Finally took the brutalist architecture pilgrimage to the Barbican Estate in London.

A wonderfully serene place, a lost dream of what a community could be, what with its high walkways, no cars, its social housing next to fancy apartments, its conservatories, parks and museums. It’s like something from Next Generation but built out of a bomb blitzed site.

Actually, the closest experience I’ve had to the Barbican estate was walking around the 3,000 ruins of Knossos in Crete. The leisurely open vibe and lack of self-importance. Perhaps the ancient Minoans and post-war British town planners shared a sliver of something, some understanding of human nature, though I’m not exactly sure what.