Aquae Sulis
There’s a hostel hidden in the hills of Bath that was once an old schoolhouse for children in the area. Plaques decorate the halls, along with black and white photos of past students who would probably be in their seventies by now. The rooms are segregated by sex, the female unit to the east and the male to the west. However, the showers and toilets are coed and make encounters with the opposite sex occasional and spontaneous. The YHA lends an adolescent feeling to current occupiers and makes visitors feel that familiar yet, long gone sense of youth. Some time ago, laughter and life lessons presumably floated from room to room, and now it is replaced by booze and sex.
Marco, Jay and I arrived at YHA mid-day, under the sun that followed us from London Town to Dublin, Cork to Aberdeen, and Galway to Edinburgh. We had been all over the land masses that make up a United Kingdom (sans Ireland). On a day in Bath, walking the hills with our packs, we climbed, gaining elevation and an unobstructed view of a city with so much history one would have to choose to ignore it. The Romans came here and settled, establishing bath houses (namesake) on hot springs that still stand today and sit at the feet of the Abbey in the center of town. I was sweating and thinking I could use a bath of my own, shouldering a pack I’d been carrying for two weeks. I was eager to find the hostile but not before appreciating the view we found overlooking the city and almost seeing past it. We watched the river flow through the city, carrying the many houseboats traveling across England, making port wherever they may feel appropriate.
We finally arrived and occupied 75 percent of a four-bedroom room. We met Marcus, from Switzerland, making up the remaining 25. Marcus was in Bath on holiday after completing his mandatory military sentence, floating around much like ourselves. Swiss, he was rather reserved and composed; seldom had he had too much to drink or filled his lungs with smoke. Marcus was on holiday, so, relatively, he let loose. Jay wanted a massage and found a small parlor somewhere in town. Marco and I, feeling the void of a third like a wounded wolf pack, invited Marcus to join us on our unstoppable journey to satiate an unquenchable thirst for alcohol. Marcus arrived in Bath a couple of hours before we did and had little to no knowledge of the city, so the three of us rolled the dice.
We again walked the hill that led us to YHA, but this time in descent and schlepping with a lighter load. The sun was still following us; no matter what Marco and I did, we just couldn’t shake him. Marcus was followed as well, and I thought this was the point of it all, not just of travel but of life. This was the hope, and as unknown as it was before, something was clearly taking shape. We crossed the Pulteney Bridge and settled on a basement bar with fu-fu cocktails, but they served them strong and quickly refilled them. Marcus, myself, and Marco shot the shit for a few hours until Jay met us downstairs. We learned a lot about Marcus and a lot about Switzerland. Marco and I downed several drinks containing mezcal and smoked several cigarettes, as was our modus operandi. Although Marcus failed to keep up, I found it refreshing to make friends with a stranger. When I think about Bath, I think about Marcus and how much I care for Jay and Marco. I used to believe that travel should be endeavored solo and contain an almost dark tinge and a hint of despair, but my friends changed that for me, and it wasn’t until Bath that I saw the importance of spending life with people. Solitude can construct, but it can also cut a person off, cut them off from the benefits of unplanned interaction. There needs to be an element of wonder that meets a quality of curiosity and a will to be somewhere you’ve never been.
Cover Art: Pulteney Bridge - Chettle
