She saw it in the movie ‘Notting Hill’, but she had never been and she really didn’t feel the need to do it. That’s probably why, the first time she went there, she just felt amazed by its beauty. It was the last week of hot August days. Sun was sparkling in the sky, and the warm wind was blowing.
The smell of old books, accessories comes from glorious Victorian age, unreleased albums, vintage vinyls, first publish of Charles Dickens works, and all other second hand stuff. They all were still carrying the one’s soul in it. She felt this. She did like to imagine how many different minds and bodies could touched them and left something from themselves while she was leaving hers.
Portobello road with his secluded markets in the middle still has the clear traces of Virginia Woolf and her friends from the Bloomsbury club. Such a pristine collection of details, images, clothes, and colours that look like they’re stuck in a timeless dimension. And then she bumped into the ‘Travel Books Shop’ from the ‘Notting Hill’, people walking in all directions, the noises coming from the shops; it all feels like a village in the heart of the metropolis, and everyone is so vividly aware of this and is happy to play a part in the play of the happy town routines.
Time felt like it was frozen all of a sudden. And she felt amazed by the way everything around her was clicking into place at that. She remembered that it was the moment she would never have again as the exact way again, not for changes on millions faces, but also changes in her own. A moment only comes for that time, come true with that people, with that feelings, and with thats of her.
Portobello Road didn’t exist until minutes ago and now it was home to her deepest feelings of love, calm and happiness.