A Solo Sojourn in London: Tea, History, and a Bit of Prosecco Magic

There’s something quietly magical about boarding a 747 at sunset—especially when that sunset happens to be an Arizona one, blazing the sky in pinks and golds as you sip your first glass of champagne in Club World. Upstairs on the second level, the space feels tucked away and intimate. The seats are set up in cozy pairs facing each other, separated by a privacy screen that slides up after takeoff—perfect for a solo traveler like me. I had a window seat facing backward, which felt delightfully disorienting at first, but there’s something oddly soothing about watching the world fall away in reverse.

And then, there are the perks: a side shelf, little cubbies to tuck away your things, and enough room to stretch out with your drink as you toast the adventure ahead.

The Flight That Felt Like a Spa in the Sky

The service was impeccable—effortless and friendly in that quintessential British way. The champagne never seemed to stop flowing (though perhaps I was just an enthusiastic participant in that illusion). Dinner came next—an heirloom caprese starter, a tender cut of beef with dauphinoise potatoes, and my favorite finale: a proper cheese plate. For airplane food at 35,000 feet, it was surprisingly wonderful.

Afterward, I transformed my seat into a cozy bed, slipped on my aloe socks, and wrapped myself in the plush White Company blanket—cue the sleep mask and soft hum of the engines. For someone who rarely sleeps on planes, I actually did. I woke just in time for a light breakfast and tea as the English countryside unfolded below in a patchwork of green.

Touchdown. London.

Arrival & First Impressions

Clearing Heathrow was shockingly smooth—no long queues, no chaos. Maybe it was the fast-track pass, or maybe it was just London welcoming me kindly. Luggage in hand, I found my driver (shoutout to Blacklane—clean cars, polite drivers, seamless service) and climbed into the back left seat of the Mercedes, momentarily forgetting that in this part of the world, traffic flows the opposite way.

As we wound through the city, I couldn’t help but grin. I was really here.

Checking In: St. Ermin’s Hotel, A Spy Story in Itself

Tucked away in Westminster, St. Ermin’s Hotel (part of Marriott’s Autograph Collection) feels like stepping straight into a history book—with a touch of glamour. The rococo-style lobby glitters under chandeliers, and the curved staircase could easily play a starring role in a period film.

History lovers, take note: Winston Churchill once met here with a group of operatives who would become the Special Operations Executive—the covert “Set Europe Ablaze” team of WWII. MI6 worked two floors above them. Today, you can still see a secret-coded silk map in the lobby—a small reminder that espionage once pulsed through these walls.

While waiting for my room, I wandered up the grand staircase to the terrace, where I ordered a crisp glass of wine and a bowl of chips. There’s something about being suspended between travel fatigue and excitement that makes that first sip feel especially divine.

When I finally checked in, I discovered I’d been upgraded to a suite—birthday luck, perhaps? Champagne awaited on the tray, a Kit Kat in the fridge (always a win), and I couldn’t help but laugh at how perfectly it all set the tone for the trip.

Afternoon Tea, Rooftop Honey, and a Bit of Nostalgia

For my first day, I wanted ease and indulgence. Enter: Afternoon Tea on the Terrace. St. Ermin’s offers an elegant spread, complete with unlimited prosecco (a theme, apparently). Their teas range from floral to full-bodied, and since I was already sipping bubbles, I opted for a refreshing green tea.

There’s a special kind of calm that comes with tea time—the clink of china, the soft hum of conversation, the tiers of sandwiches that somehow feel both dainty and deeply satisfying. The menu included everything from coronation chicken (my new obsession) to classic cucumber, with scones served alongside rooftop honey and clotted cream from their own bees. The pastries—miniature works of art—were almost too pretty to eat… almost.

Full, happy, and officially settling into London time, I sank into bed under the softest linens and let sleep take over.

Day Two: Birthday Morning in Westminster

I woke up to the soft light of an English morning—my 43rd birthday—and the city calling me to explore. My only true plan: birthday tea at Fortnum & Mason. Everything else was serendipity.

Sneakers on, I wandered aimlessly, which turned out to be the best decision. I stumbled upon Westminster Abbey, glowing in the morning sun, and stood there awestruck. Rounding a corner, I found the Horse Guards Parade, where the changing ceremony was underway. The rhythmic clinking of bridles, the gleam of polished armor—it was cinematic.

From there, I followed my curiosity to the National Portrait Gallery, where I lost track of time admiring portraits of kings, queens, and even my favorite French royal mistress, Madame de Pompadour.

Fortnum & Mason: The Birthday Tea of Dreams

Eventually, I made my way toward Piccadilly, pausing for people-watching at The King’s Head before heading to Fortnum & Mason—a London icon since 1707.

Stepping through the doors, I felt like I’d entered foodie heaven. Teas, biscuits, chocolates, preserves—it’s sensory overload in the best possible way. But the true experience awaited upstairs in the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon.

A pianist played softly as I was seated by the window, greeted with impeccable service and yet another glass of bubbles (birthday rules, after all). Every bite of the multi-tiered tea service was perfection—classic British elegance served with a side of quiet joy.

As I sat there, tea in hand, I thought about how solo travel sometimes brings a tiny whisper of fear—will I get lonely? Will it feel strange? But sitting there in London, surrounded by the hum of conversation and the warmth of a perfect afternoon, all I felt was gratitude.

Because sometimes, traveling alone isn’t lonely at all. It’s the purest way to fall in love—with a city, with a moment, with yourself.

Next stop: Scotland—but that’s another story.