Bath Spa, a charming English city perched on the mouth of a dormant volcano. The early Britons and Romans knew what was up when they set about turning this city into a spa haven: the thermal waters are positively divine and purported to cure all ailments. Seeing as my primary ailment begins with a D and ends with “why the hell won’t these words write themselves,” I’m dubious of the claim. Will update on the miraculousness of the waters after today’s library sesh.
Google and my top-notch archaeologist companion informed me that the Roman Baths and the Thermae Spa were our two primary objectives during the brief weekend break. We could not, alas, do as the Romans did and swim in the Baths due to lead lining on the pool pipes. However, we could admire from afar and give the (sanitary) tap water a taste. I can’t say I was impressed with said taste, as it can best be described as “diluted blood.” Yum.
Not to be outdone by some lame Roman architecture, the Georgians went ham on their buildings around the city. The Royal Crescent is the most famous example of this ode to perfect symmetry. (You’ll just have to take my word that it is, in fact, a crescent.)
My favorite feature, as evidenced by the three trillion photos I took of it, was the Pulteney Bridge. I imagine this was what London’s Tower Bridge looked like in its heyday, all bustling shops and fabulous views.
Sunday was SPA DAY! In non-lead lined pools, go figure. Privacy rules meant zero pictures, but let me assure you, my skin’s glow could have been spotted from space. Afterwards, we poked around an art museum that shared a street with a home Jane Austen once lived in. What culture! Not usually a classical art person (or modern art, or really art in general, yes I’m a Philistine), but there were enough shiny silver spoons to pique my interest. Thus concluded another brief escape from the Big Smoke!
I’m not allowing myself to leave this library until 2,000 words appear so magical spa waters, get to work!