Day 16 – Bath

What’s more challenging than typing in a car hurtling through the High Atlas mountains? Typing in a car going along the A5 and associated roads in Wales, where they’re having a goodly amount of rain, some potholes, and curves that might trouble a Moroccan or two. Still, I’m geting a little behind on this blog so will try to catch up.

At some point I’d like to get the creative juices flowing and write a little behind the scenes and about the whys and wherefores of travel blogging. How it’s hard to write about the past when the present is full of the most amazing scenery, and when you’re travelling with your most favourite person in the whole world, sharing  everything with them, the motivation to blog is lessened.

But I’m already two days behind, so all that stuff can wait. Where was I? Taking a shower.

In Bath. So many jokes, so little time (and overall most of the jokes are pretty predictable, and on the Christmas cracker side of funny). Staying at a pretty nice b&b, right near the centre of things. Good breakfast, and a really great shower, with both good heat and pressure (travel any lamount of time and you’ll know how good this is). No bath, but hey, Bath is all around.

Took a stroll into the thick of things, and it didn’t take long before we found ourselves at the Roman baths. These are everything you see in the postcards, I guess the only thing was I thought they’d be a bit bigger, the bath bit. As a tourist info attraction, it is one of the best. Not too long, not too short, a good amount of history, Bill Bryson adding a personal touch to the audio guide. And I’m always stunned to be standing next to bubbling pools of warm water that have naturally come up to the surface.

We followed this with a visit to the Pump Room, the lovely restaurant complete with mini string orchestra. Had the Georgian elevenses, a Bath bun, hot chocolate and glass of the water. The water was somewhat interesting, about the temperature of the average shower, and quite minerally, but not as irony as I was expecting, given the wonderful vibrant orange the water was turning the rocks. It didn’t taste great, in other words, but was okay for a tacky tourist experience. The bun and the hot chocolate were pretty yummy.

Then it was a wander up the hill to the Fashion Museum, one of L’s must-sees. It had some interesting moments, with lots of pretty clothes, but I was hoping for more of the old stuff, and less modern (converse are to be worn, not put in a museum). I guess I’m asking for a lot, as clothes don’t tend to last centuries, so there aren’t nearly as many 16th and 17th century garments around as I’d like. As everyone with a favourite t-shirt knows, clothes die too.

With the Fashion museum we took a stroll around the Assembly Rooms, the big halls where Jane Austen and pals used to go to cut a rug and boogie oogie oogie. As you’d expect, they’re big old rooms with marvellous chandeliers and space for lots of fireplaces (I’m guessing they had a way to temporarily block the flues to make ye olde smoke machine).

From here we went looking for the Jane Austen museum, much to the disapproval of a couple of lovvely old locals who stopped to offer us directions as we dug around for a map. They suggested it was a bit of a commercialised tourist trap, though kindly pointed the way. My own tourist trap alarm bells went off as it’s the only building in town with a guy dressed in ye olde Regency wear standing out the front. Bells were ringing for L, too, however she swapped the alarm bells for the ring of the till in the gift shop. There were a couple of cool items, old books and the like, but all the I heart Darcy stuff was a little overboard.

Lunch was at the Salamander, a place promising fine food and local beverages. For L this was a pint of cider and rosemary and pork sausages, for me porter and pork belly. Fine fare, woonderfully soft pork with a little crunch to the skin, the porter had spent some time in rum barrels and was toasty, malty and with a hint of vanilla. A Bass ale, I’m sure I could google the name or let the folks at home do it. There was some amusement to be had at the table of random Brits (I couldn’t accurately place the accent) who were taken aback at the idea of a pub selling local beer, and no Fosters. Hope they enjoyed whatever they ended up sampling, I’m sure it would have been a lot better than Fosters.

Took a stroll up to Royal Crescent, the magnificent Georgian crescent that gets used as a backdrop to all the BBC stuff (I bet they hate the Beeb in those parts, always turning up and demanding they move their cars and tidy up). It’s an awesome old street.

Dinner was at Garrick’s Head, another fine locale promising excellent food and local beverages. I can vouch for the dark festive ale, it’s another lovely, malty drop. Not su convinced by the funky monkey, a little too hoppy and floral distracting from the malt. Entree was a smoked haddock chowder with mussels, followed by ox tail with horseradish dumplings and red cabbage. Both full of flavour and a pleasure to eat. Dessert was a bit of a struggle, it’s getting hard to find room to store all this food, but I managed some home made vanilla and chocolate ice cream, about the creamiest I’ve ever tasted.