Finding peace in London
‘Peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek, but a means by which we arrive at that goal.’ – Martin Luther King, Jr.
As much as I love London, it hasn’t escaped my notice that, generally speaking, I feel a heightened sense of anxiety since I moved here. Most of the time, it’s a low level, easily ignored fact of life. It’s there, lurking, but there’s not much I can do about it. I think it’s a symptom of living in a frenetic, fast-paced city where the risk that something may happen to me is slightly higher than if I had chosen to live elsewhere.
On some days, my anxiety fully rears its ugly head and I spend the day (or days) with my stomach in knots, feeling nauseous, often on the edge of panic and, inexplicably, my hands go all weird and tingly. My mood sinks, I become quiet and irritable and prone to needing sudden bursts of fresh air that I gulp down as I stride along during my lunch hour or after work as I walk home. It bubbles up without warning – I’ve tried to track what may trigger my anxiety to peak at increased levels, but it’s difficult. Sometimes it can be when I’m really busy and therefore I become more stressed. I am also one of the world’s great over-thinkers and I’ve found that spending too much time in my own head can make me worse.
So, I practice the art of trying to stop my thoughts running away with themselves, and I try to take a breather from life when I need to. But it’s hard in London. There is constant background noise, a throbbing energy that never ceases. It can be difficult to find peace in the city when sirens wail at any given moment, cars are constantly roaring past and even on a Sunday evening, people seem to have little regard for socially acceptable outdoor talking levels and start yelling outside my bedroom window at one in the morning.
I am not complaining. I love living in London and I won’t be leaving anytime soon (at least not permanently). However, there comes a time when one needs to have some space and when it’s not possible to leave the city, I must have places I can go to that will ease my stress, chill me out, help me find some inner peace (sorry, I know that sounds very ‘hippy-ish’) and generally relax and unwind me. I need these places for my sanity, if nothing else. And so, in the midst of the chaos and the constant, jarring noise, I have found three key places where I can find a bit of serenity, right at the very heart of this busy city.
Hintz Hall, Natural History Museum.
It’s remarkable how relaxed I feel when I am in this place. It throbs with people and energy – kids running around, groups of tourists snapping photos, echoing footsteps, voices, shouts and laughter. And yet, I feel anonymous here. Almost invisible.
I can melt into the shadows and people pass me by, unnoticed. I lean over the parapets and stare into the cavernous hall, observing life quietly without disturbing anyone or being disturbed myself. One of my favourite hobbies is to people watch and I can do this in abundance here. Nobody cares about me, I’m just another museum visitor and I’m sitting quietly, so why pay me any attention.
The architecture is superb and Instagram worthy. I take photos to my hearts content, walking slowly around the circumference of the hall, sidestepping people who get in my way, weaving my way through the throngs. I climb the wide, sweeping staircase, ever upwards, to the highest point of the hall where I can gaze down on everything and everyone and admire the view.
The corridors that run around the upper levels of the hall are filled with statues and glass cases stuffed with specimens. Taxidermy abounds, often slightly moth-eaten, along with displays of glittering gemstones from around the world. Creeping up the columns and walls are gargoyles, small evil looking monkeys climbing higher and higher and out of sight into the cavernous arches above. The huge whale skeleton dominates the scene, overlooking all, a reminder that we must care more about our oceans and what we are doing to them.
In the midst of this busy, bustling hall, I find my peace. I can go here in the worst possible mood and come away soothed.
Albert Embankment, South Bank, Westminster.
For a brief pause, a reset, I come here. The age old view across the Thames towards Big Ben and Parliament is burnt into my retinas, but it’s still possibly my favourite view in London. I love knowing that I used to work there. I walked those corridors of power and sipped drinks on that terrace overlooking the river.
On this side of Westminster Bridge, the crowds that strangle you near the London Eye and the Aquarium have remarkably thinned out. The bridge underpass, dank and smelling slightly of stale piss, is a great tourist repellent. Many of them don’t seem to realise that they’re missing out on an amazing photograph opportunity of one of London’s most famous landmarks.
The noise of traffic going over the bridge is dulled just below it and as night falls and rush hour passes, it grows quieter still. I lean on the concrete wall, gazing avidly across the river at the Gothic spires that reflect in the murky water. Sometimes, the Thames barrels past, gallons of water every second, heaving and seething dangerously, angrily. Other times, the river seems peaceable, wending its way slowly towards the sea, low tide taking the water levels back down and exposing rocky beaches here and there.
Benches are dotted along Albert Embankment. I sit and drink vodka and soda out of plastic cups with P at 1am, or sit and watch newly married couples get their money shot in front of Big Ben at 4pm. I sit and watch the sunset, turning the sky flaming orange, at 9.30pm mid-July, or am mesmerised by the lights reflecting and playing on the water at 12am. Any time of day is good here. There is always something to see. It is always calming.
St Dunstans in the East and The Square Mile – after hours.
Don’t come during the week, when investment banker wankers and insurance brokers clog the streets. Don’t come during the week, when you can’t move for suits, pencil skirts and high heeled shoes. Come on a Sunday.
The City is quiet then. It knows how to get into the whole Sunday vibe – take it easy, don’t get too busy, relax. The streets are empty now, the back alleys deserted. Leadenhall stands closed. The towering glass skyscrapers – so familiar on the London skyline – are even more impressive at close quarters. The old mingles with the new almost imperceptively. Nothing jars – an ancient church from the 14th century stands easily next to the Gherkin; St Dunstans hides away down a side street that is overshadowed by the Walkie Talkie.
I sit in the church gardens and feel peace eminate around me. Other visitors lower their voices to hushed tones; the ancient stones, full of stories of bygone eras, seem to have the effect of quietening people and muting the surrounding city. I sit and watch passers-by, tourists taking photos, posing for shots under the arches and against the ivy-strewn walls.
Afterwards, I stroll through the City streets, aimless. I look skywards as much as possible, eyeing the silent glass monoliths around me as they soar up from the pavement. I admire the architecture, the dramatic sweeping curves, angles, surfaces and edges, all reflecting the clouds and the other nearby buildings. Each structure mirrors others. It’s almost maze-like, and then you break out into a familiar street and traffic noise clogs the air once more and you come to your senses. Time to go home, enjoy a quiet Sunday evening cooking, relaxing, chilling out.
I feel calmer now. It is time to face the week ahead with renewed energy.
