The first time I went to London, I fell in love with the city.
The second time I went to London, I fell in love with the city’s history.
The third time I went to London, I decided I wanted to live there.
And so the plan goes.
When I think of London, my favorite city in the world, one sight comes to mind: standing beneath the great clock tower,
known to many as Big Ben, and looking up at it in all of its beauty.
The white clock face has black Roman numerals sticking out like Braille, plated in a square of gold, standing atop
the tall rectangular tower.
The clock tower does not stand alone; it is kept company by the Houses of Parliament also known as the Palace of Westminster.
The building has become the symbol of the city, representing London to the world.
The tower, browned by age, is old and rustic against the backdrop of a modern-day city.
I close my eyes and the flowing gowns of long-forgotten queens flutter by, Elizabeth Tudor herself standing in a golden hall.
Yet while the gothic building appears older than Elizabeth herself, she never got to see the clock tower; it was built long after