional getaway to somewhere a bit more dreary and romanticized. London reminded me a bit of New York in the way that it feels very busy and like everything is under construction yet it was about 1000x more charming and felt quite a bit safer. I especially liked the Kensington area for its quaint architecture and abundance of dogs running around.
