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Bath & Salisbury |
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the first half |
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Bath, without the bubbles |
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When you spend all day on a train, spent half of that journey hoping and praying you were actually on the right one out of Swansea, then climb off it into a place called the Funky Hostel, a room called Pop and your bed has �Boy George� written on it, you can safely say that you�ve found yourself in an adventure. You�ve also found yourself on the fifth floor of an antiquated Georgian manor now youth-hostel in the town of Bath. The toilets are scary, the floor sags, there are flies swarming about the single lightbulb in the bulging ceiling. But you only paid 10 quid for the night and you are in the heart of a vibrant, beautiful, historic town, so you thank God you had your tetanus shot and assure yourself that less time in the hostel means more time exploring and you are quite pleased with the situation. |
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above: The Abbey Square houses the Abbey (shock, gasp!), the Roman Baths, the Pump Room and the best pastries in the entire world. Below: nightime Bath glows |
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We pulled into the station around 3 in the afternoon and having absolutely no idea what to do now that we were on our own, well, without a programme director herding us about like sheep as we�ve done for the past several trips, we plunked down a few quid for an open air bus tour of the old Roman town. Bath is known as Rome of the North � I�ve never seen Rome, so I couldn�t say how accurate this assessment is � but from what I witnessed with the chilly night air blowing in my face, Bath is spectacular. The city is all made of a honey coloured stone all in similar Georgian architecture and it glows. All of it. Just a glowing sprawl of city upon seven hills, fountains and gardens and spires all lighting up the sky � Dublin should take notes.The following morning we upped bright and early and headed out to the Abbey square near Cheap Street, vacant save for a flock of pigeons and a bobby (that�s a policeman for those of you who don�t speak British), wolfed down a chocolate filled croissant and boarded a bus for a day of retracing history. Mad Max, the tour company, met us in front of the Abbey and off we tooled with an earful of Beatles and the wonders before us... |
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Seeing rock groups live... |
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Stonehenge is much smaller than you may think and is quite rudely corded off a good 20 feet away. Everyone there looks as though they are on some terribly important mobile phone conversation, hands stuck to their ears, lips pursed and eyes darting here and there, trying to catch every word of the audioguide. The stones themselves are quite impressive, but at the same time not really. It�s hard to describe� it�s sort of magical, but you feel compelled to think of it as such. The hype and mystery that shroud it I think give it very much a reputation that it just can�t seem to live up to. I don�t want to call it a let down, because it wasn�t by any stretch, but it wasn�t everything I had envisioned it to be. Still, it�s very cool. Quite frankly I think the guys who built it were playing a joke on historians and archaeologists, but don�t tell anyone I said that. After an hour or so, which is more than enough time, we headed off to see another famous rock group nearby. Avebury Circles! Live and in concert, or something. These rocks are about twice as large and in a much bigger circle than those at Stonehenge and are full of all kinds of Freudian images that if you tilt your head, squint your eyes and stare long enough you might actually be able to see. Apparently it�s a place of old religious significance, like Stonehenge, however, being told my theories were just as valid as any other and curious as to where these people lived when they weren�t building stone circles, I have determined Avebury to be an ancient apartment complex. Complete with launderette where the fertility stone now stands. Of course, this theory isn�t exactly accepted by the archaeological world, but wait and see, one day� Of course, also at Avebury are the resident hippies and the annual apparition of a crop circle. Both of these were pointed out to us, the first looked more like a target for pushing a stone on, the second you kind of had to swallow gently and hope you didn�t choke stifling a chuckle. |
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Above: Stonhenge Below: Avebury |
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all photos by Lauren Quinsland |
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Home |
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England |
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