1) My first floor room (read: second floor) at the Abbey Hotel is elegant and comfortable: high ceilings, restrained colors, two tall windows overlooking a corner of the North Parade, and a bathroom with very flattering lighting. All it lacks is a writing desk, really.
1a) Even so, I have already started to destroy it. Yesterday I knocked a half full mug of tea off a night table; at least it landed in the trashcan! And this morning while opening the curtains I nearly took one down entirely. Obviously I will have to leave more than the usual gratuity for housekeeping.
2) Very good coffee at breakfast, along with eggs Benedict with yolks of deep orange, and superb almond croissants. The ground floor (read: first floor) breakfast room full of sunlight, marble tables, and old wooden chairs and leather-padded benches. I dawdled over The King Is Dead, Long Live the King! so long that I left a bit late for my 10 AM tour of No. 1 Royal Crescent.
The Circus.
3) Dashing through Bath with one eye on ye Gyygle Maps, I was remembering a Royal Oak lecture at the Athenaeum I went to back in the 1990s with my friend Mark that was all about Bath, recalling bits of it about specific places I was passing.
4) Finalmente, huffing and puffing a bit, I reached Royal Crescent. But, what’s this! The first house with a street number is 2! And the others are all even numbers! Where is this place I am supposed to be?!
4a) I had sped passed it. No. 1 is the house just off the Crescent, at its very tip. Oopsie!
Yup, that’s No. 1 Royal Crescent at far right.
5) And I had also mistaken the opening time with the start of the tour, so I almost broke down the door by accident; I certainly didn’t expect it to be chained when I opened it. Oopsie again!
6) The nice young lady radiating a smiling welcome got me all set up when the doors officially opened, and I was then able to embark on the self-guided tour. Ingeniously arranged and planned, each of the rooms includes audio (and sometimes video) conversations between a fictional family and their servants occupying this house during a Season in 1770s Bath: two parents, both rather conservative; two daughters, one a bluestocking, the other “in need of a husband;” one son, already embarking on a rake’s progress.
The withdrawing, with sisterly projections.
6a) In the dining room on the first floor, the parents are seen and heard from video screens mounted as gold-framed portraits. Upstairs in the withdrawing room, the two daughters are seen projected on the wallpaper, as is the music one of them plays on the harpsichord. And in the gentleman’s bedroom on the floor above that, the father is seen in one panel of a three-panel mirror, and the son in another. Most surprising, in the basement scullery, a dishtowel or flour sack or something is stretched over the kitchen table, on which is projected the hands of the cook as she makes her famous chocolate puffs, with all the ingredients there. She and the kitchen maid are heard gossiping about the family. I thought the whole thing was cleverly done.
7) After that, I had the luxury of time, wandering through nearby gardens and down unconsidered streets, seeing nothing that looked like the way I came. This led me to the home of Sarah Siddons as well as a stationery store called Meticulous Ink (in which Acts of Retail were committed).
7a) And I realized that Bath reminded me of Malta because of all the sandstone/limestone used in building.
7b) I also randomly turned into, hmm, I think it was called the Bath Markets, an interior bazaar of a number of stalls vending all sorts of things. Including a leather goods shop that, to my delight, had a deep red leather belt that is mighty close to my new oxblood Doc Martens. They say your belt and shoes should always match, but these shoes have not been easy to match. This purchase will get a lot of use.
8) Unexpectedly I was able to pop back up to my room. Before leaving I hoped to explain things to the front desk about the curtains, but I had to wait while a family of three was checked in by the one clerk on duty. Then a woman came down from upstairs saying that someone had been in her room and packed all her things and was cleaning, and why was this happening — and I knew I should get out of there.
9) Then to the Roman Baths, an essential visit. I didn’t use an audio guide, just followed the trails through this beautiful ruin that begins on a balcony overlooking the main pool on three sides. As I was nearing the end I saw three women talking together and heard the words “Jamaica Plain.” Those words only come together in one context. “Excuse me, but did you say ‘Jamaica Plain?’ I live by Doyle’s.” Turns out two of these ladies, a couple, are also in JP! And they are friends of one of my colleagues from ye Instytytte! What are the chances?! We had a very high-energy conversation.
Neighbors!
9a) The third lady, who they had just met, and I ended up having a separate conversation of interest in which we discovered that we are each writers writing for our own websites. And there may be an opportunity for collaboration. What are the chances?! This was absolutely delightful.
10) When I say the Roman Baths tour was interesting, that does not mean I retained much knowledge, only the experience. But one thing I did retain was that everyone of all conditions met there and used the baths as equals: rich, poor, etc.
10a) As at No. 1 Royal Crescent, video projections on the stone walls told the story of how the baths were used for socializing, bathing, and exercising. And I also tasted a bit of the spa water, offered from a fountain with paper cone cups: warm and flat and a bit metallic. As Fred MacMurray said in Double Indemnity, “Maybe a little rum would get this up on its feet.”
11) Between the tour and afternoon tea I wandered through bits of Bath, seeing the North Parade (which is a private pleasure ground one pays to access, not a public park) and the Pulteney Bridge. Some enormous tree trunks have stuck in the weir downstream from the bridge. I bought nail clippers in a pharmacy over 200 years old with a large quantity of its original fittings still there. (The state of my nails has become appalling in the last week.)
12) Tea at the Pump Room, fabled in song and story as part of Jane Austen’s Persuasion, was the one indispensable thing I had to do in Bath. I had lingered a bit outside, window shopping, before going in about ten minutes before my reservation . . . at the end of a queue of about 20.
12.a) From the moment I walked in, my expectations were exceeded. The handsome, rather dashing maitre d’ checked me off the list (after complimenting my hat and observing it matched my shoes) and directed a waitress to seat me at my table near the front of the room. I was brought a flute of English sparkling wine, and eventually a beautiful pot of Darjeeling, an oblong plate of sandwiches, and an étagere of expected and original tea goodies.
12.b) And the music! A trio — violin, cello, piano — sounded off from the the little built-in stage. Social media had put it into my head that Fred Astaire’s birthday was this week, and I’ll bet I was the only one present who recognized the entire soundtrack to Swing Time, including the waltz. A little later my heart spasmed when they launched into “Jalousie,” my very favorite tango — yes, even more than “La Cumparsita.”
12.b.i) At one point they played “Happy Birthday” and we all applauded for whoever it was.
12.c) Remember dahlings, scones are broken by hand, not cut with a knife.
12.d) Considering the importance of this room to society of the Regency, its Provincetown equivalent is unquestionably the Boatslip.
Christian was playing around with one of the photos he took of me in Leamington Spa.
13) For dinner (tea food, no matter how much of it there is, will not carry one all the way to breakfast), I went to an Italian place near the hotel. Etiquetteer has said that, if the server doesn’t understand your drink order, change your order. But a dry martini is so basic that I dug in my heels. “A martini is a cocktail with only two ingredients . . . ” “An espresso martini?” “No, just a regular martini with gin and dry vermouth . . .” “. . . ” “V-E-R-M-O-U-T-H.” “And tonic?” “[pause] No, that’s a gin and tonic.” She ended up bringing over the bartender, who understood. When it arrived, it was beautiful.
13a) My pollo e salsiccia was also beautiful.
14) Tonight I am staying in to write and watch a movie for the first time in just over ten days. Something Anglophilic, I’m sure.
15) Today has just been the best day!
