Speed is of the Essence

If you’re going to live in London you’ve got to quickly pick up your pace and I mean quick. There are always things zooming past. Stand on any of the bridges in London and think. There is Air traffic passing above you every 2 minutes, over ground trains bustling towards the various stations, buses and cars whizzing by, below you commuter boats are transferring commuters and a few layers under the water the underground train connects London through its many tunnels.

In my first days in London I separated people into two categories. The bus/train kind and the underground kind.
You see when I lived a safe distance from anything Tube-like in Dublin I affectionately called the tube “The Suppository” because in comparison to the size of the underground trains in Brussels, Paris, New York and Athens it seemed like something you can put up your arse.
“I can touch the ceiling in it and I’m tiny”, I would always say to my friends while explaining the issue I have with it.

I didn’t realise that all these little funny stories where helping my Claustrophobia get more “deep” rooted. Or should I say my Deptho-Claustrophobia. (A fear of enclosed spaces deep in the ground – It’s my own creation, don’t go looking it up.)
When I finally got here I went through a phase of trying to get used to it, because everyone kept telling me that I would get everywhere fast.
I noticed that people look at each other in a specific way on the Tube. They look at each other in the eyes and smile slightly. Sometimes the smile even spreads down to their lips and lifts them. It’s the kind of smile that says: “I feel it too but it’s quick, what alternative do we have?”

So I kept on being positive about it and trotted down steps that went on for far too long. All I could hear was a little inner voice saying: “What are you doing? Humans aren’t meant to be so far underground. I washed the voice out with a jolly affirmation I had made up that went: I can do anything, I can do anything, I can do anything, which I sang to a tune that could belong in the Sound of Music. (It had other words but I don’t want to embarrass myself too much)

While I was waiting on the platforms I imagined myself as a little moving/bleeping creature in an electronic game. There I was, walking up and down the platform, many floors down, trains passing above me and below me as I bleeped away.
While in the compact train all my senses were heightened. I felt the turns and the dips; I became too aware of it slowing down and calmed down a bit when it accelerated. I knew the movements of the journey on the Circle Line by heart. Breathing was for when we got to a station.
The wall right on top of the window of the train was my issue. Everything else I could deal with. “If it stops, how do we get out? How much air do we have? Will I scream or will I be able to keep it in?
No, no forget it. “I can do Anything, I can do Anything, I can do Anything”.

Of course as is usual in life, if something concerns us wildly, we may not talk about it to others; we may never utter a word about it; the stories find us as if we are magnets that attract just what we don’t want to hear.
Everywhere I went a horror story about the Tube manifested itself.
People in my new work place rushed into the kitchen to wash their face saying: “God it’s warm down there. I nearly passed out”. My cousin’s flatmate regaled me with a story of being stuck underground on the Piccadilly Line for 50 minutes.
And finally it happened, the thing I most feared happened to me.
I left work one Friday wanting to get to the South Bank quickly. I told myself (in a very stern voice) that I needed to get over this rubbish and should take the Northern line to London Bridge so I can get to South Bank in ten minutes flat.
It was only a 4-station journey so I repeated my mantra over and over and started making my way down the escalator. As I got on the train I thought: so far so good, you can do this! Well done.
No sooner had we left the station when the train stopped, it just stopped. I was reading the Metro and I just kept on looking at a picture of Jennifer Aniston in really fancy frock thinking: “You can do this! This is ok!”. When I had finished the article next to the picture and the train still hadn’t moved I started looking around.
I looked at a nice lady standing opposite me; she must have sensed my unease (either that or I was shacking like a leaf and didn’t realise it) because she smiled at me reassuringly. I thought that maybe I should lie on the floor and cry or scream like children do when they want attention but I pitied my fellow passengers. They all looked like they’d just finished a hard day of work and this would do nothing for their mood now, would it?
So I kept it together and after about 10 minutes the train moved and we got to the next station. You would think that any sensible claustrophobic would get off at that point, right? Wrong!
Oh, no I was challenging myself. I repeated my mantra: “I can do anything” and told myself that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place. So I remained on the train and continued my journey to London Bridge, I was still going to get there fast and that’s all that mattered.
And yes, you guessed it as soon as we were full way into the narrow tunnel the train stopped again. I’m not going to bore you with the emotions I had which were pretty similar to the ones narrated above with a bit of extra zing to them as it was the second time in twenty minutes that I was experiencing the same test. When the next ten minutes passed and we docked at the Bank Station platform I walked out of the train and up the maze that leads to the surface shaking from head to toe. My inner child asked my stupid insistent adult why we were being put through this. Was there some point to this? My decision was made!
I must be one the very few people that doesn’t take the tube in this city but I have found many over ground trains that get me to the centre in ten minutes flat, I’m happy and I don’t try to find inner peace in the eyes of my fellow passengers.

In his book “Slowness” Milan Kundera writes: The degree of slowness is directionally proportional to the intensity of memory. The degree of speed is directionally proportional to the intensity of forgetting.

Maybe the lesson I had to learn in order to enjoy myself in London was that the city might have a fast pace but I needed to slow down to enjoy it. There is so much to see, why would you want to risk forgetting any of it?

What are you searching for?

Hello, I suppose I should start by introducing myself.

I'm Arhondia which is pronounced A R O ND I A with the accent on the I. Everyone I meet has a problem with pronouncing it so don't worry you're not the first.

I'm half Greek-half Irish, in my early thirties and single.

As all Irish people do when things get tough back home, a few months ago (in the middle of Ireland's worst recession since the eighties) I packed my bags and got the fuck out. My friends told me this is proof that I'm more Irish than Greek, although you wouldn't think it if you saw me.

So I found myself in London in the beginning of May, a place I 'd only visited on two previous occasions and it scared the wits out of me both times.

Dublin city centre is pretty much the size of Trafalgar Square and the Covent Garden area put together and no bigger than that.

The first time I crossed Waterloo Bridge to get from the Strand to the National Theatre I thought there should be people on the paths handing out water sponges like they do in the Marathon.

I've since got used to it or maybe my eyes have adjusted and can finally take in the scale.

London is always described as fast paced. A quick city with sharp people. People that are on time, make money and like precision. But in the last five months here I have discovered a city that is intensely beautiful if you have take the time to get to know it and people that are genuine, fun loving and generous. Yes you read correctly don't rub your eyes you are not asleep and dreaming.

London is like a Christmas Advent Calendar full of little magic pockets you have to open to disover the gifts hidden inside.

True blue Londoners like the word "Pretty" and they use it frequently to describe the many parks, canals, little markets, restaurants, theatres, the list is endless as are the many attractions of the city.

The title of the blog is searching in London, so what am I searching for?

I'm searching for what most people are, I think.

I 'm searching for fulfilment, excitement, love and a chance to change my life and make it into the life of my dreams.

How? I'm not sure of how I should go about it but I'm exploring every avenue possible.

So here is what I'm doing to get there :

• I'm doing a course in short story writing ,


• I've signed up to do Stand Up,


• I've recently become a Buddhist (the word "become" might be a bit intense, I join the group twice a month and try to be the best person I can be),


• I'm going to a Vipassana retreat for 10 days (it will start just after Christmas and end well after the New Year) where I will hopefully get in touch with my higher self, I'm hoping she will let me in on a few secrets. Vipassana is a meditation practise and the deal is you don't talk for 10 days, you just focus on your breathing and medidate. So during the season to be jolly I'll be not talking at all and enjoying warm water in a flask instead of champagne or mulled wine. Can I do it? It remains to be seen.


• I'm applying for an MA in Creative writing,


• I'm learning French.

Is this the list that makes up the key to happiness?

I'm not sure. But when I look at this list I like it and I wouldn't like to be without any of the items listed.