Surprisingly—or not—the most difficult country to enter on our trip around the world was England. Despite the fact that I was traveling to the UK on my British passport and was returning home, the customs officer at the Eurostar terminal interrogated Jona as if she was trying to gain access to the country illegally. Thankfully, we had booked a ferry ticket for Holland, so she could prove she was merely visiting, but the experience left a bad taste in my mouth. While the U.S. customs experience is not much fun, I have always found the officers to be unfailingly polite. In fact, one of the things that convinced me to become a U.S. citizen was their tendency to welcome me home after every trip abroad. It helped me realize that America is now my home. By contrast, the UK nowadays seems like an uninviting fortress, even to its own citizens—or at least to those of us who leave the country from time to time.

By the time we reached London, all was forgiven, if not forgotten. We disembarked at St. Pancras Station and took a train to my hometown, Croydon, from King’s Cross. I remain fiercely loyal to the town of my birth, despite the fact that it’s the butt of endless jokes, mostly by people who have never been there or do not know it well. For my American friends, I like to compare it to New Jersey. Croydon was once the main entry and exit point for the UK by air; between the two world wars, it had a large airfield at the edge of London, which was known as London Terminal Aerodrome. After World War II, it was replaced by Heathrow and Gatwick.

In the 1960s, the city attracted "bedroom commuters," who worked in the heart of London and returned home to Croydon in the evening. In a bout of enthusiastic, but ill-conceived urban planning, Croydon was transformed from a quaint old town into a disconnected group of modern tower blocks bisected by a freeway. The city center was reduced to a high street and shopping center, the Whitgift. Those who didn’t work in the shiny new buildings and who could not afford retail therapy were left out of the equation and became disillusioned. This led to urban social decay, with frustration periodically boiling into anger and the occasional riot.

This time, which was Jona’s first visit, we noticed something different. It felt like Downtown Los Angeles felt the first time we visited: poor and decaying, but very much alive. A container park next to East Croydon Station provides some trendy dining options for the young people who work in nearby technology companies. A couple of new luxury apartment buildings are going up nearby, as the land is cheaper than most other places in London. Even the old town center ‒ for which I have an absurd affection ‒ is evolving.

St. George’s Walk, which has been run down for as long as I can remember, has been turned over to the Arts Quarter, a collective of street artists. The result is a collection of street art throughout the neighborhood, covering grimy and disused shop blinds. The area is bursting with color. I was equally delighted to find Surrey Street Market transformed. It used to be run by local characters who would shout out deals in rhyming cockney, our native slang, but, after many years of decline, it seemed to be on the point of vanishing until the stalls were gradually taken over by immigrants from all over the world. Now, people with all kinds of accents belt out the specials. While I miss the old market and old Croydon, I am reassured that it is still alive thanks to these new Brits who are injecting life into the area.

One of my earliest memories dates back to the Brixton Riot of 1981. I remember I was playing with one of my friends in the council estate where we lived, when we saw people shuffling down the street toward us. One of them, a man in his twenties, held his bleeding head in his hands, as another man supported him. They were walking to a nearby hospital. We soon learned about the street battles that were taking place in nearby Brixton and we all stayed indoors until things settled down. Since then, there have been other riots, notably in 1985, 1995 and 2011.

Even though the situation is slowly improving in Croydon, there are still problems, like a recent spate of youth stabbings and other violent incidents. However, in my opinion, these are crimes born of economic frustration, which will disappear if the city can offer more employment opportunities to its disaffected youth. For the first time in decades, I feel that Croydon may be on the verge of something new. One day, we sat in the old library café, which has been renovated, now hosting a rock’n’roll photography exhibition in its bright and sunny atrium. Nowhere better exemplifies how a place like Croydon can evolve, as the small historical museum upstairs pays tribute to the city’s rich past and its multicultural present. I can’t wait to return one day to see what the future brings.

In the meantime, our stay in Croydon provided a practical base to meet with family and friends, while visiting nearby London by train and underground. This time, we had a few days for leisurely exploration, so we returned to some landmarks we enjoyed in the past — Big Ben, the South Bank, Borough Market, Tower Bridge and Piccadilly — before exploring others that were less familiar. We spent an afternoon in Westminster Abbey, a morning at the Tower of London, a few hours at the V&A, as well as walking for miles around Chinatown, Carnaby Street, Covent Garden, Kensington and Southwark. We visited old churches, saw Beefeaters and their ravens, took in the crown jewels, gazed at innumerable paintings and barely recognized Big Ben under its scaffolding. We also tried local specialties like pies, sandwiches and scotch eggs, in addition to drinking copious amounts of tea. The weather wasn’t always on our side, but we made the most of our time in the city. However, more than anything else, we were looking forward to spending some quality time with our friends, Kieran and Rachel.

They picked us up in Croydon and drove us back to their house in Hampshire, with a slight detour through Forest Hill to visit the Horniman Museum, a beautiful Arts and Crafts building that houses a delightfully eccentric collection. The founder, Frederick John Horniman, a tea trader, would never have imagined that his passion for natural history, cultural artifacts and musical instruments would one day become the first museum experience for thousands of young children. I remember my first visit as a kid and was just as excited this time as a big kid. From the overstuffed walrus in the main room — taxidermy botched by people who had never seen a walrus — to the “mer-man” — who was believed to be half man, half fish — and a large room full of musical instruments; the whole thing is unconventional and unforgettable. It was a perfect way to end our time in the city, before heading out to the English countryside.

When people ask me for advice about upcoming trips to the UK, I always recommend leaving London and spending time in the country. However, there is so much to do in the city that it can be hard to factor in time elsewhere. We felt lucky to be able to relax in a place like Hampshire in the spring. Just as we arrived, the rain stopped for the first time in months and the sun came out to play. This meant that we could go for long walks in the South Downs and hunt for ruined castles in overgrown forests. I was reading an accelerated history of England during our visit and was overjoyed to find traces of the past wherever we went.

For instance, Winchester is a treasure trove of English history, where the first kings were crowned and established a lasting, if bloody rule of the islands. The cathedral there is one of the most beautiful we have seen throughout our travels, with its almost skeleton-like appearance. The vaulted roof is so white and fine that it seems like it’s made of bone. It is also the final resting place of author Jane Austen. A close second is Salisbury Cathedral in another nearby city. Unfortunately, we had forgotten about the recent nerve gas poisoning, but were quickly reminded by the massive police force still in place when we arrived. It’s hard to believe that this kind of international incident took place in such a quaint little town. The residents are still spooked.

We drove about 300 miles in a rental car — much to the disbelief of the English agent who was clearly impressed with our California road warrior status — from Salisbury to Brighton, through the New Forest with its legendary wild ponies and on to Stonehenge. A recent New York Times article dismissed the stone circle for its proximity to a busy road, arguing that you can drive by, rather than spending time there. Yet, while this is true, it misses the rich history of the area. A museum at the entrance does a very good job of explaining the historical and archeological context of the site, which covers much more ground than the stone circle. The nearby burial mounds are visible to the naked eye, from the shuttle bus that rides from the museum to the circle.

Yes, I too miss the days when we could park our cars by the side of the road and walk up to the stones, but I’m also aware that mass tourism poses a grave risk to historical sites. These kinds of monuments need protecting from admiring visitors who like to touch them, damaging them in the process. Like the nearby protesting hippies, I too miss the summer solstice celebrations of this pagan place of worship, but I also remember that these celebrations were growing out of control. I’m not a fan of Stonehenge snow globes or themed Monopoly games, but I think English Heritage has done a decent job of protecting the stones for future generations and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend adding them to your itinerary if you are in the area.

All in all, the best part of our trip — in general, but specifically in England — was the ability to spend quality time with our friends. We talked, laughed, ate and made merry with Kieran and Rachel, which made us feel at home for a few precious days. By the time we left with Kieran to take a ferry from Essex to Holland, we knew that we were embarking on the last stage of our travels. Rather than feel dispirited, we were appreciative of our experiences along the way. When we set out on our trip, we hadn’t planned to spend this much time in Europe, but it turned into a wonderful, almost dreamlike adventure. The challenges we faced were different from those in other parts of the world, giving us insights into the present state of mind of many Europeans.

As our arrival by train showed us, England is drifting, deliberately setting itself apart, yet our departure demonstrated that the country is tethered to the continent by history, culture and commerce, whether the Brits appreciate it or not. Immigration and multiculturalism is enriching the English experience and should not be perceived as a threat. Instead, it should be seen as an asset, making England stronger in the long-term, as the changing face of Croydon may one day prove. As a firm believer in the power of multiculturalism and diversity, I hope that England remains a driving force in Europe. The time we spent criss-crossing the continent was a powerful reminder that we all have to adapt if we want to survive and thrive in the future. In the meantime, keep calm and travel on.