Another bright morning greeted me, the sun coming through my small window. I had a good few hours before my tour to Stonehenge and Lucoc, so I took my time in getting ready. Feeling fresh and alive, I headed immediately out – no breakfast in the B&B today. I’d seen an adorable little place hidden close to the Abbey the day before, so I headed in that direction. I’d decided that I would be working soon, so I may as well take advantage of my mini-holiday. There’s nothing quite like feeling a tad naughty in buying a good hearty breakfast. With the sun beaming warm on my back I descended the three steps lined with colourful mini pot plants and took a seat at one of the caste-iron mosaic tables, complete with empty wine bottle acting as a vase. I had the big breakfast with a large pot of tea, sausages, scrambled eggs, home made hash browns, bacon and beans… not to mention the sneaky croissant. It was all delicious and warm and such a good way to start a day. Two ladies sat down across from me and started chattering about the weather, bringing me into their conversation. It was all so natural, there is such a welcoming sense of community in Bath, I felt so at ease.
When the tour bus arrived near the river I was greeted by the friendly tour guide and introduced to other tourists, one from Hong Kong, two from Spain, a man from California and two from New York, a young girl from Japan who I got along with quite well, and finally a mother and son from Holland who apparently spoke every language known to man. The Dutch are known for their abilities with language and I so wished I’d gone through their education system… wondering why it wasn’t the same over the world. The Dutch son explained that so few people actually spoke Dutch, and because Holland was situated between so many countries, it was a necessity to speak various languages. And also, for Holland to survive and contribute internationally, it was essential that the nation are as intellectually advanced as possible. That was an interesting slice of information.
Unfortunately I cant say the same for the tour guide. While pointing out the White Chalk Horse, he suggested that this was created in 1700 and is the only one of its kind… The White Chalk Horse is an enormous horse set in the ground painted with chalk that can be seen from the sky. No one knows why it was put were it was, but the original is thought to date back to Neolithic times, this one however, is a replica that was apparently made in the mid 1700’s. It was amazing to see it though. That, and the mounds that I’d once seen in a ‘Worlds Most Amazing Unexplained Places’ book that I’d gotten from Readers Digest. Looking left and right, in such a short time, and seeing things that existed long before Australia was even colonised, or London even founded.
We bounced along on the bus, chatting and listening to music… initially everyone keeping very much to themselves. But the tour guide – regardless of his somewhat limited knowledge of the historical aspects of the tour – enticed everyone into conversation, asking where everyone was from. When I answered, Perth… there was a bit of a silence, so I said Western Australia – still no result. I was shocked to find that people didn’t know what city I came from, but confounded to realise that some people didn’t even know of Western Australia… When I said ‘Down Under’ there was an ‘ooohhhh’ of understanding.
After about an hour, we arrived at Stonehenge and it was… freezing. The sun had disappeared and all I could think was how much I despised the BBC Weatherman, not realising that the weather in England has a tendency to do what it likes when ever it likes and never will you be 100% certain of what the sky has intended for you. My nose immediately froze as soon as I left the van, my fingers were red making it all rather difficult to take a photo. I needed tea, and soon. But for the mean time we were off to see the ruins of Stone Henge.
There is no definitive explanation for Stone Henge, its thought to be dated between 3000 BC and 2400 BC, either way – its really old, and exceptionally impressive to still be standing. Originally it was thought to serve as burial grounds and burial rituals, surrounding the area are burial grounds, humps throughout the valleys where war lords, kings and important persons were buried long before the stones were erected. It apparently took 1500 years for what we now see, to be erected. Where the stones now stand, there was originally wood. This was replaced by stones hundreds of years later, and the thing I found most fascinating, is that the stones themselves were brought from Pembrokeshire, Wales… 250kms away.
King Henry VIII actually owned the area for some time – that man constantly amazes me.
It was simply surreal to stand there, with the dark clouds rising about and the stones being silhouetted against the horizon. I get a buzz out of different cultures, beliefs, I am dying to go to South America and learn about the Myan Civilisation, go to the grand abandoned palaces in India… when you think that Stonehenge was created by culture without any written word, so we will never know the truth about it. Isn’t that magical? I think mystery should some times remain in our world of science and technology, it makes the world more beautiful some how. Its nice to be able to openly wonder, and there I stood, my 24 year old self, people milling about and taking photos, and yet completely alone, just me, the stones and memory. All those memories floating on the clouds, waiting to be discovered, but forever just whispering, and left at peace.
I took some photos for the Spanish girls, the Japanese girl and I chatted about her amazing camera, and then I headed off for a cup of tea with the tour guide. The experience made me feel so alive – who was this girl that could suddenly chat easily with complete strangers? Who was not clammy at the thought of ordering a cup of tea, or stuttered in the fear of something stupid coming out of her mouth. As if all of a sudden, that confidence that I lost somewhere along my way, had been rediscovered and I was back to ‘me’ and preparing to develop into something more.
As I sat chatting to the tour guide about other places to go in the area, and how he was finding fatherhood (he had a 5 month old and was finding the sleep depravation quite difficult, but absolutely adored his wife, which was lovely to hear) I spotted a man running naked in the distance. Not the most normal of things,
‘This sort of thing happen often?’, I asked
‘You’ve got excellent vision’, said the tour guide, crining to spot the bear bottom hop, skipping and jumping down the hill, ‘there is an Army Base not too far from here’,
‘Mmm’, I replied, ‘Interesting way to go AWOL’.
Getting back on the tour bus we all started to discuss the ‘Naked Runner’ and someone thought it might be some sort of strange Druid-Exhibitionist thing. The Druids decided to take ownership of Stonehenge, claiming it was some ritual place that their ancestors had developed… infact the Druid religion didn’t appear until much much later, post King Henry VIII owning the area – gave me a new view of the Druids, I didn’t realise that the religion was actually younger than Catholocism – but there you go.
I was loving the trip, my new Japanese friend and I tried to take photos out of the window, I just wanted to shout ‘STOP’ every couple of minutes, the landscape was just so breathtaking. The weather kept changing, the sun would peep through clouds and highlight peeks of valleys, there were sheep and cows and no houses for miles and miles. Even when the rain started splashing on the window, I couldn’t help smiling, I didn’t want the journey to end, I wanted a car so much! To drive around and stop and take photos, I would have loved to hire a cottage for a week, no TV, just the cottage, a warm fire and days on end for wandering around in the open air taking photos and writing. There is a soft beauty to this part of England that is so different to the striking and sometimes harsh beauty of the WA country.
We stopped at an Abbey where apparently the first flash photo was ever taken, I’ve tried to find information of this on the internet – but no luck as yet – still, I’ll take the tour guides word for it at the moment. The Abbey has since been transformed into a home, however once served as a very popular brewery for the area.
We came into a town called Lacock, it was the second and last stop on our tour. We had an hour to wander the streets. Apparently, in order to live there, you have to prove your genealogy and have a family connection to the area. New builds were not allowed because they are retaining the historical virtue of the village. Its exceptionally small, you can imagine it fitting into the palm of your hand. It dates back to the 13th Century, I walked into the Medieval Church, having to push the creaking door and suddenly going into musty darkness. The church yard was overgrown and simply perfect, I was walking into a Bronte novel.
Parts of the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice were filmed here, which simply blew me away, I couldn’t take the smile off my face. But also, parts of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince were also filmed here. Infact, this appeared to be one of the most popular sites to film historical dramas, and I didn’t wonder why.
It’s a beautiful little town and I wish I had more time, atleast an entire day, to take photos. The sun was fading which allowed little light for photgraphs, but the town will forever be etched into my memory. I crept almost humbly through the few streets, taking in the lantern street lights, the structure of the houses, slightly leaning, the wooden beams observed from the exterior of houses all astrew. They were houses for a purpose rather than for perfection, and in being so, they were beautiful.
A small stream ran through the town, weeping willows weeping over the banks, and a small stone bridge allowing passage from one side of the town to the other. I loved the miniature doors, the cobbled streets, everything awkward and nothing symmetrical. As you walked the streets you could see the town growing over the ages. Children played on their bikes, wide eyed taking in these visitors snapping their town – they must think they lived on another planet.
I needed to use the loo and the tour guide took me to the local pub. Oh so warm and welcoming, the fire was burning and as you walked in everyone smiled at you. The tour guide new the staff and was chatting away. There were photos of the productions that had taken place in the town, and sepia coloured prints of the town through the centuries. I went to the back garden and took some photos, what a place to come to on a war summer afternoon… again, if only I had a car. Near the fire were copper pots, I could just imagine stews brewing in them. Everything was so quiet and warm and… historical.
The light was turning pink, a striking pink, and the time had come to enjoy the journey back to Bath. When I reached the bus everyone was sitting and waiting, I laughed an apology, I felt like I was leaving a place I should stay, and I was sad to go.
On the way back the tour guide pointed out a particular hill… he asked everyone if they new who Peter Gabriel was – strangely enough I was the only one who knew, I think because the guy from California was asleep at the back of the bus, and the Spanish girls were busy brushing their hair and re-applying lipstick, I assumed for a night out in Bath – the tour guide proceeded to tell us that Gabriel was one day walking up this hill when he had an epiphany, a new realisation about life, about making a change to his career and his perspective. He apparently sat down on the hill and started writing the song. The song and the hill are named Solisbury Hill. The tour guide turned on his cassette player and the song started singing out. I was so happy, I was smiling and singing and enjoying every emotion that was now rushing through my body.
What a perfect way to end my Bath experience. I had a quick dinner at a local pub, returned to the B&B and packed my bag for my trip back to London in the morning.
It was a wonderful idea to come to Bath. When I came I was contemplating getting on a plane and going home, but this had completely rejuvenated me. I enjoyed interacting with new people, seeing new things, deciding to do what I wanted when I wanted to do it, and having this slight sense of accomplishment when I discovered new things. I knew that I wasn’t in some third world African country, and to so many people, this whole experience is nothing more than a rite of passage… but for me, it is the world, every moment is a learning curve, and I’m collecting memories that I, alone, am responsible for. To me – that’s enough.
So today… I am just looking forward to my continuing adventure. I cant wait to meet the person I am when I’m finished.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Bath - Another Day
The next morning, after another glorious shower, I headed down stairs to partake in the breakfast part of my bed and breakfast experience… quite nerve racking – I wasn’t quite sure of the process and there was no one else in the dining room. The owner asked me to take a seat and ‘what would you like then? Eggs, bacon? Would you like some sausages? And how about some tea?’, first thing in the morning, my eyes still puffy post-sleep, all these questions almost made me dizzy,
“Is it ok to just have cereal?”, I actually would have loved some eggs, but didn’t want her to go to any trouble,
‘Ofcourse and a cuppa?’,
I nodded and she potted off to the kitchen. I could hear her speaking with her husband and her son came in through the back door. It was like sitting in the house of a stranger, and for some maddening reason she was feeding me. I decided that the B&B thing might not be for me, prefer to have a little kitchen to make my own bits and pieces. When Mum and I went to Melbourne we didn’t have a mini-kitchen in our hotel room, which was even more frustrating to my mother than it was to me, you can’t let Linda go without her cup of tea! Luckily, we found the lovliest café that did some scrumptious omlettes… this is what I was thinking when my cereal came out with not enough milk and no sign of sugar to go on top, let alone a banana. Then I wasn’t quite sure whether I should pay for it – I don’t know how people get along having servants, you feel like you need to go in the kitchen and fix your own food, I’m not a fan of being served I decided.
Thanking the owner sincerely, I finished off my breakfast and headed out for another day of Bath excitement. I had to adjust my eyes, such a bright, sparkling and most marvellous day, it was almost a mild temperature (however gloves were still a necessity). I almost skipped along the road thinking, ‘yes, this was the right thing to do’. Going to Bath was certainly out of my budget, but I needed to rejuvenate myself, I needed to remember what I’d come this distance for and I’d always wanted to see Bath… Its probably the sort of place I would live if I was an English citizen, being quite large and relatively cultural, it also has a villiage feel to it and the people seem so genuine, welcoming and laid back.
Point 1 on my list was the Abbey, and I directed my attention there. There are only so many hours in the day and I wanted to make sure I used each one as effectively as possible, especially with the knowledge the sun would be descending about 3pm. Just walking up to the Abbey you feel completely inconsequential, the size of it is inspiring… and if one stares to long, can bring on vertigo (I tell you this from experience, I was trying to look carefully at the intricate details of the steeples when I felt as if I was falling and almost ended up crashing over). After laughing at myself I entered the Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. The Abbey is Anglican and was originally a Benedictine monastery, the area being funded in the 7th Century (let us take a moment for the age of this marvel of architecture… all those passing times, if only walls could talk). It’s actually a Gothic building and seats about 1200 people. Its not until you step inside though, that you get the sense of awe. I paid the kind priest at the door a few pound (you only needed to make a donation to enter), he handed me a pamphlet which is now safe and secure in what is now fondly known as ‘the bag of the pamphlet’ (already bursting at the seams). I wandered in through the hall to be greeted by sun shimmering through the enormous stain glass windows, you could see the dust in the air which was almost music like in its majesty.
The floor is a mosaic of marbel leading along the length of the main chapel. Pillars every few feet turn to form arches, and the main roof structure is arched also. Bath stone was used for the interior so it is a glowing off-white that brings out the brightness of the colours of the stain glass, and with the light shining through, its nothing short of humbling to stare upon it. Here and there are statues dedicated to priests, important people and Rome – One was of a woman, looking solemly inside a large vase, flowers falling from her hands, she is cloaked in flowing material that lapses over her feet. There are large dark-wooded pews for the choir, and behind the last pew a light wooden pane adorned by angels playing instruments. The organ is ridiculously huge, about the height of three people, stainless steel tubes… I wonder what it sounds like. There were two smaller separate chapels, each quiet with solitude. I sat for a while, staring about me, for once – not thinking. I think that’s what I like about churches, I’m usually thinking and find it difficult to just take a moment, to be blank, inside a church, something comes over a person, a certain level of tranquillity, regardless of whether you are religious or not… it’s a sincere sense of peace.
I headed outside to see if there was a garden between the Abbey and the walls that surrounded it, only to find another section of the abbey, an older part that is under the floor of the Abbey itself. Two very nice gentlement were there to greet visitors, they were so cheery and filled with information and simply delighted to see me. The warmly directed me to the beginning route through the museum and provided me with another wonderful leaflet. There was a quotation at the entry advising, ‘unless the Lord builds the house the builders have toiled in vain’, next to this was a small reconstruction of what the Abbey looked like originally. It took up such an area and included the Roman Baths next door. It looked more like a castle, no, a town even… surrounded by a wall. It looked all very pleasant, I was told that most Abbeys were like this in the 1700s until the reformation when most of those abbeys were taken over by Lords and converted into homes for the rich, or burned to the ground. They explained that it was very fortunate that this area survived as it has.
I came across some age old statues, one of an Angel crawling down Jacobs Ladder, which I found particularly intriguing… It was one of those images that you are not quite sure how it makes you feel there was something sad about it, like an emanating helplessness. Maybe the concept of something falling from heaven, or maybe just not being able to reach it so you give up… There were also statues dedicated to the Kings and Queens that had taken to the thrown during the Abbeys earlier years, these statues had been found in the ground under where the current abbey stands. Beyond this was an area dedicated to the history of Bath, with sound affects included. You listened to the Lords and Ladies, the Priests and commoners. There were books that were resurrected from the hidden library of the monks, and most shocking of all, skeletons in the floor. The skeletons had been found and left in the ground with glass over the top so you could stare through. It’s a strange sensation staring at something that had existed there… that was once flesh, and now was only bone. I stood there for quite some time… again unsure of how one should feel in such a circumstance.
After chatting with the very lovely gentlemen at the entrance I headed back out into the glorious day. It was the perfect day for a nice long walk and I wasn’t worried at all about getting lost. There is something homely about Bath, you feel like its opened its arms and embraced you. While in London I was getting the sense of being alone, but here, it was as if the characters of the past, of books… of my childhood dreams, were walking through the streets with me. I think it was also the softness of the stone used for the buildings, the way the light wasn’t so much reflected of it, but absorbed into it… the tree lined streets, and openness of space, the river running through the town and the teared hills that surrounded the town. It was quiet and warm and exactly what I needed.
I spent the rest of the day taking in everything around me, walking through parks, laying in the leaves, staring at the blue sky and then rushing water. I strolled through the markets and read the plaques on buildings about who lived where. I headed to the visitors centre and arranged to do a half day tour to Stonehenge the next day.
The afternoon was coming on and I’d been strolling around the streets for hours, I was desperate to get to those hills I’d been staring at. There were mansions with amazing landscaped gardens and I hoped I might get to see all of this. I jumped onto one of the tourist busses that would take me on a guided tour around the outskirts of Bath. I was the only one of the bus and wasn’t quite sure what the process was. I ended up getting into a hearty conversation with the tourguide and completely forgot to ask for them to stop the bus so I could go and walk. Along our trip we took in some of the oldest cottages in the area, observed the cemeteries and the industrial area. She pointed out where mines once were, and also main park-lands that were reknowned for debauchery in the 1800s.
All of a sudden 45 minutes had gone past and I was back where I started and didn’t get the chance to jump off and take time in the hills. I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time thought I would come back here one day, hopefully with a car so I could investigate the Coltwalds in greater depth.
Once I jumped off the bus I walked along the Avon toward a museum that the tour guide had pointed out. Unfortunately it was closed for renovations, but the gardens behind looked so enticing. I listened to my feet crunching into the leaves as I walked next to the path. I stood staring up into a tree for some time, just smiling and taking the moment in. A sense of peace was embracing me as I strolled further and further into the gardens, passing a tall Roman Roundhouse, and over a small green metal bridge, where, looking left and right, a stream flowed with small barges bobbing on the light current. This stream was apparently how people got to and from Bath before the roads were built. The streams run all the way to London and the rich and famous would make the trip down every year to take in the waters, to dance and socialise… Sounded like a nice way to spend a holiday. My sister and I, though, always conceded that if we had of lived in those days, we more than likely would be the ones changing the bed pans rather than wearing the Venetian Silk Dresses and gossiping about Mark Darcy.
Birds scatted along the winds and I ducked my head under the weeping willow branches, before coming to a house. It was more an abandoned mansion. I lay down on the thick balcony wall and let the sun warm my legs, closing my eyes and letting the reds and yellows flicker over my face.
I haven’t seen Kent yet, but at the moment, I will call Bath my garden of England. Walking back to my Bed and Breakfast I discovered yet another park, strewn with enormous trees, Mothers wandering along the path with their young children trying desperately to make their bikes go forward. There was an old couple sitting under a tree and laughing and one (there is always one) crazy man that I decided not to make eye contact, I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation he was having with what appeared to be… nothing what so ever.
I headed to the Jane Austen Museum, but unfortunately there was only 30minutes left until it closed and the horrible woman, who had what seemed an affected posh accent. I don’t think I’ve been looked at in such a way, its amazing how much can be said in a look. For me, this look said, ‘You know nothing about Austen… just another tourist who has heard the name but is not a true fan’. And due to this I thanked her very much for her time and decided not to ever go back. There are such things as Austen snobs, but this is the first I’d come across. I’ll keep my delight in certain books to myself for now on.
So that was slightly disappointing, but I was glad to just have the opportunity to be wandering the streets that inspired the great lady, who wrote about it in Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park.
All in all the day was going splendidly, I headed back to the Baths and decided to go in, hoping that with evening coming in, it wouldn’t be so busy. I was quite fortunate in the fact I’d decided to go to Bath during the winter, there were less tourists because of the fear of weather spoiling the holiday, Bath is a Spring destination. For me, however, I was exceptionally lucky in that the sun was still shining, very unusual for that time of year.
The Roman Baths are amazing. Breathtaking. Heart-warming that they still exist, that you can wander about on what was built hundreds of years before your own country. Older than some of the trees I climbed as a kid. It cost 10.50 pounds and was well worth it, I wandered about for about two hours. I couldn’t have chosen a better time, with the sun setting and the sky became a myriad of purples and pinks and blues all sweeping around the fire lit lamps that adorned each corner of the Roman Baths. Here, you were in the presence of ancient gods and goddesses who had the power to heal, to make a person walk again, to keep a person alive for an eternity. This is where the rich would come and flirt with one another, where the Romans worships heroes from across the waves and reminisce of a home they were unlikely to see again. So many worlds had already existed here, it makes you wonder who will be visiting this same place in centuries to come, will they be wondering what we were like, what ‘tourists’ were, why the Baths fascinated us so much? This area had survived wars, reformations and time…
It was so warm, the heat floating up in wafts of steam, statues staring down on the waters, you could see it streaming through the foundations of the buildings. Segregated rooms for different classes, different purposes, some open aired and some so enclosed that the only light that touched the walls was that from fire. The Abbey crept up from behind, and within there were cuttings of the original mosaics that decorated the floors. You could see the different levels of development, from the Celts who first found this spiritual place, to the Romans, through the reformations and a civil wars, to what we saw now that has existed from the late 1700s.
Walking out, I was on a high… I’d seen the Roman Baths, I was in Bath. The weather was being kind to me and I’d had yet another marvellous day. I decided the perfect way to finish my historical adventure day was to go to the oldest house in Bath and have some of the famous Bath-Bread. Apparently Lords, Ladies and even a King enjoyed this bread, and the recipe to this day is only handed down from chef to chef within the Oldest House in Bath.
The restaurant is called Sally Dunn. It was warm and ‘snuggley’, I have to use that word, it’s the only way I can describe it, like being embraced by the soft stone walls, the warm wooden furniture, the hangings on the wall. It was just snuggley. I popped upstairs to the loo, more to investigate than anything else. The stairs were warn and the wooden handrail was uneven, and it was all peacefully perfect, like walking into a Dickons’ novel. This house had even survived the blitz, and there was little sign of renovation. There is something endearing about having to bend through door frames, and slide into your seat.
I ordered a glass of red, the famous Sally Dunn bread and chicken with vegetables. It was light, refreshing and comforting… like a home made meal. The staff were delightful. I sat writing about my day by candlelight, nibbling at my food and enjoying the banter of a family in the corner, and glancing at a Japanese couple taking photo’s of themselves eating their food. There was, ofcourse, a few jabs of sadness that stung my heart, a feeling of loneliness in wanting to share this moment, but at the same time I was just glad to be there.
I headed home under the stars, feeling safe and at peace, making it back to my room and having a cup of tea in my adorable tea pot and cup. After a wonderfully long and exceptionally hot shower I enjoyed the buzz of excitement in my heels – tomorrow I was off to see Stone Henge, I couldn’t wait.
“Is it ok to just have cereal?”, I actually would have loved some eggs, but didn’t want her to go to any trouble,
‘Ofcourse and a cuppa?’,
I nodded and she potted off to the kitchen. I could hear her speaking with her husband and her son came in through the back door. It was like sitting in the house of a stranger, and for some maddening reason she was feeding me. I decided that the B&B thing might not be for me, prefer to have a little kitchen to make my own bits and pieces. When Mum and I went to Melbourne we didn’t have a mini-kitchen in our hotel room, which was even more frustrating to my mother than it was to me, you can’t let Linda go without her cup of tea! Luckily, we found the lovliest café that did some scrumptious omlettes… this is what I was thinking when my cereal came out with not enough milk and no sign of sugar to go on top, let alone a banana. Then I wasn’t quite sure whether I should pay for it – I don’t know how people get along having servants, you feel like you need to go in the kitchen and fix your own food, I’m not a fan of being served I decided.
Thanking the owner sincerely, I finished off my breakfast and headed out for another day of Bath excitement. I had to adjust my eyes, such a bright, sparkling and most marvellous day, it was almost a mild temperature (however gloves were still a necessity). I almost skipped along the road thinking, ‘yes, this was the right thing to do’. Going to Bath was certainly out of my budget, but I needed to rejuvenate myself, I needed to remember what I’d come this distance for and I’d always wanted to see Bath… Its probably the sort of place I would live if I was an English citizen, being quite large and relatively cultural, it also has a villiage feel to it and the people seem so genuine, welcoming and laid back.
Point 1 on my list was the Abbey, and I directed my attention there. There are only so many hours in the day and I wanted to make sure I used each one as effectively as possible, especially with the knowledge the sun would be descending about 3pm. Just walking up to the Abbey you feel completely inconsequential, the size of it is inspiring… and if one stares to long, can bring on vertigo (I tell you this from experience, I was trying to look carefully at the intricate details of the steeples when I felt as if I was falling and almost ended up crashing over). After laughing at myself I entered the Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. The Abbey is Anglican and was originally a Benedictine monastery, the area being funded in the 7th Century (let us take a moment for the age of this marvel of architecture… all those passing times, if only walls could talk). It’s actually a Gothic building and seats about 1200 people. Its not until you step inside though, that you get the sense of awe. I paid the kind priest at the door a few pound (you only needed to make a donation to enter), he handed me a pamphlet which is now safe and secure in what is now fondly known as ‘the bag of the pamphlet’ (already bursting at the seams). I wandered in through the hall to be greeted by sun shimmering through the enormous stain glass windows, you could see the dust in the air which was almost music like in its majesty.
The floor is a mosaic of marbel leading along the length of the main chapel. Pillars every few feet turn to form arches, and the main roof structure is arched also. Bath stone was used for the interior so it is a glowing off-white that brings out the brightness of the colours of the stain glass, and with the light shining through, its nothing short of humbling to stare upon it. Here and there are statues dedicated to priests, important people and Rome – One was of a woman, looking solemly inside a large vase, flowers falling from her hands, she is cloaked in flowing material that lapses over her feet. There are large dark-wooded pews for the choir, and behind the last pew a light wooden pane adorned by angels playing instruments. The organ is ridiculously huge, about the height of three people, stainless steel tubes… I wonder what it sounds like. There were two smaller separate chapels, each quiet with solitude. I sat for a while, staring about me, for once – not thinking. I think that’s what I like about churches, I’m usually thinking and find it difficult to just take a moment, to be blank, inside a church, something comes over a person, a certain level of tranquillity, regardless of whether you are religious or not… it’s a sincere sense of peace.
I headed outside to see if there was a garden between the Abbey and the walls that surrounded it, only to find another section of the abbey, an older part that is under the floor of the Abbey itself. Two very nice gentlement were there to greet visitors, they were so cheery and filled with information and simply delighted to see me. The warmly directed me to the beginning route through the museum and provided me with another wonderful leaflet. There was a quotation at the entry advising, ‘unless the Lord builds the house the builders have toiled in vain’, next to this was a small reconstruction of what the Abbey looked like originally. It took up such an area and included the Roman Baths next door. It looked more like a castle, no, a town even… surrounded by a wall. It looked all very pleasant, I was told that most Abbeys were like this in the 1700s until the reformation when most of those abbeys were taken over by Lords and converted into homes for the rich, or burned to the ground. They explained that it was very fortunate that this area survived as it has.
I came across some age old statues, one of an Angel crawling down Jacobs Ladder, which I found particularly intriguing… It was one of those images that you are not quite sure how it makes you feel there was something sad about it, like an emanating helplessness. Maybe the concept of something falling from heaven, or maybe just not being able to reach it so you give up… There were also statues dedicated to the Kings and Queens that had taken to the thrown during the Abbeys earlier years, these statues had been found in the ground under where the current abbey stands. Beyond this was an area dedicated to the history of Bath, with sound affects included. You listened to the Lords and Ladies, the Priests and commoners. There were books that were resurrected from the hidden library of the monks, and most shocking of all, skeletons in the floor. The skeletons had been found and left in the ground with glass over the top so you could stare through. It’s a strange sensation staring at something that had existed there… that was once flesh, and now was only bone. I stood there for quite some time… again unsure of how one should feel in such a circumstance.
After chatting with the very lovely gentlemen at the entrance I headed back out into the glorious day. It was the perfect day for a nice long walk and I wasn’t worried at all about getting lost. There is something homely about Bath, you feel like its opened its arms and embraced you. While in London I was getting the sense of being alone, but here, it was as if the characters of the past, of books… of my childhood dreams, were walking through the streets with me. I think it was also the softness of the stone used for the buildings, the way the light wasn’t so much reflected of it, but absorbed into it… the tree lined streets, and openness of space, the river running through the town and the teared hills that surrounded the town. It was quiet and warm and exactly what I needed.
I spent the rest of the day taking in everything around me, walking through parks, laying in the leaves, staring at the blue sky and then rushing water. I strolled through the markets and read the plaques on buildings about who lived where. I headed to the visitors centre and arranged to do a half day tour to Stonehenge the next day.
The afternoon was coming on and I’d been strolling around the streets for hours, I was desperate to get to those hills I’d been staring at. There were mansions with amazing landscaped gardens and I hoped I might get to see all of this. I jumped onto one of the tourist busses that would take me on a guided tour around the outskirts of Bath. I was the only one of the bus and wasn’t quite sure what the process was. I ended up getting into a hearty conversation with the tourguide and completely forgot to ask for them to stop the bus so I could go and walk. Along our trip we took in some of the oldest cottages in the area, observed the cemeteries and the industrial area. She pointed out where mines once were, and also main park-lands that were reknowned for debauchery in the 1800s.
All of a sudden 45 minutes had gone past and I was back where I started and didn’t get the chance to jump off and take time in the hills. I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time thought I would come back here one day, hopefully with a car so I could investigate the Coltwalds in greater depth.
Once I jumped off the bus I walked along the Avon toward a museum that the tour guide had pointed out. Unfortunately it was closed for renovations, but the gardens behind looked so enticing. I listened to my feet crunching into the leaves as I walked next to the path. I stood staring up into a tree for some time, just smiling and taking the moment in. A sense of peace was embracing me as I strolled further and further into the gardens, passing a tall Roman Roundhouse, and over a small green metal bridge, where, looking left and right, a stream flowed with small barges bobbing on the light current. This stream was apparently how people got to and from Bath before the roads were built. The streams run all the way to London and the rich and famous would make the trip down every year to take in the waters, to dance and socialise… Sounded like a nice way to spend a holiday. My sister and I, though, always conceded that if we had of lived in those days, we more than likely would be the ones changing the bed pans rather than wearing the Venetian Silk Dresses and gossiping about Mark Darcy.
Birds scatted along the winds and I ducked my head under the weeping willow branches, before coming to a house. It was more an abandoned mansion. I lay down on the thick balcony wall and let the sun warm my legs, closing my eyes and letting the reds and yellows flicker over my face.
I haven’t seen Kent yet, but at the moment, I will call Bath my garden of England. Walking back to my Bed and Breakfast I discovered yet another park, strewn with enormous trees, Mothers wandering along the path with their young children trying desperately to make their bikes go forward. There was an old couple sitting under a tree and laughing and one (there is always one) crazy man that I decided not to make eye contact, I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation he was having with what appeared to be… nothing what so ever.
I headed to the Jane Austen Museum, but unfortunately there was only 30minutes left until it closed and the horrible woman, who had what seemed an affected posh accent. I don’t think I’ve been looked at in such a way, its amazing how much can be said in a look. For me, this look said, ‘You know nothing about Austen… just another tourist who has heard the name but is not a true fan’. And due to this I thanked her very much for her time and decided not to ever go back. There are such things as Austen snobs, but this is the first I’d come across. I’ll keep my delight in certain books to myself for now on.
So that was slightly disappointing, but I was glad to just have the opportunity to be wandering the streets that inspired the great lady, who wrote about it in Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park.
All in all the day was going splendidly, I headed back to the Baths and decided to go in, hoping that with evening coming in, it wouldn’t be so busy. I was quite fortunate in the fact I’d decided to go to Bath during the winter, there were less tourists because of the fear of weather spoiling the holiday, Bath is a Spring destination. For me, however, I was exceptionally lucky in that the sun was still shining, very unusual for that time of year.
The Roman Baths are amazing. Breathtaking. Heart-warming that they still exist, that you can wander about on what was built hundreds of years before your own country. Older than some of the trees I climbed as a kid. It cost 10.50 pounds and was well worth it, I wandered about for about two hours. I couldn’t have chosen a better time, with the sun setting and the sky became a myriad of purples and pinks and blues all sweeping around the fire lit lamps that adorned each corner of the Roman Baths. Here, you were in the presence of ancient gods and goddesses who had the power to heal, to make a person walk again, to keep a person alive for an eternity. This is where the rich would come and flirt with one another, where the Romans worships heroes from across the waves and reminisce of a home they were unlikely to see again. So many worlds had already existed here, it makes you wonder who will be visiting this same place in centuries to come, will they be wondering what we were like, what ‘tourists’ were, why the Baths fascinated us so much? This area had survived wars, reformations and time…
It was so warm, the heat floating up in wafts of steam, statues staring down on the waters, you could see it streaming through the foundations of the buildings. Segregated rooms for different classes, different purposes, some open aired and some so enclosed that the only light that touched the walls was that from fire. The Abbey crept up from behind, and within there were cuttings of the original mosaics that decorated the floors. You could see the different levels of development, from the Celts who first found this spiritual place, to the Romans, through the reformations and a civil wars, to what we saw now that has existed from the late 1700s.
Walking out, I was on a high… I’d seen the Roman Baths, I was in Bath. The weather was being kind to me and I’d had yet another marvellous day. I decided the perfect way to finish my historical adventure day was to go to the oldest house in Bath and have some of the famous Bath-Bread. Apparently Lords, Ladies and even a King enjoyed this bread, and the recipe to this day is only handed down from chef to chef within the Oldest House in Bath.
The restaurant is called Sally Dunn. It was warm and ‘snuggley’, I have to use that word, it’s the only way I can describe it, like being embraced by the soft stone walls, the warm wooden furniture, the hangings on the wall. It was just snuggley. I popped upstairs to the loo, more to investigate than anything else. The stairs were warn and the wooden handrail was uneven, and it was all peacefully perfect, like walking into a Dickons’ novel. This house had even survived the blitz, and there was little sign of renovation. There is something endearing about having to bend through door frames, and slide into your seat.
I ordered a glass of red, the famous Sally Dunn bread and chicken with vegetables. It was light, refreshing and comforting… like a home made meal. The staff were delightful. I sat writing about my day by candlelight, nibbling at my food and enjoying the banter of a family in the corner, and glancing at a Japanese couple taking photo’s of themselves eating their food. There was, ofcourse, a few jabs of sadness that stung my heart, a feeling of loneliness in wanting to share this moment, but at the same time I was just glad to be there.
I headed home under the stars, feeling safe and at peace, making it back to my room and having a cup of tea in my adorable tea pot and cup. After a wonderfully long and exceptionally hot shower I enjoyed the buzz of excitement in my heels – tomorrow I was off to see Stone Henge, I couldn’t wait.
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