London City Airport, May. I’m sitting at the gate, looking out at the tarmac, trying to make sense of the last two days. I’m not really managing it. Maybe I didn’t need to, not right away.
I needed a break. A short pause before a new chapter in my life was set to begin the next day. London seemed exactly right for that. Not because it’s calm (it certainly isn’t), but because this city does something to me I still can’t quite put into words.
London no longer feels the same as when I last left it. It constantly changes, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. This ever-shifting nature gives it a vibrant, alive feeling. This visit, I had no concert to attend, no plans to follow. Just London itself. I aimed to clear my mind and allow myself to drift.
Well. There was one appointment, in the end.
On Saturday evening I found myself on the 67th floor of The Shard. I’d been carrying the idea around for years without ever quite convincing myself to act on it. This time there was a deal on, and I thought, why not. How was it? I’ll keep this brief: unspectacular. Would I do it again? No. Sometimes you just need to go once, so the question can finally be put to rest.
What actually got me was pure chance. Anyone who’s spent time on the Tube knows the drill: adverts everywhere. On platforms, on escalators, in the connecting tunnels. Static, animated, loud, quiet. There’s no escaping them. Somewhere between two stations, my eye caught on a poster: Hadestown. I already knew the soundtrack. So seeing it live felt like the obvious next step.
I booked the ticket on a whim, in a water taxi on the way to London Bridge station. That’s just how these things happen sometimes.
Hadestown retells the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, set in a dark, industrial underworld ruled by Hades. It’s a story about love, hope, and whether either is strong enough to stand up against the inevitable. Musically somewhere between folk, jazz and blues, Anaïs Mitchell’s show is one of the strangest and most moving things modern musical theatre has to offer.
The Lyric Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue is the perfect setting for it. A building with history, with an atmosphere you feel the moment you walk in. I’m glad London keeps venues like this alive. That evening, the show pulled me in so completely that the goosebumps never really left. One of those performances that leaves you quiet for a while afterwards.
On a side note, I did travel by rail while I was there too. And every single time, I end up thinking the same thing. It’s not really about punctuality. It’s about something else: service. Proper announcements on platforms and on trains, staff who are actually there and approachable. Things that have fallen victim to cost-cutting back in Germany. That’s not a dig, just an observation. And one that gets me thinking every time.
But back to London itself. Unlike other cities of similar size, I never feel alone here. This city, this organism, treats the people moving through it differently somehow. I don’t have a precise word for it. I just feel at ease here. Looked after, in a way.
The day after, something new began. I’m only writing this down now, a few months later. Some things need time to settle before you can put them into words. But London, that was still mine alone.
How do you feel about this city when you visit? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
Travel. And stay curious.
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