Bath Travel Story - A Kiwi in the West of England

Anyway, Bath's a historic city west of London, where bubbling hot springs sprung forth from the depths of the Earth to ease the ailments of ancient people many, many, many moons ago. The hot spring baths in Bath were originally built by the Romans who presumably didn't like smelling. When the Romans accidentally came across the springs by falling into it like Lemmings, lots of 'oohs' and 'aahs' were heard (and 'ouches' and 'earghhs' too).

They subsequently decided the springs were suitably mysterious enough and that the water had to have supernatural healing powers, able to cure everything from bad breath to bad haircuts. Hence they erected what was probably the world's first giant Jacuzzi complex, complete with places to worship their gods and altars to hold sacrifices on. Real party people, them Romans. The springs are still percolating away to this day, but the Roman baths have been closed for a while now, probably because people started inventing stuff like deodorants and plumbing.

As well as the Roman bath houses; the city's full of stunning Georgian and Victorian architecture (though a lot of it copied from the Italians) and art. Bath's built almost exclusively from limestone mined from the hills around the region, giving the city what I would call a sandy yellow hue (interior designers might call it Sunrise Carnation).

Anyway, the Georgians and Victorians came after the Romans and instead of the often tried and true way of expanding a city outwards, they decided to build on top of the Roman city, literally. Not the most practical of people then, but then again this was the era where women wore corsets so tight their lungs ended up in their big toes, and men wore crazy makeup (and they didn't even play rugby) made from a mix of lead, arsenic and egg white...

There are different 'construction' levels etched in the buildings and pavements, a bit like rock sediments – each break in the level marking a new city built on top of the old one. The new Bath (new being relative, Bath was around when dinosaurs roamed the Earth) is a few meters above the old Baths. It's hard to believe that not only was I walking in and around history, I was also walking on history.

Bath's been labeled as a World Heritage Site, meaning that all old buildings (and their inhabitants) must be constantly restored and all new buildings must look like the old ones. Basically like Cliff Richard, Bath's in a perpetual time warp. The Bath of old was full of 'Pick me! Pick me!' Georgian and Victorian socialites – a bit like Paris Hilton on a bad hair day. Jane Austen apparently wrote a lot of her books here. I don't know my Jane Austen from my Austin Powers, so by the powers of Persuasion, I'll just take their word for it. The Bath of new is less garish but the local Bathians still possess the two ingredients considered fashionable for such a fine place, i.e. one- rich and two- posh.

So, all a bit old and a bit historic and charming and downright gorgeous to boot. This has to be my favourite city I've seen so far in UK (seeing that I've only seen two, I'm kinda jumping the gun a wee bit). A final note, on the way home, we stopped and stayed in a local pub in another of the many tiny villages surrounding Bath. This was the kind of pub where a tourist like me would stick out like a hypochondriac in a pharmacy.

Ever get that feeling when you enter a pub and everyone stops and stares at you? Anyway as the din of the pub hushed to silence, and as I started to uncontrollably sweat by the litre - I figured this could go two ways…I walk up to the bar, order a beer, and then get lynched…or I run. Being stupid enough, I went in. 6 pints of Guinness later, everyone at the bar became mates, long lost buddies, blood brothers and fellow pissheads. Ah, never underestimate the friendliness and comradeship that can be found at the bottom of a pint glass in a country pub…wherever in the world you might be.