As often happens with places you see on a map, on the ground I felt a bit lost. There was the giant, six-lane Crystal Palace Parade, and then a confusing series of one way streets forming a triangle. This…is it, I thought, feeling deflated.
And so it was. I hopped through the three lanes, looking for somewhere to sit and ‘soak up the incredible atmosphere of Crystal Palace’ as I’d told myself in my head. The portents were not great, I have to say. As I crossed one junction the people in the car next to me were having a huge argument with the passenger window down.
‘Well you’ll just have to let me out right here, won’t you’, said the passenger to the driver as they crossed the big junction onto the equally big quasi-motorway. If he’d been let out he would have been squashed in an instant. He looked mid 30s, with a big beard, and seemed petulantly angry.
‘I can’t put up with this any more.’ Yikes! I was sad to see them turn away. I wanted to keep listening. But onwards.
It being midday, and a Thursday, I thought it not the apposite moment for a pint. So I found a coffee shop instead. One that looked suitably hipsterish – you know, lots of rough wood, beans prominently displayed, independently owned. It was called The Roasted Bean. Perfect. Except the people inside looked utterly bored (I want my baristas frothy and excitable, just like my coffee, please!) and there was a prohibition on laptops in the window tables, so the few customers in there were relegated to the darkened back. I got a coffee and meditated on the nature of Crystal Palace.
Having successfully meditated and come to the conclusion it was ‘alright’, I set off for the park, which I’d once heard someone describe as the best in London. High praise indeed. What I found was rather strange.
Whether it was the headless friar,
the ghostly remains of where The Crystal Palace was (till it burned down in 1936),
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| Like most ruins, leaves quite a lot to the imagination, but picture a massive glass well, palace, and you're in the right ballpark |
the imposing head of Joseph Paxton, architect of aforementioned Palace,
the rather dystopian looking gym in the middle,
the casual red Sphinxes,
or the dinosaurs, peeking out of foliage on their island homes,
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| A furtive moment |
I was impressed.
Crystal Palace was redeemed! From the fighting couple in their hatchback, to the one-way triangle that seemed to prohibit bicycluar dawdling, I’d felt a little disappointed. In the sunshine I was restored.
I think I’d realised earlier though that Crystal Palace, such as it was in my head, was a destination of pilgrimage that was as much as mental as physical. I was entranced by the life Kitson described. I wanted to find that earthiness, that romance with a place, in my own life. It seemed a mixture of the individual and the communitarian: a village (urban folk hold a candle for the village, I think) in the big city. Of course it was what I learnt on the way that was the real journey. Life seems to me to be about finding or creating what meaning you can – my trip to Crystal Palace gave meaning to that dream I’d long had. It made me think about what I was looking for ~in my life~ and why. And it was an excuse for a day out to go see some dinos. Can’t say fairer than that.
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