What A Delightful Place Bath Is!

Nine years ago, my spring semester of junior year of college, I was lucky enough to study abroad and do an internship in Bath, England. At the end of the four months, I resigned myself to the possibility that I might never again return to this small historic city on a different continent.

Considering I didn’t know what a real-time captionist was, there’s no way I could have foreseen this opportunity. But as soon as I knew I’d be working abroad, I planned to visit England again and spend at least a day in Bath.

I booked a room in an Airbnb for a week in Oxford (my favorite place in England, which I loved even more than Bath) and took an hour-long train for a Tuesday in Bath.

Returning to a place that used to be very familiar to you many years later is a blessed Experience. Brains and memory are wild. As soon as I stepped off the train, I instinctively started walking down the same path I took to class each day. And I felt a yearning to turn the corner and walk below the bridge in the direction of the apartment where I lived. It was a strange and joyous familiarity, like hearing a song you loved as a teen and being shocked that you still remember all the lyrics.

Revisiting Familiar Sites

To those unaware, Bath is GORGEOUS.

I didn’t mind the rain, since it reminded me of the rainy days when I lived there.

During my semester abroad, I shared a house with other Americans on Clarendon Villa.

I could not remember which villa I lived in, but I know I walked past it.

I walked up the hill where I used to live to the paths I used to love, and although they were too muddy to walk down I enjoyed the view from the top.

I remembered loving a fish and chips place but couldn’t remember the name. When I searched restaurants in the area, Pollacks jumped out at me so I took a half hour walk to see if it was the same place in my memory. Indeed! They only offered take-away, and it was still raining, so I ate my dinner at a covered bus stop. 100% worth it for the crispiest golden batter and most tender haddock in England.

On the way, I stumbled upon a stunning cemetery

and as I walked in, I realized I have definitely stumbled upon this cemetery before. Probably also on my way to Pollacks.

For close readers of this blog, I DID find the noodle shop I went to on my 21st birthday. All I remembered was that it was near Mission Burrito and wrapped its takeaway in orange cartons, and sure enough I found the orange storefront for Gong Fu Noodle Bar right where I was expecting it. Sadly, it is no longer in business.

Mary Shelley’s House of Frankenstein

This attraction only opened a few years ago, although even if it had been open when I was a student, I probably wouldn’t have gone. I avoided areas that felt too touristy, like the famous Roman Baths with their supposed healing waters.

Part Mary Shelley museum and part haunted house, I will admit this place is more style over substance and probably a bit small to be charging 16 pounds. Regardless. I loved every minute of it.

I recently reread Frankenstein but didn’t realize Mary Shelley wrote it in Bath, so that alone made the visit exciting for me.

The first few rooms featured placards with biographical basics about Mary Shelley amidst Gothic decorations (taxidermy, candles) and “mad scientist” props (levers, brains). The smell of incense and eerie soundscape created an alluringly creepy atmosphere, and I enjoyed just being in that space.

I was struck by how young Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and their crew were when they created the works they’re remembered for – just teenagers and college-aged students, really. Close to the age I was when I lived in Bath.

Other rooms focused on how this short novel written by a teenage girl spread and inspired theatre, short films, parodies, political cartoons, advertisements, etc. There was a small theatre that rotated through silent film adaptations, and an arcade-like space with merchandise and a free pinball game inspired by the 1994 film with Helena Bonham Carter.

There was also a created-for-the-House model of the monster, which blinked and breathed and slowly moved his jaw. I loved how man-like he looked: in the book, the creature is not inherently violent, but becomes so when his humanity is not recognized.

The final part of the experience was the basement, a straight-up haunted house complete with sudden screams and a figure in black who hides in shadows and runs past you.

One of the narrow dark hallways led to a cell where a bloodied human torso dangled from the ceiling. At this point I felt the same disgusted disconnect I feel watching violent movies – how can suffering be entertaining?

But I get that facing danger and knowing you’re safe can be cathartic and even fun for a lot of people, and I think this basement did that well. While I did not scream with fright, I did feel more comfortable navigating the space in the footsteps of the two amiably amused men who went down before me. (Me! More comfortable with men around! Truly scary.)

Bizarre Bath

When I was a student I avoided anything touristy, like the walking tours of Bath, and especially the tacky-looking Bizarre Bath comedy walk advertised in the shadow of Bath Abbey.

But now that I’m older and wiser I realize life is too short not to find out if a walking tour of Bath will really make you die laughing. (Spoiler: I lived to write this blog.)

Bizarre Bath, as the guide emphasized many times in his introduction, is not a tour, and any historical facts he shares are probably made up. It’s an evening of street theatre: part comedy, part magic show.

My favorite bit followed a trick where the guide tied up a toy stuffed rabbit in a strait jacket and threw it into the river with a weight. After counting down from 10, the rabbit emerged to the surface, free from the straitjacket. The guide said that during the pandemic but after lockdown, when they were just starting to do shows again, a woman and her mother joined the tour halfway through only to watch that trick. The woman pulled him aside after and thanked him.

“My mom lives across the street,” she said. “Every evening when we Zoom, she stops and says ‘Oh look, it’s time for the man out the window to throw the rabbit into the river.’ I came here to make sure it wasn’t dementia.”

The stuffed rabbit made a triumphant return in the final trick. After the guide tied a volunteer audience member’s ring to a balloon that he “accidentally” let float away past the Bath Abbey, the rabbit zoomed in on a motor device carrying a wrapped package containing the ring.

While I wouldn’t say everyone reading this needs to right now book a ticket to Bath to see this show, it was certainly an entertaining excuse to spend another 90 minutes in the city before catching a train back to Oxford.

No more pretty pictures, just contemplations on the passing of time

As I took long solitary walks during my day trip in Bath, I reflected on how much time during my semester abroad was also spent taking long solitary walks. That semester, I spent most of my free time alone.

I generally got along with the others in my house, though spent an unfortunate amount of time feeling stressed out by my roommate. (She must have been having a difficult time abroad and took it out on me; I, regrettably, took “not being liked” quite personally.) Although I met many British people through my internship with the Big Issue, volunteering with a children’s theatre group, and playing piano for the University of Bath’s musical theater club, I didn’t see these people outside those structured activities, or make any long lasting connections. There was nobody in Bath I stayed in touch with, so I returned a decade later as a ghost, slipping through the streets undetected.

Traveling abroad in my early 30’s, as opposed to my early ’20s, has been much less lonely, intentionally so. Although I enjoy spending time with myself, quarantining alone during the pandemic left a wound, still sore long after lock down, whose only balm is existing in the same space as other people. This is why when I traveled to a new continent, I downloaded Bumble BFF and Couchsurfing. It’s why I’m excited by festivals and live music. It’s why I talk to strangers.

I’ve also, in the past decade, grown more comfortable with myself. Though I turned 21 in Bath, I didn’t drink and never went to a pub. I assumed there would be nothing for me there, that I would sit awkwardly in the corner until I had an excuse to go home. Now, I still don’t drink, but having lived in rural Ohio, I’ve learned to appreciate bars as a space for social bonding and am very comfortable ordering a mint tea while hanging out with drinking friends. I also know how to talk to people I don’t know. It’s possible that conducting over 100+ interviews with strangers for newspapers articles over the years has helped honed that skill, even if it felt like the pandemic eroded it.

I tried finding a Couchsurfing host in Bath to meet up with, though England doesn’t have as many active Couchsurfers as the other countries I visited. I messaged six people and only got two responses, both from hosts who were traveling themselves and thus not in Bath. I considered looking for an event like a pub quiz where I could maybe meet new people, but I decided being an anonymous part of the Bizarre Bath audience would be sufficient. I was tired. Not in a bad way – tired in a “I’m ready to come home to myself” way.

Somewhere along the way – maybe in Croatia, maybe earlier – I’ve gotten closer to my before-the-pandemic-depression self.

I know that the issues that being depressed caused me to ruminate on have not gone away. Climate disaster, political turmoil, loss of rights, totalitarianism, war, it’s all still there. My very ability to travel abroad is an example of gross global inequality; I’m part of the wealthy percentage disproportionately contributing to climate change. I haven’t forgotten this.

But I also haven’t forgotten being convinced I’d never be able to leave the country again, and now I have. I remember being unable to imagine breathing easy in a theater or on public transportation, and now they’re feeling normal to me again. I remember fearing my friends and families would be part of the growing statistics of COVID fatalities, and now I’m telling many of those people about my travels.

Even before the pandemic, I didn’t think I’d ever return to Bath, but I did, and surprisingly little has changed in my nine years of absence.

I was able to, as I did 9 years ago, feel joy in walking its streets alone. I still have never made it to the Roman Baths, but maybe I don’t needs its famous waters to heal.