Chislehurst Caves and the power of fear | London Visited

Source: http://www.chislehurst-society.org.uk

Yesterday I somehow ended up in one of London's unexpected underground chalk mines turned safe haven turned tourist attraction/mushroom farm.

I had no idea what to expect, so my expectations were at very neutral levels. For that reason, I was very pleasantly surprised when I found myself surrounded by World War I and World War II replicas and memorabilia. I was in my element and the history buff inside me was having the time of her life. How I had never visited this place before was beyond my comprehension.

First impressions, however, were slightly and momentarily overshadowed by the fact that the last tour was at 4 pm, which, for perpetually late idiots like me, can be a problem (just kidding).

Source: www.chislehurst-caves.co.uk

The first section that caught my attention was a dangerous one: the gift shop. Like I said, my 30s-to-60s-loving-self was way too tempted by those pretty replicas. I must say, the prices were not bad at all, with the basic replicas ranging from 50p to 10 pounds, and the variety was fantastic, with something to please anyone with any kind of interest in modern history. My favourite part, though, was the replica bundles section, which was enormous and was priced at around 6 pounds per pack.

Source: http://blog.amorexplore.co.uk

A city beneath the soil

Now, for a sudden deep dive into the underground. That sentence made no sense, but it's almost midnight and I'm tired. Anyway, the moment arrived, at last, to queue up and willingly step into the deep pits of the ground beneath our feet, with no real guarantee that we would come back out again. Ok, again, I might be exaggerating for literary purposes.

Source: http://www.chislehurst-caves.co.uk

Anyway, as soon as Peter came out of the caves and distributed very dangerous kerosene lamps among the adults (thankfully), we knew we were in for a show (shout out to Peter M. the Cave Ghide!).
In the dark, cold tunnels, we immediately get the feeling that something very important happened there and if the chalk walls could talk, they would have a long story to tell. Well, in a way, they do, just through Peter.
I won't go into any details about the actual tour, simply for the fact that I quite enjoy the idea that what happened in the dark should be reserved for the memories of those who experienced it. It keeps the mystery and the aura of solemnity that envelops you as soon as you set foot into the deepest end and find the first obvious signs of human passage.

Source: Pinterest

Religion is everywhere, in all its forms, perhaps because of the strong history of the caves during the world wars, in the first half of the twentieth century, when religion might have been one of the last rays of light and hope in those very dark hopeless days.
I will, also, mention the various rooms you get to visit, with all the original signs of human presence in times of need, the safety that thousands found there when upstairs, London was being bombed to bits. Light was the enemy, it made you a target. The underground and the darkness it provided, saved thousands of Londoners from death.
That is what planted the idea of the power of fear during the almost-hour-long visit. The dark - literal and metaphorical. It was fascinating, walking past the three-bed bunks, a sample of subterranean real estate, and hearing that children sleeping on the floor, rather than the beds, was the lesser of two evils.

Source: http://www.subbrit.org.uk

Equally, the sensorial experiences were so well planned it is easy to get lost in the moment, when, in complete and utter darkness, with not even the kerosene lamps to keep us company, we heard the faint sound of the rocks whispering the tales of Frederick and the young girl found in the haunted pool, the families that lived there for years on end, knowing that if someone went outside and didn't return for more than four days, they were given as lost, and even, at one point, the sounds of the Blitz just above them, inching ever closer to their home above ground. I am usually a skeptical person and I must admit that at some points I was rolling my eyes at the ghost stories Peter narrated like a very well practiced speech meant to scare the little ones, but then, in that moment of complete nothingness, it was easy to believe in ghosts. It was fear. F. E. A. R.

   False. Evidence. Appearing. Real.
       Former. Expectations. Affecting. Rationale.
           Forget. Everybody. And...
                                                     Run.

Soundtrack for extra brownie points:
Vera Lynn - (There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs Of Dover
Vera Lynn - We'll Meet Again

On returning to an abandoned place | Comeback

Source: Pexels.com

There is much that could be said about the past two years, in which I neglected to return to the place where I began to explore the joys of writing one's thoughts on the internet for everyone to see, read,

and judge. 

Since I started this blog in 2011, much has changed in my posts, my thoughts, my opinions, because I, too, changed dramatically between the ages of thirteen and nineteen. What I value, what I like, what I dislike, what I consider worthy, all of it has gone through drastically opposite ups and downs, and, with them, so have my random fleeting returns to blogging.

When, in 2015, I posted my last review, I didn't know it would be the last. When I opened my account for the first time in two years, just yesterday, I found unfinished posts I had started months before they were supposed to be published, reviews for books I never finished, didn't care for, loved, or simply forgot whether I finished or not. I was committed, I was on top of it all. And one day, I logged out, closed the page and didn't log back on until 27th July 2017. Just like that. No more posts.

Since that day, I finished high school, visited London for the first time, had an interview at Cambridge, got rejected, had four jobs, got my first dog, moved to London, started university, and had a lot of bumps and high moments along the way. But I felt that I no longer had what I used to, a place to anonymously share my thoughts, in a sort of online anonymous diary that was, in its own way, completely guilt-free and liberating.

More than ever, I feel like the time has arrived to get it back. I feel like I am set on my goals enough, am motivated on achieving them enough (now that I am closer to the place I was supposed to be all along in order to do it), that I can finally focus on writing it down in a semi-coherent manner. On the world wide web. Right here, in the place where I began six years ago (albeit after a few name changes...).

I don't expect anyone to read what I post now. It may even be for the best. But I need to write it anyway. For my own sake, if not for anyone else's - but I will still hope that whoever does read it, appreciates the honesty and manages to take something away from it.

The reason I say this, after all that, is because I am, once more, changing what I had built last time. This, of course, is all because I have, within the last couple of years, undertaken my biggest metamorphosis yet.

From now on, I will be posting reviews, as usual, of books I read, but I will also give my opinions on all other things I may use in my life to make it hurt less through the downs and more enjoyable through the ups: makeup, skin care, London, places, university, UCL, anything.

Long story short, let's see how long I will be back in my perpetually abandoned place this time around.

Joana