Greenwich park Greenwich Hill offers an expanse bed of green and a mesmerizing view of the London skyline. Photo / London and Partners
If you’re considering moving to London, don’t be surprised if you accidentally turn into an environmentalist, writes Lilie Rohan.
London does a lot of things really well, like pints and public transport, however, when it comes to plastic, it’s a bit of a horror movie. That’s not to say New Zealand is an eco-utopia, we still have one of the highest per capita rates of plastic waste in the world, but London’s addiction to single-use plastic is enough to shock even the most environmentally absent-minded. When you live in a fast-moving city of millions convenience is king. It means grabbing a new plastic bag at the supermarket rather than lugging reusable ones around on the tube, or getting coffee in a takeaway cup because never having a reusable coffee cup on hand.
The worst part is that after a couple of months, I gradually acclimated to the abundance of wasted plastic, only noticing how much I depended on it after returning home for a break.
Sure, Kiwis also love convenience but at least environmental awareness feels present. You can’t get single-use plastic bags in supermarkets, paper straws are the norm at cafes, and brands like Frank Green turned reusable coffee cups into a chic, must-have accessory. If you don’t have one, you’re the odd one out.
It’s not perfect, but much of the infrastructure nudges you in the right direction, at least culturally.
In London, I’ve realised, the sustainable option often exists, it’s just not the default. Yes, you can bring your own cup; cafes offer disposable cutlery made of wood for takeaway orders; refill stores exist; and you avoid plastic if you want, but the daily decisions are tiringly counter-cultural. Other Kiwis living here noticed it too.
One friend pointed out that disposable vapes, which are wrapped in at least two layers of packaging before use, are often discarded in street drains rather than in bins. Another mentioned the fast-fashion culture, where ordering five outfits “just to try” and returning three feels completely normalised, despite the airmiles it accumulates when returned via van, train, or plane.
That being said, there are small shoots of hope. A woman in my pilates class called out single-use antibacterial wipes used to wipe down mats and machines after use, and whether it was her or something else, the studio has swapped to washable microfibre cloths and spray.
It proves the real issue here isn’t necessarily Londoners, but the larger system.
In New Zealand, we don’t use single-use plastic bags in supermarkets because of a comprehensive ban in 2019. We often bring our own cup for coffee because many cafes respond with a small discount.
I’ve tried holding onto greener habits in the Big Smoke, although, in a city of almost 10 million people, one’s reusable coffee cup can seem somewhat pointless when the good is just as quickly undone by the customer behind you.
Although, perhaps that’s the wrong outlook. Perhaps the better question is: “Who do I want to be in this system?”
Yes, it’s inconvenient to bring the cup, carry a tote at all times, and sure, you won’t single-handedly save the environment with them, but they do reaffirm that you’re someone who cares, to yourself and others.
So, next time you catch yourself wondering whether your small change even makes a difference, the answer, ironically, can be found in a recent study conducted on London’s River Thames. After decades of dedication and millions of people making small changes, there is less plastic in the Thames River, lower concentrations of toxic metals, and more “breathable” water for its underwater wildlife.
It gives me hope for the future, and in the words of conservationist Alison Debney, who has been working on the Thames clean-up, “reminds us that transformation is possible”.