Bath and Some Things From Before

We travelled via train to Bath, a town renowned for (get ready for a shocker here…) its baths. I had had high expectations of the train system in England when I set out. This is was due to the impression that a) Europeans use trains and b) European trains are therefore good; I had heard of French and German train systems, which had, in my confused mind, dispersed credit to the entire European system. So I expected fast service, gleaming interiors and clockwork precision.

None of things were fulfilled, but I can’t say it was entirely disappointing. Actually, the half-hour delay was highly disappointing. Nor can I say that the initial train we boarded was very nice: its engine sounded like a truck and its interior looked like a subway (a nice subway…). Then when it tottered off and finally stopped, I was not happy. But once we started really rolling, the countryside hurtling past with my vision resolving the bushes and landscape into streaks of color, then it was quite a good experience.

The train stations are quite interesting, though. The advertisements particularly so. There were a number of book advertisements, for one. For another, economists will delight to know that UPS in England features “Widget” as its mascot. Lastly, under the ‘cruel’ heading, there were several PSAs warning us that gum as litter would result in an £80 fine. However, there are no trash (excuse me: rubbish) bins anywhere in England. I mean anywhere quite literally—finding a trash bin is an incredibly rare event. One NB: it appears that CBS has the billboard business cornered in Britain.

You can tell how much more England respects its trains than America simply by comparing how clean the stations are. English stations were, by and large, clean; anyone who has been to an Amtrak station knows the true definition of the word ‘grimy.’ Another sign of the train’s relative importance is the number and selection of restaurants: whereas fast-food is the best you can hope for at an Amtrak station; there was some variety in the stations I stopped in. One last America-England difference: experiencing America via its trains is to form the belief that junkyards, mobile and prefabricated homes and barbed wire fences are deeply part of the American zeitgeist. Whereas in England, there are several farms and actual nice houses, as opposed to prefabricated steel homes.

Here are a few things I’ve noticed about the English countryside: trees and shrubbery are still used to divide property. English houses are surprisingly homogeneous; I haven’t seen a house I’d classify as ‘wild’ or ‘zany’ or even ‘interesting.’

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A rant, if you can bear the scatological comments. I hate English toilets. Hate them. They often run out of water. In a related issue, they lack power. Moderate-sized shits have just not been taken care of in an effective manner. Armitage Shanks, maker of British toilets and faucets, fie on you!

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Bath is best represented by its cathedral (actually an abbey). The Bath Abbey is a compact, beautifully rendered and worked church. Featuring several flying buttresses and art, it’s one of the more interesting cathedrals I’ve seen. I especially enjoyed the angels climbing up to heaven on the walls. The interior, however, was no Chartres; the stained glass wasn’t that cool, and the windows were awfully squarish.

The reason Bath is well-represented by its cathedral is that Bath too, is compact and well-rendered. It is the perfect day-trip town, as it is compact, and with just enough cool things to keep one occupied for, well, the day. The architecture is quite interesting and all of the same style. There is a beautiful river.

Here is something that shocked me: as I left the train station, I heard a cackling call from birds. It took me a while to realize that these were seagulls. It had been so long since I’d heard a seagull! It hit me. Isn’t that strange?

The stipends we get are far too small. The only way to keep to them is if you never travel and only buy food with it. So train travel drained me of some funds, and of course the bookstore had to sell Raymond Carver’s Where I’m Calling From, when I’d only been mentioning Carver often during this trip. Damn you, money.

Anyway, Bath was a good time, and I had a wonderful bacon-avocado-red pepper melt.

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One last note from London yesterday, that I forgot to mention. I saw a recruitment station for the British military. Your eyes could slide over it unless you say the coats-of-arms (badges, perhaps?) and the pictures in the windows. There are no Uncle Sams.

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We just drank in a pub that C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkein drank at.