Waking up to sirens, cars and the general hustle and bustle
of a large city is something I hadn’t done in almost fifteen years. I stayed in a Victorian house comprised of
eight rooms and shared kitchens, bath and laundry. Noise and activity were constant but not
irritating. It was recalibration of
sorts, the re-acclimating to a busy life.
I found myself lying in bed in the mornings, listening to the footsteps
on the stairs from above and below, writing the stories of their owners’ lives
in my head. But after the footsteps
quieted and I procured a morning cup of tea, I would ready myself for the wide
world of London.
Some days I had an agenda and other days I wandered. Literally, I would walk or get on a bus or
take the Tube until something looked interesting. An alley way, a café, a shop, a park bench…I
never knew what would lure me but something always did. The buildings of London are my eye
candy. I’m an architecture junkie. The shape, the soul, the color, the material,
the detail, the story, it all makes my heart sing. Cities around the world tell their histories
in their buildings and design. From worn
cobbles to beautiful granite curbs to lampposts, every city will tell you a
story if you look closely. And London
has recreated itself a million times over.
Her stories are never ending.
The noise of London is interesting. In some areas you couldn’t have a
conversation on the street and in others you almost forget you’re in one of the
largest metropolitan areas in the world.
I love that. The ability to be
overwhelmed or tucked away all in the same place. In the neighborhood I stayed in, the East
End, the pub, of course, was a place of congregation. Unlike the small, warm country pubs I was
accustomed to when I lived in the U.K., my “local” was large and eclectic. In its past lives it had been both a theatre
and a church. A large glass wall let in
light and gave it a distinctive urban feel.
But it was a local neighborhood pub, after all, and conversations were
never in short supply. Being so near a
university the crowd was diverse both in age and in ethnicity. Any manner of discussion could be had for
someone like me who asks a lot of questions or asks just enough to sit back and
enjoy the answers. Like all good pubs,
my local was a living room, an office, a recreational retreat, a bar and for
many, myself included, a kitchen where a warm meal was always at the ready.
To be sure, I met and talked with many new and interesting
people in my month away. Some I will
call friends from now on, looking forward to our next chat. Others will forever be funny characters or
anecdotes I recall will humor. But the
stories I recall most vividly now that I’m away are the ones who were told with
no real voice at all. The sights, the
sounds, the feelings, the whispers, the energy that makes London
magnificent. I re-learned the art of
listening in my time away. It’s a skill
I hope to sharpen and retain in my journey ahead.
