When I first moved to London five years ago, Highgate wasn’t even on my radar. I mean, how could it be? I’d grown up in the sprawling suburbs of Atlanta, with wide streets and strip malls. My only concept of London was the chaotic energy of the city center: Big Ben, black cabs, and people rushing about with serious faces. But as I sit here now, sipping tea on the terrace of my little flat in Highgate, I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.
It all started with a whirlwind job offer in pharmaceutical sales. I’d been itching for a change, and when the London opportunity came up, I jumped at it. Moving across the Atlantic sounded glamorous and exciting. Reality hit, though, when I arrived. Finding a place to live in London? A nightmare. A coworker suggested Highgate, describing it as “peaceful but not boring,” and I figured, why not? I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I’d know it when I found it.
The first time I walked through Highgate Village, it felt like stepping into a storybook. Narrow lanes lined with historic homes, little shops with painted signs, and a proper English pub on every corner. It wasn’t love at first sight—more like a calm certainty that this was the place I needed to be.
I found a modest flat on a quiet street, just a short walk from Hampstead Heath. It had creaky wooden floors and an impossibly small kitchen, but it also had charm. And the view! From my window, I could see the rolling greenery of the Heath, where London’s skyline peeked through the trees.
At first, I felt a little out of place. My Southern accent stood out, and I had no clue how to properly queue for anything. But Highgate has this way of drawing you in.
My morning routine started to feel like a love letter to the village. I’d grab a flat white from a tiny café near the station and pass the florist setting up their outdoor display—bright bursts of tulips and hydrangeas spilling onto the cobblestones. On weekends, I’d wander through Waterlow Park, losing hours watching dogs chase after balls or couples having picnics.
The Flask, a cozy pub down the lane, quickly became my go-to. It’s the kind of place where the bartenders remember your name, and you can easily spend an evening chatting with locals by the fire. One rainy Thursday, I found myself deep in conversation with an older gentleman who’d lived in Highgate his entire life. He told me about the history of the area, how the Heath had inspired poets and painters for centuries. “You’ve chosen well,” he said with a smile.
Work life kept me busy, of course—early meetings, client lunches, and the occasional late-night pitch. But Highgate became my sanctuary. After a hectic day in the city, I’d hop on the Northern Line, and as soon as I stepped out of the station, it was like a sigh of relief.
What’s surprised me most about living here isn’t just how much I’ve grown to love Highgate—it’s how much it’s changed me. I’ve swapped my fast-food lunches for fresh baguettes from the bakery. I actually look forward to my Saturday morning run on the Heath. And I’ve learned to slow down, to notice things: the way the light filters through the trees at sunset, the laughter spilling out of the pubs on a warm evening, the quiet hum of life in a village that feels like it belongs to another time.
Sure, there are moments when I miss the big skies and wide roads of home. But Highgate has given me something I didn’t know I was searching for: a sense of belonging.
So here I am, five years in, an honorary Highgate local. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, you’ll probably find me at The Flask or wandering the Heath. Stop and say hi. I’d love to show you around this little corner of London that stole my heart.
Who knows? Maybe it’ll steal yours too.