London. One of the worlds truly great cities. From Piccadilly Circus to Paddington, the Tower of London to Hampstead Heath, there's something for everyone in the United  Kingdom's capital city. So as you prepare to get lost in Camden Market or wander around Soho, here's a few movies to get you acquainted with London.

Love Actually

One of the quintessential British romantic comedies of the 2000's, Richard Curtis' Love, Actually packs pretty much every well-known British film star of the time into a somehow workable plot that is equal parts funny and romantic. Sporting stars like Colin Firth,  Emma Thompson, Bill Nighy and Hugh Grant, the real star is the city itself. With scenes in Heathrow Airport, Selfridges, Trafalgar Square and Grosvenor Chapel, Love, Actually is a fun starting point for any London cinematic journey.

Match Point

Known more for films in New York City, Woody Allen's thrilling tale of love, intrigue and betrayal in London might just be some of his best work of the era. Match Point stars Scarlett Johansson, Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Emily Mortimer romping around Chelsea, Covent Garden, Belgravia and the Tate Modern. Much more of a thrilling affair, Match Point will keep you guessing until the very end.

Breaking And Entering

Keeping with the same thematics as Match Point, Anthony Minghella's Breaking And Entering features Jude Law, Juliette Binoche and Rafi Gavron living and working in the Kings Cross area of London. A story of immigrants from Sarajevo who've settled into a part of London caught in the throes of gentrification, the Rowley Way building Gavron's character lives in may be a bit familiar to fans of 2014's Kingsman: The Secret Service.

An Education

The first of the two period films on the list, Lone Scherfig's An Education features Carey Mulligan as young woman in the 1960's that is seduced by an older man. With scenes set in Soho, Ealing and Twickenham, the Guardian named it one of their "10 Best Films Set In London." A moving coming-of-age film, An Education looks at the suburban side of London and typical 60's family life. A must see.

Shaun Of The Dead

Also set in the suburbs of London, Shaun of the Dead kicks off director Edgar Wright's so-called Cornetto trilogy with all the blood, gore and laughter you can handle. Starring Simon Pegg and Nick Frost in a soon to be post apocalyptic zombie wasteland, Shaun of the Dead manages to look at the hum drum life of average London suburbanites content with spending all their time at home or in the pub. But, you know, with zombies and stuff. It's really good.

About Time

Another one from Richard Curtis, About Time mixes romance with time travel and family drama. Shot at locations along South Bank and in the Royal Courts of Justice, the film casually floats its sci-fi realm amidst the hustle and bustle of London. Featuring a great soundtrack, and the song that my wife and I first danced to at our wedding, About Time is a must see, especially if your planning to travel outside of London as well.

A Royal Night Out

For the history buff, 2015's A Royal Night Out looks at Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret as they join the country's celebration of V.E. Day in 1945. Rounding out the period films on the list, A Royal Night Out manages to show off World War II era London in all its splendor. Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire and Chatsworth House in Derbyshire serve as the interior of Buckingham Palace, but since they don't normally do tours, you'd probably never know the difference.

About A Boy

Adapted from Nick Hornby's coming-of-age tale, boy and man, About A Boy takes place in Islington in the book but for the film Clerkenwell does a fine stand in. Hugh Grant, Toni Collette and a young Nicholas Hoult are pitch perfect in this semi-dark comedy from the directors of American Pie (yes, that American Pie.)

With so many great options to choose from, I'm bound to have missed some great ones. Let me know which London movie is your favorite in the comments below.

It was June 29, 2007 and I was right in the middle of a one-month vacation in London. This was my first time in the United Kingdom and after 4 weeks in Birmingham I was ready to get out and experience all that the capital had to offer. I spent the evening listening to punk bands at a club called Barfly, then decided to walk back towards Trafalgar Square to catch a night bus out to Bethnal Green to my hostel. My path led me right into the Haymarket District where I had eaten a very gourmet version of Fish & Chips earlier in the evening. After a long bus ride I was finally sitting in my tiny room when I decided to check some e-mails.

That's when everything changed.

The Night Is Dark And Full of Terror

The newshound in me went straight to CNN where the top headline read "Bomb Found in London". I couldn't believe what I was reading. Just 15 minutes after I walked through the Haymarket District a car bomb was found and defused outside of the Tiger Tiger nightclub. A Google map search showed that I had walked right past where the car full of petrol and nails was found. The alley where it was parked was still fresh in my mind.

My body went numb. I read reports of how many people would have died if it had detonated. I was in one of the worlds largest cities, by myself and scared.

My hostel was in Hackney, East London. I watched TV for a while before I decided it was time to venture back out into the city. I hopped the tube and within minutes emerged at Oxford Circus. A typical London fog had taken over the day with a steady mist of rain falling. It was Pride weekend in London and there were lots of people dressed brightly, slowly filling the streets. I had never seen the city so quiet, especially right before a big parade day.

A City Asleep

People just shuffled along with shocked looks on their faces, staying close to friends and huddled under umbrellas. A haze of sadness and sorrow hung in the air. No bomb had gone off. No lives were lost during the incident, but it seemed the people of London had once again lost their innocence. Anguish was painted on their faces as clear as the rainbow flags on every street corner.

After a couple of hours of walking I finally pieced together the courage to head back towards Haymarket to see if I could find where the car was. Sure enough, I had walked directly past it. I can't really explain the feeling that came over me when I realized that if something had actually happened the night before, I very much could have been right in the midst of it. Mortality is not something I think about much, but that day it was the only thing in my head. I wanted to call my parents and tell them I loved them. Suddenly my choices over the past year felt stupid and trivial.

The rest of the day was pretty surreal and sedate. I shopped a little bit and then headed back and watched Big Brother with some of the other students at the hostel. Still, I couldn't shake this feeling that the city had changed somehow, suddenly and overnight.

Then the morning came.

Pride Changes Everything

The next morning I made my way up by the Houses of Parliament. Large crowds had formed for the Pride London parade. Just as suddenly as the city had slipped into its gloom, it shed it's coat for a sunny summer day of optimism and hope. There was no trace of the sorrow and angst from the day before. It's as if London was saying "You can't hurt me, you can't bring me down."

I left some of my innocence in Haymarket that day, but found hope amid a group of smiling revelers in the streets on a beautiful day after. London moves on.

It was the second time that I'd ventured to the United Kingdom so I decided to take a different route than normal. The plan was simple. Meet up with my group in Birmingham, spend a month there and then go solo to London. I booked a cheap flight on Air Canada from Houston to Heathrow through Toronto, in hopes of watching the USA take on England at Wembley, which didn't happen. Instead, I took a quick coach ride up to Brum. I'd never flown Air Canada before so I didn't really have any expectations. As long as I could take my pills and fall asleep fast, everything was gonna be alright. That was not the case.

The Beginning

When I boarded I made my way to what was the very last seat in the back of the airplane, you know, the one where you can sit and chat with the stewards and stewardess' the whole flight. I would say I wasn't thrilled but for the price that I got the ticket I should have expected something like this. Determined to make the best, I quickly introduced myself to Paul the Steward and asked if I could have an early bag of peanuts before the plane took off.

As I was munching on my five unsalted peanuts a young girl came and sat down in the window seat next to me. She was about 5' 9" and had gorgeous blond hair down the back of her neck. Suddenly the trip began to look more bearable. She introduced herself as Ivana, a twenty-something that had been studying in Toronto and was on her way back to her native Czech Republic. Her English was a bit hard to understand, but at least she was pleasant.

As we took off I slid my headphones over my ears and waited for my Dramamine to kick in. After a short time of sleeping I felt a gentle touch on my arm and awoke to find Ivana staring at me. She had pulled a book out of her bag and was eager to show me some different pictures and facts about the Czech Republic.

The Middle (Where I'm Usually Asleep)

I feel I should tell you my routine before long flights. Basically, I deprive myself of sleep for at least 24-30 hours, sit down in my assigned seat and crash into slumber until I arrive. Theoretically, this approach should work perfectly but has only been executed to perfection once. So when I step onto an airplane I'm usually completely exhausted and excited.

So as Ivana opened her book and began to show me some of the beautiful sights from Prague and the surrounding countryside, I was less than amused. I could barely understand what she was saying to begin with. Even though the pictures were intriguing, I just wasn't in the mood for story time.  After paying attention for way too long, our food came and was a welcome distraction. The next couple hours passed smoothly with little interruption but just as I began to doze off again I could hear Ivana's voice calling my name. I tried desperately to ignore it but I'm just not that rude of a person. As I looked over toward her I could tell she was staring intently out the little window. I leaned over to see just what she was so interested in.

Glaciers. Ice. Frozen Beauty.

I had always flown the southerly route from Newark to the UK and had never seen the vast expanse of ice and glaciers in the Northern Atlantic. I imagine what I was looking at was part of the edge of Greenland and, eventually, the area around Iceland. It was truly astounding and I couldn't stop looking out the little piece of glass that we were stuck behind.

The End

The rest of the trip went rather quickly with just a handful of words spoken between Ivana and I but I can't help but think of what I would have missed if I would have kept pretending to sleep.

Once we got to Heathrow, I walked with Ivana into the main terminal where we talked for a little bit until she had to catch her connecting flight. We shared a quick hug and I wished her good luck and safety as she flew on. She smiled and strolled off quickly with her little picture book in hand.

I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm for where I'm from. She was so proud of the Czech Republic that she kept a piece of it with her in her carry-on, a little reminder of who she was.

I hope she remembers sitting next to some punk American kid and staring out a little window at ice as much as I remember her telling me stories about her homeland. Turns out that Ivana means "God is gracious" and that's exactly what I remember when I think about flying from Toronto to London.

I fell in love with coffee in college. It was a tenuous relationship at first due to a completely unexplainable phobia of hot drinks in my younger years. Gradually I began to experiment with frozen mochas, lattes, and cappuccinos until I had built up enough of an affinity to skip the sugary drinks and head straight for the natural. Now I’m experimenting with different brewing systems like a French press and Chemex to see what makes the best natural coffee.

Even bad coffee is better than no coffee at all.”― David Lynch

Travel and Coffee

Coffee shops have become an important marker in major events in my life. In Birmingham, England I always visit the Ikon Café (which is apparently now Café Opus) for some joe and inspiration. While in London, there are plenty of small cafés and if I’m north of the city I always go to Tinderbox by the Angel tube station. All of these are inextricably linked with either beautiful memories or major creative moments. At Ikon Café I wrote tons of angsty poetry in many different forms about emotions that I didn't even grasp yet. The same goes for Tinderbox and sitting by the Thames with a cup of to-go coffee from a corner bakery. Each cup represented something that pushed me forward, either as an artist or a person.

In Paris you can basically find any sidewalk café and have a great cup while watching tourists fumble through the French language, as waiters act like they don’t understand them. The uncultured version of me too often visited Starbucks in France, probably in search of familiarity. When in Italy, it was espresso on the quick from basically anywhere. It is Italy after all. There's no time to savor coffee, it's utilitarian at best.

At Antidote Coffee in Houston, TX. Photo by Karen Walrond

My college java experience was dominated by The Mudhouse and Potters House while now I frequent Antidote, Paper Co., and Down House. These places are more than just coffee shops to me, they are points in time, friendship and creative fuel.

Creative Juice

I’ve also found that drinking a cup in the morning may not be the best for your energy and that beer may be better for initial creative inspiration. So, to get the best of both worlds, I bought some Real Ale Shade Grown Coffee Porter, but I usually don’t drink it in the morning. People tend to look down on that for some reason.

I’m starting to learn the economics of coffee, the second most traded commodity behind oil. I’ve put the book Java Trekker by Dean Cycon on my reading list, as well as Uncommon Grounds by Mark Pendergrast, and have started paying attention to where the beans I consume come from and how it impacts those who grow it.  I also find it very amusing that the Netherlands is the highest per capita consumer of coffee in the world and that Hawaii is the only US state that produces it.

So as you make it through Monday, maybe even on your fourth cup, take a moment and savor the smell of the beans that keep you awake, alert and almost completely dependent on its sweet, and sometimes bitter, nectar.

Part of me remembers Paris in a strictly romantic sense. Memories of walking along the Seine at 4 a.m., seeing the hulking mass of the Eiffel Tower unlit and wrapped in the cold of February's arms. Watching the sunlight slowly engulf the spires of Notre Dame as couples held hands and took in the beauty. Still, part of me remembers Paris the way it really was. Gypsies crowded around the Eiffel Tower and rats freely roaming the plaza in front of Notre Dame, looking to feast on leftovers from Asian tourists. Fights in the Metro and endless transit strikes making the morning commute nothing short of a disaster.

Somehow, both of these are correct.

I talk about Paris a lot these days. It shows up in random conversations and then slowly takes over my thoughts for the rest of the day. I can't escape my time in the City of Love.

Winter Arrival

I first came to Paris in the winter of 2009. Novelist and playwright Irwin Shaw once said "Paris in the winter is for connoisseurs of melancholy", and I'd tend to agree. The city was gray and full of unease as I rode my first metro into the heart of Montparnasse to meet the people I would be staying with. I had never endured a winter overseas before. My trips to England had been summer excursions when tourists are in full force and the rain merely washed off the streets from the constant parades and celebrations in the city. But this was different. There was sorrow and hesitance hanging in the air. It was as if someone I didn't know died each and every morning. The tourists, those who couldn't afford Paris in the spring or summer, huddled in lines, a clever ploy to keep warm and ward off the gypsies as they waited for elevators up to the Tower's observation deck.

This melancholy that Irwin talks about gripped me too. I had just left behind someone that I cared about, only to find myself enveloped in a cold and blustery facade of what I had expected. Sure, I was excited to be there and to experience a new culture, but a part of me knew I had done the wrong thing. Did the cold last forever?

As the months went on, my situation began to mirror the weather. An inordinate amount of snow blanketed the city on more than one occasion only to be followed by a day of sunshine. The city was a yo-yo in the hands of a 5-year old. I lost weight due to stress and walking around 5-7 miles a day. My hair grew out to its longest point in my life. I was a person that I didn't even recognize. The letters that I had received once a week since my arrival had stopped sometime in March. My connection to home was slim and mostly through a girl that would break my heart exactly 2 years later. I was living in the greatest city in the world and slowly fading into an apparition.

Paris, My Lament

My time in Paris ruined me physically, mentally and spiritually. The thing is, I wouldn't trade that time for anything. Every morning the city tore me to shreds, punching holes into my tiny frame and inserting its philosophy, humor and heartache in small doses. Each day was a struggle to keep my head above water and paint a smile on my face. But then, drained of everything but existence, I would turn a corner and see the sun reflecting off the face of a girl reading a book in a cafe in Montmartre, or birds skimming the Seine as lovers embraced on Pont Neuf. The city forced its brilliance on me like a mother giving medicine to her child. It was worth it for these moments.

I remember Paris for a lot of things; romance, heartache, contradictions, sentiment. But most of all, I remember Paris because I have to. I am Paris, in all it's gritty glory. Beautiful, reckless and misunderstood.

*A version of this post was previously published in 2014.