Explorations of Travel

In front of me, at long last, was the legendary Golden Egg. And it was all mine. From the left, right and top, I examined my prize, undecided whether to first crack the gold-dusted chocolate shell or scoop the riches inside—vanilla cheesecake with a mango compote yolk.
I went for the chocolate.

I had saved the best for last at One Aldwych Hotel’s afternoon tea, themed after Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Before the Golden Egg made its appearance, the waiter — with his impeccable English manners and dress — had presented a parade of desserts: caramel chocolate milk, pink lemonade candyfloss, and white chocolate and coconut cake pops, washed down by a bright red drink that bubbled and steamed in its clear teapot like a Willy Wonka concoction.

I was in London for just 72 hours; I’d flown 13 hours and 7,692 kilometres to be there. It wasn’t the Golden Egg that had lured me to the English capital, but something equally priceless: the West End revival of Miss Saigon.

As a senior in high school, I’d vowed no matter where and when the musical was revived, whether it be London, New York, or Saigon itself, I would be in the audience, whispering every word, singing every note just under my breath. Fourteen years later, my dream was about to come true.

I nearly didn’t go to London. I nearly persuaded myself it wasn’t important, wasn’t worth the expense. Out of the depths of my memory, I recalled a line from a poem I’d studied in school: “Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?” Elizabeth Bishop asks in “Questions of Travel.” And then, “Must we dream our dreams and have them, too?”

She almost had me convinced to stay home. But where would we be if not for dreams? I booked my ticket.

Sitting in the theatre, the curtain about to rise, Bishop’s queries returned to mind. The tea had exceeded expectations—perhaps because I’d had none. Then, a stroll through crowded Convent Garden had been thrilling. Tourists and locals jumped from shop to shop, following their instincts and desires; impromptu music concerts popped up at every corner. Like Charlie at the chocolate factory, I loved every unexpected moment.

The show would be different, though. The show I had imagined a thousand times. In my mind, it was perfect.

Should I have stayed at home and only wished I’d come?

As the lights dimmed, I squeezed my eyes shut. Excitement coursed through my veins. I grinned. Thank you, I whispered. Thank you.

I made the right choice.