
And then suddenly it feels like you’ve stepped onto a stage for a play that you are not in, and the stage freight of being in the middle of the everything unprepared sets in, and you work to make your exit as quickly and nonchalantly as possible, but you snap a few pictures on the way out, because you’re not sure you’ll be here again soon, and it’s one of those places that kind of demands to be photographed. And you manage to escape just before the full scale sensory overload sets in, before your brain can really process what’s happened.
And as you walk away quickly, but not so quickly as to look suspicious to the visible counterterrorism police presence, you start to register a sort of disappointment. It feels as though you have spoiled something that was supposed to come later. You didn’t come mentally prepared to see any landmarks today, and when you did you didn’t have time to really soak it in, and you know you’ll never get a second impression. But you really have to get where you’re going because you’re already on the verge of running late.
Maybe, you reflect, this is appropriate. You are too busy to enjoy the city renowned for its busy-ness (and also its businesses). Perhaps this is fitting. Perhaps. But it still leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth.