In the sharp silence of Dennis Severs’ home, the creaks of the floorboards in the basement resonate throughout the home’s five floors. I take a slow, broad step into the first room, hoping to reduce my pedal impact. To my surprise, the dimly lit kitchen is elaborately decorated with an incredible assortment of tools, hyperrealistic foods, ornaments, and tiny sugar mice. Two ducks are suspended upside-down in the corner of the room, oyster shells lay empty upon the counter, a variety of blue and white china teacups sit politely atop the shelves, and a cleaning to-do list is slowly peeling off the wall. The room smells of musk and all is still, besides the flicker of candlelight. Atop the table in the middle of the kitchen is an impressive display of fruits, half-written notes, and unfinished drinks. As I walk through the room, I hesitantly remind myself not to get stuck observing any single beautiful item.

This is unlike any museum I have ever visited. I pass through each room slowly, almost holding my breath, carefully containing my excitement. I walk through the rest of the house entranced, almost devouring every antique object with my eyes. I take in the first bedroom: the thick, vermillion curtains enclosing a messy bed, the scarlet pigment held inside a clam shell on the vanity, the white bonnet left behind on a chair, the torn-open envelope. I make my way into the next room: the lemon peel hanging on the side of a bowl, the boots neatly tucked in the corner, the barks of a dog in the distance, the smell of tobacco. And the next room: a steaming coffee pot forgotten on the bedside table, a remarkable array of china and dolls and animal figures above the fireplace, a faint smell of flirty perfume.

What extraordinary attention to detail! What opulence! It seems as though the family that once lived in this lush home has just stepped out, the moment I stepped in. The wooden chairs are still pushed out from the tables, the toast has been left half-eaten, the bedsheets remain untidy. Time has stopped in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, and I’ve just had the wonderful privilege of stepping into this home and taking in her beauty.

There is something magical about time capsules like that. Maybe it’s just my love for history, but I find such joy in seeing the rare places that preserve the past so well. Walking through Dennis Severs’ home was an amazing experience (my favorite of this week) and although I know it is just a recreation of an imagined family’s home, I couldn’t help but feel that magic linger even after I left the house.

While exploring different areas of London this week and “bookpacking” through the spots mentioned in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, I noticed something particularly unique about London’s magic– its relationship with the past. Walking through where Tellson’s Bank and Temple Bar once were, dining at the black booths of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese (where Dickens sat!), and finding the Manette’s home in Soho Square not only made the book come alive but also transported me to the past.

The feeling is all the more fervent when facing such beautifully preserved architecture, cobblestone roads, and quaint pubs. To see traditions like high tea still so commonly practiced and old-fashioned phrases still used in conversation is a culture shock— but an enjoyable one. In London, certain elements feel stuck in the past, and still others feel completely modern. This city’s connection with tradition and history is unlike any other I’ve seen. Even my recent trip to Rome, where I saw the ancient ruins and preserved churches, did not evoke the same feeling of “living” with the past the way London did. The bookstores, the cuisine, the poshness of it all! What a treat it must be to live in a city that cherishes such lovely history.

But… observing London’s relationship with its past isn’t entirely a delight. Along with the magic of protecting old buildings and traditions, I found that there is an uncomfortable, dark cloud of English history looming over the city. England’s past of colonialism and imperialism is hard to miss in contemporary London. After passing by a poster advertising the British Museum’s most recent collection of other country’s cultural artifacts as “New Acquisitions,” I was left with an icky feeling. Seeing people scramble outside the gates of Buckingham Palace like little mice, watching the guards protect the luxury of distant royalty was also strange to me. Certain statues commemorating racist, imperialist figureheads still stand proud in the middle of the multicultural metropolis.

What can we make of London’s complex connection with the past? On one end, some architecture, traditions and cultural practices are far too magical to let go of. On the other hand, memorializing and displaying certain symbols of oppression of other groups is a serious hindrance to societal progress.

Should the British consider a reevaluation of their preservation of history and traditions? I don’t believe that exploring new, progressive approaches will necessarily sacrifice the magic of the city. Some things should be learned, but not celebrated. But, of course, some parts of history are easily understood, and yet others may seem trickier when interpreting their value in contemporary society.

A clear answer as to how the English might approach this reassessment is not something I’m not confident I can give. As an American, I’ve seen this discussion arise in my own country time and time again. I am interested to see how the United States and England will engage in this conversation in the coming years, as more people feel empowered to challenge oppressive and outdated narratives.

In total, this week in London was unique. I leave the city with mixed emotions, grateful to have been able to step into the past of the Dennis Severs’ home and the Charles Dickens’ novels, yet confused by the lingering shadow of an exploitative empire. We wait and see what London will become. Historia magistra vitae est! (History is the teacher of life!)