What I’ll Miss About London, Part 1: The Regent’s Park

Ah, Regent’s Park. It’s practically paradise for me, in an everyday sort of way. Probably because I’ve spent nearly every day I’ve lived in London walking its vast open spaces, exploring its nooks and crannies, weathering cold and rain and wind just to get some fresh air and ‘escape’ the city.

I can remember the first walk we ever took there, when we visited London on our scouting trip. We entered the southeast corner and only took in a snippet of the immaculately manicured flowers in Avenue Garden, but on that perfectly sunny April day it was like entering the Garden of Eden. If this was London, I could live here.

And we did. Part of the appeal of our first flat was location, location, location: just a few steps to the end of our mansion block, through a zebra crossing, over Charlbert Bridge and across the canal, and we were in. When we moved house a few years later, we didn’t want to be far from the entrance to the park we’d become accustomed to having at our back door.

Before any of our multiple dependents arrived on the scene, the first hint of sunshine and we would join Londoners and foreigners alike in the quest to find a perfect spot to lounge the afternoon away, with a blanket and picnic, and a curious excess of books.

When we first got our pug Claussen, before it was acceptable by English standards to take a young puppy for an actual walk in the park, we’d grab the dog carrier and bring him into the park with us, sitting on a bench and allowing passerbys to admire and stroke our tiny pure bred, our adorable pride and joy.

In the first year of our London time, Hubby worked on the south side of Regent’s, and frequently made his commute on foot through the park. I often seized the opportunity for some quality time together and joined him in the brisk morning air for some exercise or greeted him on his way home during the long summer days.

Tadpole came along, and the park became an escape for this tired, cooped up mum, and learning grounds for my wide-eyed, attentive little guy. We covered every inch of this big backyard of ours, me pointing out endless birds, friendly dogs, airplanes coming in and out of Heathrow and Gatwick, animals we could see along the southern fence of the London Zoo, and other little kids.

When Tigger was just a bump inside of me, we took long walks through Regent’s to exercise my swelling pregnant body. As Tadpole got older, increasingly mobile, and restless indoors, the playground by the boating pond became one of our favorite hangouts. And Tigger enjoyed the playground from an early age, visiting at just a few weeks old and soon joining his big brother in play at the huge sandbox and on the swings.

It was my kids’ first playground, where they learned to run, appreciate nature, and enjoy the outdoors. We picnicked there, fed the ducks, read books, watched tractors, played ball, laid on the grass and spotted airplanes, caught some football and baseball games, met with friends, and chased the dog around until he had FRAP (Frantic Random Activity Periods).

I even made a few friends there – with other mums, American women with whom I had an immediate affinity, dog walkers and pug lovers, even foreigners asking for directions.

And I have probably taken it all for granted way too much, for now, as I think about leaving behind my park, my paradise, my escape, I well up with tears. For it’s the part of London that I have known the best, one that’s seen me in joy and sorrow, offered peace and quiet from the city noise, and been a pivotal part of my children’s lives.