I don’t know exactly when was the first time I set foot there, but I remember just how it happened. It was a lazy winter afternoon when, after finishing my studies, I decided to take a nap. A while later, when my alarm rang, I looked at my messages, and Elis had sent one “Did you see how sunny it is outside? We can’t miss it!”. I opened my curtains, and she was right: it was the first time in several weeks that the sun had come out so brightly.

So I dressed up quickly, went out in the street and got the Jubilee line to St. John’s Wood Station: I would finally go to Regent’s Park. The day was beautiful, and the roads transpired life, despite the trees all being leaf-less and the weather cold. On my way to the park, I turned right for a quick stop at the address I’ve wanted to see for months. I’d checked it a few times when I found out I’d be living in London, just to make sure it would still be the home of that guy. 7, Cavendish Avenue. Distant only by 20minutes walk from what is now my home, lives the most fantastic legend of music: Sir Paul McCartney. How crazy is that? In my dreams, I wouldn’t have imagined living so close to my favourite artist in the world. As I’m writing, right now, I’m hoping he’s there, in his living room, having some tea and quarantining just like other 1billion people in the globe and me. What a connection! He’s such a common man sometimes…

Anyway, back to the journey. I crossed the street, passed by the Wellington Hospital and entered Cavendish Avenue. All the houses looked the same, big bricked boxes with gates filled with bindweed. The only difference lay in the top corner of the gates in one of them: a couple of cameras. And yes, it was number 7. I got closer. Oh gosh, would it be possible that he was outside, gardening? Or maybe preparing to leave the house for a walk, casually meeting me out? I would look at him casually as well, and ask “oh, aren’t you Paul McCartney?” and he would be in an excellent mood and answer me with a smile and say he was about to buy some bread at Gail’s. I would invite myself to go along, and we would talk about the blue skies, the amazing chords of “Maybe I’m Amazed” and we would laugh at the urban legend that his is dead and replaced by someone else. And then, we would share how much we both loved St. John’s Wood, how close it is to Abbey Road (our common favourite place in London) and I would tell him I was on my way to Regent’s Park, for the first time. “Oh, girl, you haven’t been there yet? What a shame. Please do go, it’s the perfect place for a walk and to get some inspiration”. Of course, Paul! Thanks for the company. Here is my number in case you feel like inviting me for a tea or to listen to you play on that colourful piano of yours. Yes, the same I saw you playing three times in Brazil, making me cry with the first chords of “Live and Let Die” just before the fireworks. “Absolutely”, he would answer.

Back in track to the park, I video called my family to show them around and share my love for that neighbourhood. Oh, man, I could barely wait for spring (had I known about the lockdown, I wouldn’t be so excited about it…) but well, one should enjoy any bit of sun available. The park was massive. The sunlight hit the lake while the birds and ducks would wander around, going in and out and crossing the pedestrian ways. It’s their park, after all. Couples walked and laughed, people ran and exercised and a weird woman fed the pigeons and was surrounded by them. This image was somehow familiar… oh yes! The Mary Poppins’ pigeon lady! The thought of that by itself made me emotional…

I sat on a bench, folding my legs and bracing to warm up a bit. The sun had fooled me, it was still the winter, and of course, the temperature would be matching it. My phone rang. Marina saw on Instagram that I was in the park and wanted to join me. “Of course!”. And so she came, we went to a café to get warm and have a cup of spiced chai. We talked about movies, discourse, feminism and struggling with studies. I barely knew her at that point, but I already felt that we would become good friends (which indeed happened, although now we have to meet for wine and tea by video call).

I walked back home. Thinking about it now, this day was probably one of those striking moments when you live abroad. Those that make you realize the enormous difference between your life here and how it was back home. I would never go to a park back in Manaus. To do so, I would have to drive, find a safe place to park and be mindful of the time of the day, to avoid the chance of being robbed or worse. It would be way too warm, and after 20 minutes, I would be sweating. So that day back in Regent’s Park somehow felt like a dream. Fortunately, one that I would repeat several times by bicycle, with friends and by myself. I just hope I’ll manage to convince Paul to come with me next time.