Studying abroad in the summer isn’t terribly academically rigorous — the class schedule is sparse and travel is encouraged. In anticipation of long weekends, I chose to study in London for easy access to other European countries. Hop on a Ryanair flight or a Eurostar train for just a hundred bucks and you’re in Paris, Amsterdam, Dublin, or whatever tourist destination suits your fancy.
In all my lust for adventure, I must admit England wasn’t in the books. The only destinations I sought out were those that would give me visa stamps and worldly status bragging rights. Bath appeared on the bucket list out of convenience — a $60 train ride and $20 accommodations were deals I could not turn down. Desperate to take advantage of the four-day weekend ahead, I set out for Bath with no research or impressions of the city I would be staying in.
I arrived in Bath to the pouring rain, desperately in need of a snack. Stumbling into Bath Abbey church square, I found a little cafe where I sat journaling and judging the throngs of people queued up to see the Roman Baths. The rest of the day was spent exploring the city until I was so soaking wet that my only reasonable option was to start drinking. Happy hour in England is almost always two for one and you would be hard-pressed to find a bar that will give you those two drinks one at a time. I felt a bit silly reading in a bar at 4 p.m. but at least I had two amaretto sours to keep me company.
That night I strolled to dinner buzzed and dazed from reading too much Donna Tartt. I ate at Bosco Pizzeria, a dimly lit, groovy restaurant tucked away in a cobblestone courtyard where I paid 10 pounds for the best margarita pizza I’ve ever had. The crust had a charcoal kick but was soft and saturated in a sweet, aromatic tomato sauce. It was topped generously with basil and the freshest mozzarella, and my only complaint was I couldn’t figure out the proper pizza etiquette for the restaurant — to fork and knife it or to fold and bite?
The next morning I awoke to clear skies and wandered out of the city square to marvel at chateaus, secret gardens and panoramic views of Bath unobstructed by a rain-soaked hood. London’s architecture is white and pastel, but in Bath, the buildings are butterscotch and spattered with ivy. The hue of the brick would almost look unkempt if it weren’t for pristinely painted sage green doors and star jasmine hedges. For hours I trudged along private roads, getting lost in the city and the audiobook I was listening to. I returned to my favorite bar for three-pound ciders and more Donna Tartt before paying way too much money for fish and chips at a pub down the street.
On my last day in Bath I discovered the not-so-glamorous part of backpacking through Europe — the part that involves a backpack. Checking out of my hostel at 10 am, I lugged my pack through 10 miles of walking the Bath Canal. But despite achy shoulders and back sweat, my last day in Bath was when I fell head over heels in love with the city. I was inspired to take the canal walk from a short Google search of ‘what to do in Bath’ after my final day itinerary of visiting the Roman Baths was ruined by $40 ticket fees. I had low expectations and was wishing I had booked my train earlier in the day but was quickly corrected.
The canal walk starts in the city at the iconic Pulteney Bridge and quickly narrows as it departs from the city into the surrounding neighborhoods. The water is bordered by patchy lawns and terraced gardens spilling from the backyards of the most precious yet lavish homes. A diverse display of houseboats crowd the banks and cruise lazily down river — some teaming with potted flowers and fresh paint, others cluttered and rusted. I am still debating whether I am more jealous of the canal nomads or the wealthy homeowners of the riverside chateaus. Either way, I have decided I must move to Bath at some point in my life.
