London Calling.
London Walks connecting.
This is London. This is London Walks. Streets Ahead. Story time.
History time.
London in a heatwave time.
The Piazza shimmers. The paving stones radiate heat. Every patch of shade has already been claimed. Café tables are packed. The street performers are gamely carrying on. Tourists are slowing to a wilt. Waiters thread their way through the crowds with trays held high above their heads. Children chase giant soap bubbles. Cameras click. Ice creams melt faster than they can be eaten. Languages from every corner of the globe drift through the air.
It’s London at full volume.
It’s colourful.
It’s exhilarating.
And after half an hour, it’s exhausting.
Unless you’re one of the people who know.
Here’s a little London secret.
Not everybody realises that you can simply walk into the Royal Opera House.
No opera ticket required.
No ballet ticket required.
No membership card.
Just walk through the doors.
The building opens at midday. Wander in whenever you please. Stay as long as you like. Most evenings it’s open until 11 o’clock. There’s no sense that you’re occupying somebody else’s space. Nobody hurries you along. Nobody asks awkward questions. It’s as though one of London’s grandest buildings has quietly decided to throw open its doors to anybody who fancies dropping in.
Forty seconds after leaving the clamour of the Piazza, you’re somewhere else entirely.
The doors close behind you.
The noise falls away.
The temperature drops.
Your shoulders relax.
You hadn’t even realised they’d tensed up.
The one assaults you.
The other quietly welcomes you.
Invites you.
Soothes you.
The first thing you notice is the blessed relief of the air conditioning.
Then the space.
So much space.
Light floods through vast expanses of glass. Great staircases sweep upwards. Everywhere you look there’s room to breathe. It feels airy, gracious and welcoming. This isn’t a building that tells you to admire it from a respectful distance. It positively invites you to make yourself at home.
And that’s exactly what people do.
Some are reading.
Some are working quietly on laptops.
Some are chatting over coffee.
Others simply sit, watching the afternoon unfold.
Nobody seems remotely concerned if you settle into a comfortable chair with a book and while away a couple of hours.
Yesterday afternoon I found myself watching the people almost as much as the building.
The funny thing was, hardly anybody looked as though they were about to see an opera.
They looked like people who’d stumbled across one of London’s great urban sanctuaries.
Some had shopping bags.
Some had books.
One young couple had commandeered a sofa and looked perfectly content to spend the afternoon there.
Every few minutes somebody would come in from the blazing Piazza looking just a little shell-shocked.
You could almost see the moment the cool air reached them.
At the heart of it all is Paul Hamlyn Hall.
I absolutely love this room.
It’s one of London’s great indoor spaces.
Long before it became part of the Royal Opera House it was Covent Garden’s Flower Hall.
Before dawn every morning this soaring Victorian hall echoed to the cries of flower traders. Porters hurried beneath that magnificent iron and glass roof pushing barrows piled high with roses, carnations, lilies and chrysanthemums. The scent of flowers filled the air.
It’s worth pausing for a moment and picturing the scene.
The old Covent Garden Market waking before first light.
The flower traders calling to one another.
The scrape of wooden barrows.
Buckets of water everywhere.
The perfume of thousands upon thousands of flowers.
London beginning another working day.
Today the flowers have gone.
The glorious roof remains.
Instead of traders there are coffee drinkers.
Instead of handcarts there are armchairs.
Instead of shouted prices there’s the gentle murmur of conversation.
Yesterday afternoon, when I dropped in to escape the heat, there was a pianist playing. Every table seemed to be occupied. People sat over coffee, tea, glasses of wine, books, newspapers and laptops. Nobody appeared to be in any hurry to leave. It had the feel of a great continental café that had somehow found its way into the middle of Covent Garden.
There are cafés.
Bars.
Restaurants.
Comfortable seating.
Excellent loos.
Free Wi-Fi.
And often free lunchtime performances and other events besides.
The nicest thing about the place, though, is something much harder to describe.
It has generosity.
That’s an unfashionable word these days, but it’s exactly the right one.
Some buildings make you feel you ought to move on after you’ve finished your coffee.
This one seems almost to encourage lingering.
Read another chapter.
Order another espresso.
Watch the changing light beneath the great glass roof.
Listen to the piano.
Or simply sit and do absolutely nothing for twenty minutes.
That’s become an underrated pleasure.
Only then does it strike you just how remarkable this place is.
It’s one of the most civilised spaces in London.
The contrast with the Piazza below couldn’t be greater.
Down there it’s movement.
Noise.
Heat.
Crowds.
Buskers competing for attention.
Queues.
A glorious urban carnival.
Up here it’s calm.
Cool.
Quiet.
Almost contemplative.
The one assaults you.
The other quietly welcomes you, invites you, soothes you.
Whenever you fancy another helping of Covent Garden’s street theatre, it’s waiting just outside. Jugglers. Musicians. Human statues. All the colour and excitement that makes the Piazza one of London’s great public spaces.
Then, when you’ve had your fill, you simply step back inside.
Back into the cool.
Back into the quiet.
Back into one of London’s best-kept secrets.
We all carry around little mental maps of London.
Not maps that show the quickest way from Leicester Square to Piccadilly Circus.
Better maps than that.
Maps of places that restore us.
A favourite bench.
A hidden garden.
A church that’s always open.
A pub that somehow never gets too crowded.
Somewhere to shelter when the heavens open.
Somewhere to thaw out on a bitter January afternoon.
Somewhere to cool down when London decides to imitate the Sahara.
This is one of mine.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you about it.
But local knowledge is what London Walks has always been about.
Anybody can tell you where Buckingham Palace is.
It’s rather more useful to know where to find a cool chair, a good coffee, a magnificent Victorian hall, a piano recital and a couple of blissfully air-conditioned hours right in the middle of Covent Garden.
That’s what London Walks has always been about.
Not just showing you London’s famous places.
Showing you how London works.
See you tomorrow.