A Walk through Bath
I wanted to see Bath solely for Jane Austen. As the site of her matchmaking, gowns of sprigged muslin, lavender salts, and Pump Room, it was up there among the most English things I could see in England. So when my friend I. kindly invited me to Bristol to spend a week with her, I took her up on the opportunity. (Her return visit to Brighton never materialised and I am genuinely sorry about it, but I was so caught up with deadlines that I never made it happen. Sorry, I.!)
We spent most of our time in Bristol, a day in Cardiff, and a day in Bath. Needless to say, a good portion of the week was grey and rainy. And because it was December, when the sky wasn’t grey, it was simply dark. We managed to have some sunshine for part of the day in Bath, a pleasant surprise.
A sight-seeing tip if you’re travelling in the UK: go there young and do as much of it as you can while you’re a student, because ticket prices get slightly better that way, even on trains. I have no idea what things are like now, but my flatmates and I enjoyed the privileges of the 16–25 Rail Card as well as the marginally discounted prices to certain sites. If I ever do go back to the UK, I’m sure I’ll first have to make a fortune.
Nine years since I visited Bath, I remember strolling through the Roman Baths and watching steam rise from the stone pools. This was perhaps the closest I could get to the Great Bath of Mohen-jo-daro, the grandeur of a people now studied through what they left behind; in the Indus Valley Civilisation’s case, still mostly shrouded in mystery. However, the Roman Baths stopped short of feeling like a trip back in time because of the number of tourists in jeans, notwithstanding the guides dressed in Roman clothing.
We walked on from the pools into the museum, which houses artefacts from the original Roman Baths — broken statues, memorial stones, a skeleton, remains of the temple pediment. What a magnificent sight the temple must have once been! The sign next to the pediment reads:
“…in her temple the eternal flames never whiten into ash, but rather, when the fire dies away, it turns into rocky round masses”
This is extracted from Solinus (3rd c. AD), presumably dedicated to Minerva, the patron goddess of the Baths.
We preceded the visit to the Baths with a peep at the Pump Room, which looked like an extension of the Stanmer House tearoom near university, making my imagination pull its weight to people it with women in large gowns and men in short trousers and cravats, prim-faced chaperones looking on to ensure no mischief was made. Nobody in the real-life room was waltzing; instead, they chinked their cutlery and made regular conversation over modern wine bottles, under the tinsel of a modern Christmas tree.
From the Pump Room, we went on to Bath Abbey, a former Benedictine monastery built in Gothic style, with soaring arches and lovely stained glass windows. If I remember correctly, we then wandered over to the Crescent and lingered in a damp park, then wandered into some busy streets for lunch. We wound up with a visit to the Jane Austen Centre, to peek at private correspondence and pry into the lives of a family long gone.
So that was yet another English town absorbed and enjoyed. My impression of Bath is largely brown and grey with a splash of green, and a healthy dose of rain. But I need to see more. I’m told the countryside in the southwest is spectacular; plus it’s home to Cornwall, that delightful scene of Famous Five adventures and English school stories. I should probably go back during a sunny week. But before that, I need to find a treasure. And for a more realistic activity, I’ll probably re-read Northanger Abbey.
