Before arriving, London already existed in my head as a collection of familiar images. Big Ben, red buses and the river felt almost borrowed from films. Standing in front of them was strangely less like discovering something new and more like meeting something I had known from a distance.
The trip became more personal away from that first recognition: inside museums, between shelves of books, in markets and quieter streets. Those were the places where London stopped being a checklist and started becoming a city I had actually moved through.
Five days were enough to collect an impression, but not enough to finish it. That incompleteness may be the most honest part of the memory.

















