This is the one I've been wanting to write for quite some time now. I've started and stopped over the years, but now I'm determined to get it right, to capture for you the best moment I had in London. My gift to you. I expect this was the kind of experience that I will never forget, and when I close my eyes I can imagine I'm there...
There's the tourist version that comes to mind when most people think of London. Picadilly Circus, Harrod's, Buckingham Palace, a view from the London Eye. And that's all well and good; London by day is a beautiful sight. And I've been on my fair share of double-decker tours. But it was on one restless evening that I ventured out for a stroll and stumbled upon London by night, seductive and mysterious as one could imagine. Draped above by a darkened sky with the moon peering through ominous clouds, London came to life with its nocturnal characters.
I spent my days most of the time plugged in, walking throughout London during the day with music blasting in my ears. Whatever new band I had found online would set the pace to my daytime journeys, and would fill up the time waiting for the tube. But on this night I chose to leave the pre-set soundtrack behind and tap into London's true sounds.
It was a peculiarly warm late Autumn evening. I couldn't sleep, no matter how many sheep I counted. My attention span wasn't sharp enough to tackle any of the books on my desk, so I changed and headed out the door. I ambled down the street; the tree-lined walkway sparkled with tiny blue lights tucked into the branches. The gentle slosh of the Thames lapping against the rock wall lured me to the riverbank, the ebb and flow pulling me in to see the lights of the city. Parliament's silhouette aglow against the evening and Big Ben towering above. This was the stately side of the city, the version that could be dressed in tails and a top hat for a night at the opera. The side of London that's entrenched in historical tradition and sophistication. The image of Saint Paul's Cathedral in an illuminated haze, all quiet and still that late at night.
I trekked along towards Gabriel's Wharf, people-watching as I passed by the couples flirting over a late night supper in the cafe. Flickering candlelight setting the scene for romantic interludes in between bites of pasta and pudding. The chatter and laughter broke the stillness I beheld by the Thames, a welcome reprieve from the overpowering regality. This was the intimate side of the city, the kind you could have a conversation with long into the night. Debates over world politics and passionate reactions to the latest exhibit at the Tate, secrets whispered only at night. This was London taking me by the hand, and revealing the enchanted evening.
Just below the wharf the waters had receded just enough for a strip of sand to be revealed, and a group of rambunctious late-nighters had continued the tradition of reclaiming the beach. I watched from above as they wrote their names in the river grit, some were even lounging on a couch they had carved out of molded sand. I waved to them as they danced and sang to the music blasting from their stereo, glowsticks swinging in the air and electrifying the evening atmosphere. Their vivacity was infectious, you couldn't help but be beguiled by their energy.
I left their merriment behind as I continued with my walk. I approached the foot tunnel, and in the distance I could hear the faint echo of a woman singing. As I made my way down the alley, the entrancing melody of the opera singer reverberated off of the stone walls. It was just the two of us in the tunnel, as if she was singing just for me, and the haunting tones of the Italian libretto was the city's evening musical accompaniment I had been searching for. I was meant to be there, to stumble upon that busker, to discover the mysterious underbelly of London and meet its nighttime players.
I didn't have any trouble falling asleep when I returned to my flat. And when I woke up the next morning, I was greeted by the morning sun washing over London's scene. It was so calm in the early light, but I knew the secret of the city's witching hour...
There's the tourist version that comes to mind when most people think of London. Picadilly Circus, Harrod's, Buckingham Palace, a view from the London Eye. And that's all well and good; London by day is a beautiful sight. And I've been on my fair share of double-decker tours. But it was on one restless evening that I ventured out for a stroll and stumbled upon London by night, seductive and mysterious as one could imagine. Draped above by a darkened sky with the moon peering through ominous clouds, London came to life with its nocturnal characters.
I spent my days most of the time plugged in, walking throughout London during the day with music blasting in my ears. Whatever new band I had found online would set the pace to my daytime journeys, and would fill up the time waiting for the tube. But on this night I chose to leave the pre-set soundtrack behind and tap into London's true sounds.
It was a peculiarly warm late Autumn evening. I couldn't sleep, no matter how many sheep I counted. My attention span wasn't sharp enough to tackle any of the books on my desk, so I changed and headed out the door. I ambled down the street; the tree-lined walkway sparkled with tiny blue lights tucked into the branches. The gentle slosh of the Thames lapping against the rock wall lured me to the riverbank, the ebb and flow pulling me in to see the lights of the city. Parliament's silhouette aglow against the evening and Big Ben towering above. This was the stately side of the city, the version that could be dressed in tails and a top hat for a night at the opera. The side of London that's entrenched in historical tradition and sophistication. The image of Saint Paul's Cathedral in an illuminated haze, all quiet and still that late at night.
I trekked along towards Gabriel's Wharf, people-watching as I passed by the couples flirting over a late night supper in the cafe. Flickering candlelight setting the scene for romantic interludes in between bites of pasta and pudding. The chatter and laughter broke the stillness I beheld by the Thames, a welcome reprieve from the overpowering regality. This was the intimate side of the city, the kind you could have a conversation with long into the night. Debates over world politics and passionate reactions to the latest exhibit at the Tate, secrets whispered only at night. This was London taking me by the hand, and revealing the enchanted evening.
Just below the wharf the waters had receded just enough for a strip of sand to be revealed, and a group of rambunctious late-nighters had continued the tradition of reclaiming the beach. I watched from above as they wrote their names in the river grit, some were even lounging on a couch they had carved out of molded sand. I waved to them as they danced and sang to the music blasting from their stereo, glowsticks swinging in the air and electrifying the evening atmosphere. Their vivacity was infectious, you couldn't help but be beguiled by their energy.
I left their merriment behind as I continued with my walk. I approached the foot tunnel, and in the distance I could hear the faint echo of a woman singing. As I made my way down the alley, the entrancing melody of the opera singer reverberated off of the stone walls. It was just the two of us in the tunnel, as if she was singing just for me, and the haunting tones of the Italian libretto was the city's evening musical accompaniment I had been searching for. I was meant to be there, to stumble upon that busker, to discover the mysterious underbelly of London and meet its nighttime players.
I didn't have any trouble falling asleep when I returned to my flat. And when I woke up the next morning, I was greeted by the morning sun washing over London's scene. It was so calm in the early light, but I knew the secret of the city's witching hour...