It was quite a while since I’d gone to a theatre show. Receiving an invitation from the Amsterdam Culture Club to join one of their gatherings felt like getting a message from a bigger force – introduce cavernous voice here – Wake up Anaaaa. Make your way back to the theatreeee. I obeyed. Spent my uni time studying theatre, after all. Can’t be this long away from it.
London welcomed me in the usual grey skies terms and overwhelming fashion I was expecting. You get in and then out of the tube and you’re immediately part of this crowd of slow tourists and stressed out businessmen, a general mass of working class bodies, plus the fashion oriented creatures, and the immigrants, and the hipsters, and the homeless, and whatnot; the soundtrack being this babylon of an endless series of accents and languages, and cars and sirens and trains and honks and construction works and live instruments and advertisment and friendly voices who tell you to mind the gap, watch your possessions or that, actually, you have just arrived to your destination. This is the epithome of the Western fast-faster-the fastest type of pace (European style) but then there’s also this contrasting feeling of steadiness and solemny exuding from every monument, every corner, every stone. So much History concentrated in just one city.