It's not fair that I always seem to be in an altered state while visiting London.

Or is it?  

Of course there's the sleep deprivation. That's at the root of it. But what really sent me was the one hour car ride from the airport to the hotel - a herky-jerky, diesel fumed nightmare that still turns me green thinking about it. 

I made the mistake of sitting in the backwards seat facing the rear window. Our car felt like a dazed boxer blindly jabbing at the traffic. For a guy that never gets car sick, I was a wreck. 

After our arrival, I sat motionless in the hotel lobby for 30 minutes. It took an alka seltzer and a breath of air conditioning before I was able to resume the day. 

We then headed toward Kensington Gardens on foot (cars were out of the question). London was pleasantly going about its business on a warm spring day. Everything was a bit soft around the edges. 

I photographed Royal Albert Hall (and posted on Instagram), sipped a fruit juice at a street-side cafe, and watched the locals comfortably spread out through the park like a Georges Seurat painting.

As I look back on it now, London was a gentle, friendly shelter where I could recover from a long journey, with many miles still to go.

I guess that's not so bad after all.