Lazy Sunday

Hi everyone!
It has been a really quiet weekend, partially in preparation for my fun trip coming up this time next week, when I'll be leaving for Salzburg and Prague. Yesterday I saw Simon Stephen's Punk Rock again and enjoyed it even more the second time around; the writing and performances are both incredible. Seeing it after talking to Simon in my British Political Drama class was also extremely enlightening, as so many of his themes were clarified through the discussion. I really enjoyed myself and hope that I can be a part of a production of it in the future.

To keep this current and updated on my experiences, here's the journal I wrote for my class here. The journal assignment is just a connection of our daily notes we make (i.e. how people behave on the Tube, in parks, differences in British and American life, etc.) I decided to write this essay on my trip to Hyde Park on Thursday. Enjoy!

My experiences in London thus far have revolved around being with people: walking tours with the group, going out to pubs, seeing museums with my friends. I have spent very little time alone, especially in my daily life at the flat, where I have two other people in my room and seven in the kitchen. Thursday was the first time I’ve had alone time nearly all trip, and it turned out to be one of my most defining London experiences so far.

I made the trip to Kensington High Street Thursday to attend my Alexander Technique class at LDA. It’s a method that cannot be taught easily and takes time to explain: The technique teaches proper body alignment and “un-teaches” the twenty years of habit I’ve developed. Most of the class is spent on the floor or table, where I’m told to trust the floor and give way to gravity, because my body naturally knows what it wants to do. It’s incredibly freeing: I leave the building feelings as if I’ve grown three inches taller than when I walked in. This particular Thursday, feeling confident as a result of my newly acquired height, I decided to get some reading done, preferably outside since it was a beautiful day. With a vague “park or garden” destination in mind, I set off on my own for a walk.

It took me a mere five minutes to happen upon the corner of Hyde Park. It was unlike any city park I’ve seen in the past; most are overly-decorated, and this it was just, well, space. It resembled a municipal park more than anything else; the only piece of ornamentation was a rather hidden Kensington Gardens. The rest of the space was occupied by green grass, lines of trees, walking paths, and a few benches. It struck me that such prime real estate, on Kensington High Road, has managed to hold its own and stay open for so long. Sunshine was in no short supply, so I had good company; dozens of others were jogging, walking, or eating lunch on their own.Wandering from bench to bench, I finally settled on a shady spot under a tree. The location was advantageous: right on the top of the hill, partially shaded, and in view of an acre or two of land.

As I was taking in the sights around me, I overheard an old woman being pushed in a wheelchair speaking. As she passed, I heard her say to her companion, “this has always been such a lovely park.” I was suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of history this simple lawn held; there was something magnificent about hearing this woman in her eighties recall her past with the park. I suddenly wanted to ask her if the buildings had changed across the street, what the establishment the convenience store used to be, and what her favorite spot was when she came here long ago; it’s a shame that modern standards of prudence have eradicated the possibility of such random conversations to occur.

While still smiling to myself over the passing woman, I noticed the large number of children that were enjoying the day in the park. Toddlers, babies in strollers, and their mothers all seemed to smile simply in the warmth of the day as they went about their business. Sophie, whose name I learned as her mother called after her several times to stay close, seemed content to chase the pigeons on the green lawn below the slope. Two children were racing up and down the hill; their mother, ever the fair scorekeeper, called every race a tie. Just like the older woman in the wheelchair, these children would look back upon these memories of the park and London itself. My nature has always leaned towards the maternal, but being a witness to these children’s happy memories made me so grateful. There’s a scene in the film Paris, je t’aime, in which a woman travels to Paris by herself. In the final moments of the scene, she says: “Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I'd never known before or had always been waiting for, but I didn't know what. Maybe it was something I'd forgotten or something I've been missing all my life. All I can say is that I felt, at the same time, joy and sadness. But not too much sadness, because I felt alive.” I was alone in Hyde Park, yes, but the connection I felt to the city itself and the joy it has fostered in so many lives was stronger than most of my other experiences here. I honestly feel a part of something just by walking down the street. London is revealing itself in surprising ways: it is not a city of clouds and rain, nor mere towers and pubs, but it is a city characterized by a feeling. While I cannot name it, I can only describe it as the character in the movie did: alive.

Hope you're all doing well, and keep in touch!

Christina