Visit to Bath, UK
April 18, 2006 at 4:14 On our first full day in Bath, we walk into the center of the city, our first Urban Death March, a term I coined with the kids to describe E’s city explorations. For E, everything is within walking distance. He’s marched us all over Baltimore, Washingtion, D.C., Brussels, and Paris. Why take the bus or Metro when our destination is so “close”?
In general, this isn’t an altogether bad policy. Exploring a city or destination on foot provides a far more authentic experience than sitting in a car in traffic, circling endlessly looking for a parking place, or zipping from attraction to attraction underground. And hey, it assures you get plenty of exercise on days filled with restaurant food.
The downside of this approach is that 1) we’re often victims of crappy weather, 2) we all have different stamina levels, and 3) we end our days in the city so thoroughly exhausted that we have to resist the urge to burrow under the bedcovers and never leave the hotel room again.
It should come as no surprise then that when we arrive in the center of the city of Bath after a 25 minute walk from our hotel, E wants to take a two-hour guided walking tour of the city which promises to deliver boatloads of history, architectural information, and gossipy tidbits. Can you hear V-Grrrl going “Aack” and trying to swallow a hairball of discontent?
Unfortunately, the lovely weather we’d had the day before in Windsor is history now. This is England in April. It’s cold and damp—a raw spring day. I’m wearing a thermal ski shirt under a turtleneck sweater under a fleece vest under a wool-lined parka and I’m still cold. I’m patting myself on the back for having packed hats and gloves for myself and the kids despite weather forecasts predicting temps in the 50s, but still, all the layers aren’t a perfect match for the chill trying to seep into our bones.
E really, really, really wants to do this tour. For him, it’s key to understanding the city. Me, I’ve read the guidebooks and Web pages on Bath’s history and that was plenty. I’m sure the guide knows “more, much more” but I really don’t want to know “more, much more.” Plus I think 2 hours of narrative history and neck craning is going to leave the kids bored and restless—not to mention hungry. GAH. The tour would delay lunch and my gosh, we all know you can’t delay lunch.
Still, I’m committed to the tour for E’s sake. It doesn’t start until 10:30 a.m. We kill time drifting in and out of shops around the main square and buy E a cashmere scarf to battle the cold. By tour time however, my resolve has faded. I can't stand the thought of standing out in the raw, damp weather for a minute longer, let alone two hours. My back already hurts. I’ve been on my feet an hour.
Since the weather is bad, I suggest we visit the downtown museums. E has his heart set on the tour and tries to talk us all into it. The kids chime in that they don’t want to do the walking tour either. Outnumbered and outgunned, with rain threatening, the beleaguered E caves in to family pressure and reluctantly agrees to save the tour for another day. Can you hear his teeth grinding?
And so we go to see the Roman Baths instead, the site of Britain’s only hot springs. There’s a museum built around the ruins of the Roman baths and medieval structures there. The Romans had built a temple to the goddess Minerva there. The temple was later destroyed (though remnants remain). During medieval times, Queen Mary, struggling with infertility, bathed in the hot springs’ waters and gave birth to an heir 10 months later. Bath’s reputation expanded and it once again became a destination for royals and those seeking cures.
The baths steam in the cold air of the museum courtyard and include a stone chair where the king used to sit when he came to Bath. The museum itself features artifacts from the Roman period, including carvings from the frieze of the temple, pilasters, memorials, Roman coins, sacred temple vessels, and my favorite—curses that Roman visitors etched into sheets of pewter or lead and tossed into the spring waters, hoping that the goddess Minerva would grant them revenge against those who had offended them.
Shortly after we entered the museum, a group of 50 French teenagers arrived. This changed the whole experience. We were soon overrun with chatty students, all sporting bulky backpacks and clogging every exhibit and hallway. The big problem was that they planted themselves in a given spot and didn’t move. No one loiters like a teenager. They had absolutely no sense of personal space and were oblivious to the other visitors to the museum.
The shoulder-to-shoulder, step-on-my-toes atmosphere was claustrophobic and I didn’t linger over the exhibits. By the end of our visit, my back was aching. I’d been on my feet and/or walking for about 3 hours and couldn’t bear another moment. I didn’t think I could do another museum, so we planned to pick up sandwiches and head back to the hotel. When we stumbled upon a Starbucks and I saw E’s naked longing for a cup of coffee, plans changed. I was cold, cramping, and tired. We decided to stop right there rather than Death Marching to the Holiday Inn. We found a table upstairs, and E grabbed us hot drinks and sandwiches. I swallowed some ibuprofen to take the edge off my back pain. What a relief to sit down, drop my purse, and warm my hands around a mug of steaming tea.
Once we’d rested a bit, my back unknotted and the ibuprofen kicked in, we decided to hit the road again, and windowshop on our way to the Costume Museum.
The costume museum is considered one of the best in all of Britain. It traces the history of fashion for more than 400 years. Here one can find impeccably preserved, genuine garments from the 17th century on. I can’t believe any clothes survived from so long ago. It’s remarkable and fascinating to see what people wore and why, examine how clothes expressed the culture of the time and to see pieces that demonstrate the lavish artistry and craftsmanship of haute couture through the ages.
Looking at the hand-sewn suits and dresses of previous centuries, I could only imagine the cost in terms of currency and hours invested in each piece. It was amazing. A man’s shirt demonstrated the technique of black thread embroidery, with stitches so thin and fine that the pattern on the shirt appeared to be drawn, not stitched, onto the fabric. Lavish court dresses with elaborate hoops were marvels of engineering and imagination—as well as ostentation. Day dresses with split skirts conjured traditional feminine images. I was surprised to see silk dressing gowns on display that were worn by 18th century men at home.
There was a special display that traced the history of the corsets. I was shocked to learn girls wore them before the age of three. It explored corsets role in fashion, their changing construction, and their eventual abandonment. Looking at them, I knew no corset, no matter how tightly laced, could give me an hour glass figure.
The shoes on display were tiny and delicate, made of fabric with leather soles. My own feet seemed gigantic and ugly in their practical leather walking shoes.
Seeing the 20th century fashion pieces was more personal. I could show E-Grrrl a replica of a sailor suit her grandfather wore as a child, point out the types of dresses and shoes her grandmother would have worn while dating her grandfather, shown her the sort of maternity dress my mom wore while pregnant with me and the types of dresses I wore as a little girl. At the end of the exhibit was the notorious Versace dress worn by Jennifer Lopez during her skanky period. The sheer green and blue floral fabric had been attached to her boobs with double-sided tape because the dress featured a wide V-neckline plunging to the waist and a slit rising nearly up to the crotch.
My favorite part of the museum was a display of costumes, clothes, and textiles that had belonged to Rudolf Nureyev. What can I say? He was perhaps the most beautiful man ever, and I was mesmerized by the costumes he wore as a dancer and the videos highlighting some of his most amazing performances. On and off stage, he had a sense of style and a passion for fashion that was every bit as enormous as his talent. It was interesting to see selections from his personal wardrobe, his hat collection, his favorite coats as well as historic textiles he’d collected.
E-Man and Mr. A found the museum interesting but less than fascinating. They kindly didn’t rush me and E-Grrrl through—I appreciated that.
After I bought my obligatory postcards, we headed out into the cold drizzle, popping into shops from time to time and walking along the river. It didn’t take long to get cold and miserable. We finally made it back to the hotel around 4:30 p.m. First order of business: putting the kettle on for tea and popping a heat pad onto my back. Second order of business: having a pizza and order of chicken fingers and fries delivered to the hotel from Dominoes. There was no way I was taking another step outdoors that day--and the kids were thrilled to be indulging their native cuisine.
Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.
April 18, 2006
Reader Comments (7)
I know, I'm young and don't have a family yet, but if we go on a group travel and part of the group wants A and a group wants B, we split up and reunite at a given place and time (mostely hotel at dinner ;-) ) and that way everybody does what he/she likes...
Reading your posts Mr. A and E-grrrl sound like responsible, quiet youngsters, so it wouldn't be too heavy for you or E-man to control them during the seperate activities...
I'm just letting up a very small balloon that could lessen the tensions on these holidays...
But hopefully your back didn't play up too much during your time in the UK and now that your back in Belgium, you'll give it the proper care it needs so it won't hurt too much nor too long...
I loved your description of the costume museum. I will definitely put it on my list of Things I Want to Check Out Someday.
We have done the walking thing. NYC,Amsterdam and Brussels have all been conquered by feet. Until they were aching and ready to quit. It is a great way to get the real feel of a city though. We were lucky to have nice weather.
Bath sounds like a neat place... any chance you can still bathe in the restorative hot springs? That would do wonders for your back!