Variety is the theme - my long weekend.

Trickling amidst the rocks and the murmur of the birds, a stream carves its path inside a quiet forest. Fish dive out from its water, enjoying the vestiges of summer sun. I watch, entranced at the sight of nature.

A dipper flies and lands on the riverbed. I reach for my binocular and observe, as the rare bird bobs up and down, flips its tail sideways and dips in the water, in search of food. Never have I seen a dipper before. My mouth is gaping in amazement as I watch the wonder.

After several hops, maybe unable to its find food, the bird takes flight, leaving me heartbroken.

This was on Sunday.

The mass of people's heads from the distance tells you the picture. It’s three p.m. The music can be heard from a mile away. The big lorries are ripped at the back, and are laden with the biggest speakers I’ve seen. On them, below them, girls unabashed are dancing, with clothes that barely cover their bodies. Some shake their exterior, reminding us of Beyonce and Sakira. People on the street, on the pavement, clutching cans of beers, gyrate with them.

This is the biggest street festival in Europe. This is Monday, the following day.

After a quiet Saturday, relaxing and enjoying dinner with my friend’s family, my long weekend upped a gear. On Sunday, I visited Hampstead Heath Park. Though nestle in the middle of London (slightly north-ish), the park has all the trappings of the forest, or even better. There are lakes. You can swim in them. You’ll find streams, acres of well kept green patches of land, gentle rolling hills, and beaten tracks inside small woods. You can even relax watching birds in the meadow.

I was there with my housemate, armed with a borrowed binocular, my bantam digital camera, my proudest possession, couple of sandwiches, and water. We only had one activity in mind – bird watching.

We found a dry patch of land, perched high enough to see the stream and a large vista. Though trees and tall grasses slightly encumbered our views, we were satisfied with our location. In the morning, the grey skies had disheartened our spirits. When we got there, the sun had broken out. The mercury was slowly rising.

In three hours, we saw doves, twittering robins. Gulls and sparrows flew by, and a sandpiper delighted us with its exquisite cries. The highlight was the sighting of a solitary dipper.

Away from all the dissonance and the chaos of the city, in the limpid air, we hardly notice time ebb away. We returned with rejuvenated spirits. A consequence of being close to nature.

On Monday, Notting Hill Carnival presented a complete mutation. It eviscerates your soul if you enjoy tranquillity. It’s boisterous, deafening, vociferous. You name it. One million people were expected. There probably was more. The festival is a celebration of multi-ethnicity of London, and is especially celebrated by Afro-Caribbean community.

The carnival lasted until eight p.m. I was there until the end.

I danced, attempting to copy revellers of Calypso music. Not wise. I lost myself with numerous DJs pumping music from their stalls, to the crowd that had gathered in front of them. There was a break dance competition, in a platform erected inside a park that formed part of the carnival. I’ve never seen anybody fling their body around so much. Excited, I even felt like miming them.

When my tummy yearned for food, I went around, visiting numerous stalls selling everything, from spicy Caribbean chicken, barbecued corns to Thai noodles.

With the advent of streetlights, the lorries slowly departed the carnival. With it, the the crowd dispersed. The streets were scared with piles of rubbish. A big clean up job demanded.

While returning, with fatigued legs, I ambled on for thirty minutes, before catching a bus overflowing with returning carnival crowd.

They say variety is the spice of life. After my weekend activities, I think I’d agree.