The Fabulous Life of Ponteuf

Swimming with the Romans

The Romans had it figured out. Even in an outpost border town like Bath, so far from the heart of the Empire, they built a town with comforts and conveniences that Britainwouldn’t have again until the 20th century. The Bathcomplex was large and functioned not only as a public bath but also as a temple to Minerva, the goddess of water. The hot springsbubbling up from the ground were a mystery, inexplicable though fortuitous. Thanks to Minerva were in order.

The original complex was more than just the central bath (which was in a huge covered room, not open as it is today). Similar to a spa today, there were treatment rooms, smaller pools, a cold plunge pool and heated sauna type spaces. The entire bathing ritual was quite elaborate – a typical visit might include massage and oil anointment by a slave in addition to the bathing. Off to one side was the sacred pool where the hot water bubbled to the surface – still bubbling today. Into this pool, people tossed curses scratched into thin sheets of lead: Minerva, please make the thief who stole my cloak pay with his blood. Minerva, Ludviticus, who stole my woman, must repent with his life. Unforgiving, those Romans.

The main pool was lined with sheets of lead, and although it certainly has been repaired, that same lining is still in place. The baths are some 15 – 20 feet below present day street level – they were discovered because a homeowner couldn’t stop water from filling his basement. A little digging revealed a rather complete Roman bathing complex. The Georgians unearthed the baths and built the appropriate columns and terraces right on top of them, so the main pool is Roman from the water to about 3 feet up, and Georgian after that.

Once they were rediscovered, the baths were in use again. Taking the waters was “good for one’s constitution” and the baths were a draw for the town even after high society had moved elsewhere. At some point (I think at the beginning of the 20^th century) the baths were closed – rather than making people healthy, taking the waters was making them sick. Considering that I drank a sample of Bath water when I was there at 13, I don’t really want to know what beasties were swimming in that water. Three weeks ago, the Bath spa opened (or reopened, depending on semantics). There is a large new glassy building housing the large baths and plunge pools, the treatment rooms – no different from the spas anywhere else, save for the water.

Separate from that building, though, at the end of a column lined arcade that connects it to the plaza in front of the Pump Room, is the Cross Bath. A small oval structure, obviously Georgian, it looks more like a temple than anything. Inside is a small lukewarm bath, open to visitors for 90 minute soaks. One end of the pool has a raised area where the hot spring water bubbles up, just like it has for hundreds of years. Thousands. We swam in that bath this afternoon, under a surprisingly warm but typically British cloudy sky. The water had the same metallic taste as the glass I drank from the Pump Room yesterday, and it wasn’t as hot as I would have liked, but it was another way for me to time travel. Even though I knew the “temple” I was in was built in Georgian times, it looked Roman enough for me to pretend, as had the wealthy of the late 1700s, that I was bathing with the Romans. Funny how after more than a 1000 years, the conquerors become the emulated.

The Difference between 13 & 31

Bath is a beautiful city. I like it because it allows me the luxury of pretend time travel – standing in the open arcade behind the Pump Room, it isn’t hard to imagine carriages lined up waiting to deliver the beautiful people to their evening entertainment. Sitting in the Georgian Garden behind the Circus I expect to see a woman in full skirts with a basket of lady-like embroidery perched delicately beside me. So little has changed or modernized since the late 1700s that I (and every other tourist with an imagination) can almost pretend that Beau Nash is hosting a party this very evening. Mike is quick to point out that any time period is pleasant when one is wealthy, but Georgian Bath is my little fantasy, and I’ll pretend that I wouldn’t find it tiresome at all to spend the season there.

As much as the Roman Baths are touted as the top attraction in town (and they are, admittedly, spectacular) I think the attraction is the town itself. We took the walking tour marked in our map; it took us from the Baths and the Abbey up to the Royal Crescent and the Circus at the top of town by way of small streets, formal squares and quiet gardens. The sun was shining this morning, and when we turned the corner onto the great lawn that spreads itself within the curve of the Royal Crescent, it wasn’t hard to understand why this arc of townhouses was the address of choice for years. Blue sky, puffy white clouds, flower patches that belong in a garden calendar – this is the charming picture of England that goes in the tourist brochures.

Little lanes open into little squares, shaded with trees and usually inhabited by small pubs. In good weather, like today, the tables and chairs spill out into the garden or the sidewalk. Enough of Bath is car restricted that sitting practically on the kerb (as they spell it here) isn’t a danger. With the sun shining and the air gentle, these pubs are a great draw – I wanted to sit in one, drink a lager and lime and watch the world go by. Today, I wanted to. The first times I came to Bath, it was the last thing I wanted to spend my time doing. I was in Bath! I wanted to see the museums and go shopping. Sitting in a pub, no matter how atmospheric, no matter how charming, was not on my agenda. At 13, I simply couldn’t fathom why sitting in one spot, talking, was any reasonable way to spend one’s vacation. Bob was enamored of the Star Pub, up towards the top of town, but the one I remember with more clarity was in a small square near the Baths. I remember sitting and sitting and sitting there. Sitting. When I could have been in a museum or a store. I remember thinking that when I was an adult, when I came to Bath on my own, I wouldn’t waste a single minute sitting in a pub.

We walked into that square last night. The buildings ring a small green space with a giant leafy sycamore type tree in the center. Time has stood still in that little spot, and even with the tourist center of the Baths a few hundred yards one way and the Sally Lunn bun shop a few hundred yards the other, it was quiet. The dreaded pub is called the Crystal Palace, and I told Mike how I had harbored such ill feelings against it at 13. How I wanted to be anywhere in Bath but there, and how I didn’t understand why everyone had to order a second beer, and why they all looked so happy.

We ate dinner at The Crystal Palace last night – shepherd’s pie, fish and chips and really good mushy peas. And we ordered a second round.

London Calling

We’ve actually done it! Home and associated responsibilities are some 5,000 miles away, and we have onward tickets. I’m writing from London, approaching midnight Greenwich Mean Time … what am I still doing awake? Trying to form good habits, actually – if I don’t get in practice of writing every night, this won’t be a very interesting blog.

LA to Chicago, Chicago to London, and thank the United gods for 1K status and Systemwide Upgrades – business class really does make long flights easier. We landed here noonish and met up with a friend who was coincidentally in London today as well. Did some “walk past” sightseeing with him and his friends – Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, Big Ben & the Houses of Parliament, Westminster & Piccadilly Circus. We heard Big Ben chime seven (Ben is actually the bell, not the clock tower) and ate a curry on Brick Lane in East London. This is our second visit to the curry houses of Brick Lane, and while I like them for the exceptional food, Mike is more attracted by the barter aspect of picking a restaurant. The promoters swarm and offer free drinks, discounts, free reordering … I think for him the fun is in the hunt. Not to say that we weren’t all pleased with a free round of Cobra beer and 30% off the bill…

Now it really must be bed time, because I haven’t had a full 8 hours of sleep in weeks. Tomorrow we pick up a rental car and head to Bath. (pronounce that right, would you, peeps? Baaa(like the sheep)th. Good, now we all sound British. Stonehenge and Baaath await.