Think of driving to Chelsea like wearing a wool suit to a pool party: everyone will stare, and you will sweat. Parking is a nightmare, and the congestion charge is like paying a villain for the privilege of sitting in traffic. Instead, channel your inner Londoner and embrace the Tube.
Sloane Square station spits you out right into the action, but be warned: it’s a human sardine can during show week. I once saw a woman in a wide-brimmed hat get her entire floral fascinator crushed between two strangers. She laughed, but I saw the pain behind her eyes.
Bus or Bike? Only if You’re Brave
The number 11 bus is a classic, but it crawls through Chelsea like a sleepy snail. Cycling sounds great until you realize you’re sharing the road with taxis driven by people who actively dislike cyclists. I tried once—my handlebars got tangled with a man carrying a potted fern. We both survived, but the fern did not.
