london/maldives 2025 day eight

LINK: london/maldives 2025 day eight

The girl in the aisle seat and I had turned into full-fledged narcoleptic babies at this point. If I wasn’t sleeping, I was eating. Honestly, I lost all sense of time.

I vaguely recall eating something with sweet potatoes and vegetables—there was fruit too, I think. But in my Dramamine haze, it all felt like a fever dream. Somewhere between bites, I listened to The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess and half-watched an episode of Chicago PD.

Then, finally—finally—we landed. We had arrived. London, here we come!

The best part? We didn’t check in any luggage. That meant we were out of Heathrow in record time, breezing past the poor souls waiting for their suitcases. Five Star wanted to tag along with the rest of the group to check out their hotel near the airport, but Ava and I opted for a black cab straight to our hotel.

As expected, London was significantly cooler than the Maldives, but to me, it felt like classic Minnesota sweater weather—just crisp but not so cold that I needed a full-on winter coat.

But this is where things went sideways.

Between my Dramamine haze and Ava’s ability to forget the most basic details, we somehow ended up at The May Fair Hotel instead of 1 Hotel Mayfair. A small but critical difference.

I confidently walked up to the front desk, ready to check in, only for the receptionist to politely inform me that I had no reservation. That’s when it hit me, we were at the wrong hotel. Ugh.

Thankfully, they were kind enough to point us in the right direction, and with a sigh of relief, we made our way one block over to 1 Hotel Mayfair. Crisis averted.

Both hotels were five-star, but we specifically wanted a modern, eco-conscious vibe, which 1 Hotel Mayfair delivered. Checking in was seamless, and the front desk was just as warm and welcoming as the first hotel.

Now, the room.

Five Star had already warned us that hotels in London tend to be on the smaller side, more so like New York City than California or Hawaii. Ava, however, still seemed disappointed that we were sharing a queen bed. Personally, I didn’t care. I knew I’d roll over to my designated side and knock out in minutes.

Home sweet home, for a minute anyway.

The bathroom? Absolutely my aesthetic—clean, sleek, and modern. But then I noticed something.

There was a window in the shower.

Now, if you were here with your lover, I could see how this would be a cheeky little design choice. But Ava and I? Yeah, not so much. Still, I had to laugh. Some hotel designer was definitely thinking outside the box.

After a quick unpack and shower, it was time to head out. We debated whether to walk or grab a cab since our dinner reservation was only a 10-minute stroll away. But since neither of us are exactly GPS prodigies, we played it safe and called a cab.

Destination: Pavyllon London (1 Michelin star), located inside the Four Seasons.

Five Star, meanwhile, was off to meet her London friends at the bar downstairs.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the host and waitstaff were incredibly friendly. One waitress, in particular, picked up on our American accents immediately. She leaned in slightly, looked us straight in the eyes, and asked:

“Are you okay? I know it’s been rather difficult the past few months.”

And that’s when it hit me. She’s talking about the absolute shit show that has been our country since the new year.

I exhaled. “It’s been rough,” I admitted. “And no, we’re not okay.”

Ava, true to form, went on to ask the kind of questions that make you wish the floor would swallow you whole. I honestly don’t know if she’s just naturally curious or the nosiest person alive, but I stayed out of it, focusing instead on my food.

Then the couple next to us started chatting with us. Turns out, they were from California too. Small world. The husband was an assistant principal, and the wife was a district attorney.

But before I could enjoy the normal small talk, Ava hijacked the conversation with more out-of-pocket questions. I did what I do best in these situations—zoned out and ate.

And damn, the food was worth every second of this dinner.

I can’t do sparkling water, it hurts my stomach. It’s the still for me.

The amuse bouche was fab. I could eaten a dozen of these too.

The bread? Meh. But the butter? Game-changer. Buttery, creamy, downright divine. If you’ve got the butter, spread it—and that I did.

Poached langoustine seasoned with sesame dressing, powdered with paprika and black lemon shiso mayo. I devoured it in record time.

Chawanmushi of mushroom with hot celeriac dashi and lavage oil. This was delicate and earthy.

Confit seabass marinated with sobrasada, spinach, and smoked Parmesan. Seabass is always a dubya for me.

Crispy sweetbread, rougail sauce, shiso, fresh celery and meat jus. I’ve had sweetbread before when I was in Paris. It’s not my favorite (because it’s thymus and pancreas), but I’ll admit—it was tender and packed with flavor.

Boskoop apple baked in molasses crust with Isigny ice cream and Calvados sauce. The heavy liquor taste wasn’t for me.

Cocoa nib cloud with chocolate sorbet with buckwheat gavottes. Unexpected. Incredible. I was obsessed.

Since it was Ava’s belated birthday, they surprised her with a small chocolate cake.

By the time the chocolate bars arrived, I was stuffed beyond capacity. There was no way I could eat another bite.

We took a cab back to the hotel.

That little succulent by the door? Adorable.

I changed into my pajamas and was brushing my teeth when Five Star and her friends knocked on our door. Ava was already out cold, so after finishing up, I stepped out and followed them to Five Star’s room.

I perched on the edge of her bed while they took the chairs. It was only then that I realized I was in my pajamas. Oh well. They didn’t seem to care.

One of her friends, Raj, was Indian-British and a successful businessman. The other, Henry, was British and… well, he owned an escort service. With very specific clientele.

I quickly noticed Henry sizing me up. Apparently, Asian women were highly sought after in his line of work. He even offered Five Star a job—but she declined. I wasn’t exactly sure how they all became friends, but apparently, they met through mutual coworkers back when she lived in London.

We talked for hours.

By the time we collectively decided to call it a night, I could barely contain my yawns. I slipped back into my room, kicked off my flip-flops, rolled into bed, and fell asleep in less than ten seconds.