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By Rome Jorge, Lifestyle Editor
Nothing more English than a rose. Or
Shakespeare. Or sandwiches, strawberries and cream paired white
wine—a fine picnic on a midsummer’s night. At London’s Regent
Park, one can have all that.
With each breath the park offers fleeting
vignettes of tranquil yet vivid splendor. The shimmering gleam of
the sunset upon its boating lake paints a breathtaking impressionist
scene worthy of the Monets and Renoirs at the city’s famed
National Gallery. Swans, mallards and geese serenely glide by the
shore as pigeons and squirrels foray into footpaths and atop park
benches, wanting to be fed. Citizens frolic while playing Frisbee
and rugby, sunning themselves on deck chairs, walking hand in hand,
pushing their baby carriages, picnicking, laughing and loving.
Winding pathways lead one to Japanese bridges, waterfalls,
trellises, fountains, sculptures, topiaries, each slowly unveiled by
a curtain of lush, greenery as one rounds about. Flowers and foliage
range from Mediterranean to Asian. Regent’s Park unfolds one
wonder after another. But most breathtaking are the roses.
Expanses of red, pink, peach and white roses
blossom, each bloom the size of a huge fist—or a generous heart.
The symbol of England since the reign of the Tudors, roses grow to
such brilliant hues, robust sizes and great abundance here. Truly an
English garden, Regent’s Park offers a naturalistic and intimate
experience far from the formality and symmetry of sculpted topiaries
and maze of hedges found in the garden à la française found
throughout the continent. It simply irresistibly compels one to
elation.
Regent Park, best known for the London Zoo
within its premises and the Sherlock Holmes Museum as well as the
London Beatles Store on nearby Baker Street, nestles within it the
circular Queen Mary’s Gardens with its lush rose gardens. Nestled
within Queen Mary’s Gardens its best kept secret: its Open Air
Theatre.
To chance upon Regent’s Park on a sunny
weekend evening (at these latitudes, the sun does not set until past
9 p.m. in the summertime) is to witness a beeline of native
Londoners making their way to the theater opening tucked away behind
hedges and topiaries.
Hidden within is a theater in the round with
ancient trees as a backdrop to its stage. Outside the amphitheater
are concessionaires serving a hearty buffet and several picnic
tables. But most bring their own treats—picnic baskets filled with
sandwiches, wine glasses, a bottle of white wine or champagne and
strawberries—large ones, the size of plums, with a sweetness only
attained with such robust sizes (and nothing like the sour
diminutive ones found here).
There could be no better testament to this
theater group’s prowess than the patronage of its locals. As with
restaurants, so too with plays. You go where the locals go and avoid
the garish and contrived touristy experiences. And there’s nothing
like watching Shakespeare as it should be: in the round, enacted by
Londoners for Londoners, with no accents to fake.
In June, Open Air Theatre staged Much Ado About
Nothing, a play that suited well the alfresco venue. Iambic
pentameter made sense and was the most natural thing in the world.
One didn’t even notice. It was as if the actors were simply
speaking. And the humor was spot on. That Shakespeare fellow’s
such a kidder. Who would have thought he’s been dead for 500
years? Not at Regent’s Park. Here he lives and breathes among the
roses.
For details, visit www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/regents_park
and http://openairtheatre.org.
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