“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to London Gatwick Airport. The local time is 12:30 am.”
I landed at Gatwick just after midnight from my tiring yet remarkable week in Athens. Peeking through the window, there was a heavy drizzle — even though, this was in the month of July.
Ughhh… I’m back in this depressing country. I complained inside my head with great resentment towards the English weather as those who’ve lived in the UK would, after coming home from a vacation in just about anywhere else.
As I was expecting my family to arrive in a day, I had booked a room in a hostel for a night instead of heading back straight to Southampton. What I didn’t want to realise — though, I already knew — I couldn’t check into the room till the afternoon.Therefore, I had to spend the night in the airport.
Arriving in London, I was delighted equally as much as I was worn out by the Athens trip. Attending my cousin’s wedding, being part of a cultural juxtaposition of the traditional Chinese tea ceremony and the Greek wedding dance, watching a movie and having a bottle of beer with a majestic view of Acropolis and getting lost in a meat market; exploring Santorini and Athens in five days following the wedding, walking around Monastiraki under the scorching sun on the last day and taking an evening flight to London. I needed sleep badly and I was determined to get it.
However, I disregarded the fact I landed in Gatwick and I realised it might be one of the worst airports for a layover. I tried multiple spots to sleep or to at least close my eyes and rest. But, I failed to find one after meandering to every corners of the airport and doing a Google search on “Places to sleep in Gatwick”. After an hour of intense searching, I decided to settle for a typical airport bench with arm rests in between. And, it felt like I rearranged my whole spine so I could make an attempt to sleep and recover from the taxing night.
The attempt failed miserably and I gave up after about 20 minutes. I walked to Costa and grabbed a cup of coffee.
If I couldn’t find a place to lay down, I might as well put myself into a caffeine overdose. I thought as I turned to coffee with a prescience of regretting over this decision later.
I was so bored after scrolling through social media for — what I’ve thought it’s been hours — just about half an hour. I talked to a tourist from Korea who couldn’t speak English fluently. So, it was mostly communication through body language and Google translate. I can’t remember the rest of the conversation. After less than an hour, I went back to figuring out when I could actually go somewhere else.
Where else would be open at this hour?
Kebab shop was the first thought that crossed my mind but I can’t just sit in a Kebab shop for hours. I looked up “Best breakfast spots in London” on Google and most of them would only start their service after 9 am.
“This breakfast spot opens at 8 am.”
The sentence immediately caught my attention as I can’t wait to leave the airport as soon as possible.
“1 Neal’s Yard, West End, London WC2H 9DP, United Kingdom.”
I had heard of Neal’s Yard but I hadn’t been there. But, I know that it’s in Convent Garden and I’ve always loved Convent Garden. Strolling through the market and queuing for Shake Shack and walking around while waiting for my turn for Flat Iron. From the photos, it looked like the buildings in Neal’s Yard were dressed up for the London Pride Parade. However, the eclectic mix of lurid colours did develop a sense of elation in me to visit. After all, the rainbows might just lighten up my cloudy and gloomy kind of mood.
As soon as the clock hit 7, I took the train to Victoria and proceeded to the tube. After about 30 minutes in the tube, I arrived in my most visited tube station, Leicester Square — matter of fact, almost every Asians’ most visited tube station. Walking for just a few minutes, I arrived at Neal’s Yard. It was indeed as colourful as the photos.
Then, here I was, in front of 26 Grains — one of the less colourful units in Neal’s Yard. I was starving at that point — though intentionally, as I have a deep hatred towards the food served in an airport. Therefore, I didn’t eat anything and drank just two cups of coffee in the airport.
The menu was simple as it’s all about porridge and muesli. For those who go into a restaurant and expect a prosaic menu as big as that of a white-washed Chinese restaurant, it is definitely not the place for you. Though, for me, most of my favourite places in London share one peculiarity in their menus — their specialities are all included in an one-pager: Flat iron, BAO London, Kanada-Ya. Or places where you wouldn’t need a menu at all — Beigel Bake.
Taking just a minute to glance through the menu, I made up my mind.
“Hazelnut and Butter — almond milk oats, butter, hazelnuts, cinnamon coconut palm sugar and apple.”
Oatmeal cooked with butter? Hmmm… how would that taste like?
As succinct the menu was, my curiosity grew and I started to envisage the porridge I’d be served could be more than just mere oatmeal. In hindsight, it might be the point when I actually started to change my perception on full oat porridge. Oat porridge with banana and blueberry is the main feature of my very own weekly breakfast menu now. But, at that point in my life, while I had started switching to muesli with a sprinkle of rolled oats — and finally got rid of the typically huge Malaysian breakfast appetite, I was still skeptical about the notion of oat porridge being a delicious dish.
It didn’t take long before the warm bowl of porridge arrived. Taking a first look at it, I could immediately discern the bowl from the porridge I was used to. Growing up, porridge wasn’t made of oats. It is made of rice instead. And aesthetically, it is far from a vibrant dish. The usual sight I’d have when I’m served a bowl of porridge is some white gooey stuff with bits of chicken or fish and thin slices of ginger and scallion. Or, the most delicious yet one of the ugliest porridge you’d see — chu cheong chok or rice porridge topped with dull brown deep-fried pork intestine.
On the contrary, the bowl in front of me has a brown shade that looks more appetising, topped with a good amount of hazelnut. And, the bowl was embellished with thin slices of red apple.
Yes! I’m going to finish this in no time! I screamed in my mind as I was fighting hunger while noticing the last meal I had was in Athens.
Having my first mouthful of the lukewarm porridge — while I wouldn’t say it was the best food I’ve ever had — the butter added another layer of flavour to the oatmeal. The hazelnuts and apple slices added texture to the dish. Although I’ll always have a predilection towards the “ugly, rough eats” (and, I won’t be a renegade of the “ugly eats are better” movement), it was still remarkable. It abated the exhaustion I was feeling due to sleep deprivation. Akin to the times I was under the weather (or hungover) and I’d have rice porridge or congee. Overall, it wasn’t a thrilling experience but rather a comforting one.
As I was savouring the last spoonful of porridge together with the final pieces of hazelnut and apple slices, two ladies sat down on my table. Of course, I didn’t mind it as the restaurant was crowded and I was ready to call for the bill.
They were going through the menu as I emptied my bowl. But, right before I raised my hand up for the bill, I heard a familiar language being spoken over the table. The ladies were Germans.
This might be the last time I would get to speak German for a while… Let’s put it through the test!
I immediately thought in my mind after finishing my German Stage 2 course just a month ago. When I deliberated over the decision to converse in German, I realised it was more than just flexing my mediocre German. It was about taking chances, it was about being bold as the end of my uni life is getting closer. As I was graduating in a week and what’s going to happen after that is filled with pure uncertainty. I was adamant in doing everything I enjoy before all these would end. The things that would provide instant gratification. Learning German, exploring the city of London, going on a street photography tour and dreaming about the day I’d be paid for writing about these inspiring experiences. I had to go for it.
I put down the spoon and turned my head towards them.
“Kommt ihr aus Deutschland?” (Are you from Germany?) I uttered the phrase — a phrase which you’d learn in the first day of German 101 — nervously, to start the conversation.
Let me start a conversation with a couple of strangers in a foreign language before I graduate. Before my Asian parents arrive. And, before ‘adulthood’ arrives.
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