Bathing Beauty
As hella-cool as the Banksy exhibit was, it still left me with most of the day to roam around the small city of Bristol. This would have been a very fortunate happenstance had there been anything else to see or do in Bristol, or to put it more accurately, anything that I wanted to see or do in Bristol.
I, however, had already peaked with the exhibit and was ready to move onward and forward, or to put that more accurately, 13 miles to the east. That is where one finds Bath, an ancient Roman city built up around a series of hot springs.
The area around the former public and private baths is so well-preserved, that it has earned the entire city the honor of being named a UNESCO World Heritage City (leading one local woman to comment that now if she wants to as much as open her window, she now needs to get permission from the city council).
The majority of visitors through the centuries have come here to partake of the supposedly curative powers of the springs. I had not packed a swimsuit for what started out as a trip to an art gallery, and I was not really suffering from any discernible malady (none that water could cure, at least) so I skipped the springs part of this spring town. Instead I joined a free walking tour, offered by the city itself, which chronicled the history of this now very British 'burb.
It was an interesting tour that managed to combine art, architecture and amusing anecdotes about the city founders. My favorite story involved two political rivals coming face to face with each other on the sidewalk; the one stood his ground and stated something along the lines of "I do not move for lowlifes" and the other one gallantly stepped aside and said "But I do."
On top of being informative, the tour was an exercise in how quickly one could put up or take down his/ her umbrella. For the entire 3 hours, it alternated between torrential downpour and a drizzle so light that one looks like a tool standing there with an open umbrella.
The two older women leading the tour were undaunted by the unfavorable weather (they are, after all, British) and never skipped a beat but I, having recently purchased a 2 pounds crap umbrella, whose preferred state was inside-out was not nearly as successful.
But all troubles aside, it was a highly entertaining time strolling through this historic district, and a good contrast to the modernity of how my day had started out: with an exhibit dedicating to the work of the world's leading graffiti artist.
I, however, had already peaked with the exhibit and was ready to move onward and forward, or to put that more accurately, 13 miles to the east. That is where one finds Bath, an ancient Roman city built up around a series of hot springs.
The area around the former public and private baths is so well-preserved, that it has earned the entire city the honor of being named a UNESCO World Heritage City (leading one local woman to comment that now if she wants to as much as open her window, she now needs to get permission from the city council).
The majority of visitors through the centuries have come here to partake of the supposedly curative powers of the springs. I had not packed a swimsuit for what started out as a trip to an art gallery, and I was not really suffering from any discernible malady (none that water could cure, at least) so I skipped the springs part of this spring town. Instead I joined a free walking tour, offered by the city itself, which chronicled the history of this now very British 'burb.
It was an interesting tour that managed to combine art, architecture and amusing anecdotes about the city founders. My favorite story involved two political rivals coming face to face with each other on the sidewalk; the one stood his ground and stated something along the lines of "I do not move for lowlifes" and the other one gallantly stepped aside and said "But I do."
On top of being informative, the tour was an exercise in how quickly one could put up or take down his/ her umbrella. For the entire 3 hours, it alternated between torrential downpour and a drizzle so light that one looks like a tool standing there with an open umbrella.
The two older women leading the tour were undaunted by the unfavorable weather (they are, after all, British) and never skipped a beat but I, having recently purchased a 2 pounds crap umbrella, whose preferred state was inside-out was not nearly as successful.
But all troubles aside, it was a highly entertaining time strolling through this historic district, and a good contrast to the modernity of how my day had started out: with an exhibit dedicating to the work of the world's leading graffiti artist.
Rainy weather indeed. The first picture you posted at the top has an eerie feel to it. Somewhat reminds of the song by the Doors, 'People are Strange'.
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