Jola Fallach
I love London, which is famous for its cosmopolitan atmosphere, due to its historical places and international workforce. Melting pot of cultures and languages, London has many faces, depending on the locale and time. A vibrant and exotic place, which teems with tourists, London never sleeps or gives much time to rest. This creature never gets tired.

East London, where I live, offers not only advantages of a modern metropolis but also of the countryside with its quiet places for relaxing. Epping Forest, which stretches from Leytonstone, Wanstead to Epping, accommodates the largest open space in London and the remains of the ancient woodlands. Despite its name, it rather resembles a park, whose well-maintained paths and lakes attract Londoners during the weekends and lovers of walking the whole year round. I especially like this place on the working days, when most people are too occupied to find time to escape the city for the nature.

Because the ancient woodland tends to be sodden most of the winter, I have bought wellingtons and may enjoy the Forest throughout the whole year. The better weather, the more people relax in its every corner, but yet there are places where one may find an isolation amongst the trees and wildlife. There is something magical in the forest because, after reaching the boundary between the city and the nature, it does not take much time to forget the overwhelming racket of the city life.


On the other hand, the occupied and energetic City, proud of many a man and woman, who work hard the entire day to build its power, radiates wisdom and money. After the black army disappears, swallowed by the countless bowels of the Underground, the City silently strode throughout the empty streets, half surprised and half scared of this sudden emptiness.

Feeling somehow alone, the City welcomes travelers at the weekends, amazed by their laziness, childish enthusiasm, and eagerness to take pictures of its beauty. But there is a sense of the absence, a sense of the loss of those, to whom the streets really belong. The City is trapped in a museum, waiting impatiently for another Monday.




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