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.