![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustThe long-awaited - by me, if by no-one else - post, covering that part of my weekend in Bristol spent wandering around looking at things (as opposed to sitting in a room talking about books). It strikes me as more than usually eccentric, in the mismatch between the things I most want to talk about and the pictures I most want to post: in an ideal world, pictures and text would illuminate each other, but there's nothing perfect about this world. A case in point: I want to start with a picture of my hotel, The Bristol, because it illustrates several things about it. It's just unfortunate that it's rather a dull picture. It does have the merit of being taken from the conference venue (the Watershed):
Hence the conversation (about other people's dinner plans):
E: "The Bristol? But there's a Hotel Bristol in every city in Europe!"
Me: "Yes, but only one of them is actually visible from here."
My room was on the first floor, overlooking the river - which means it was facing an area lively with night-time bars. It was heavily double-glazed, and it needed to be, but it was also screened by trees. I never closed my curtains, and I woke to dappled light, glinting off the water and patterned with leaves, which was a delight. Below the trees you can see the hotel restaurant, where I breakfasted and watched people walking along the harbourside under the trees.
I had got very lost on my way from the station to the hotel: extensive redevelopment was going on, and my map no longer matched the terrain. Despite which, things looked promising to begin with: signage offered me locations which were on my way. And then, of course, there were no more signs... But people were friendly, and eventually I found landmarks and then the hotel itself. Next day, supplied with an up to date map, I set off confidently - and indeed, I didn't get lost at all, though I never did find my way back to that very promising street with the restaurants on one side and the harbour on the other (I think, given one more try, I could now find it, but perhaps that's just the delusion). Back to Queen Square, then, which felt like home, the point at which I had ceared to be lost. If it is Queen Square, why does the statue at its centre depict a king (William III, with a seagull on his head, to be precise)? Who knows?
Having turned to inspect the statue, I continued until I reached the water: naturally, you have to make your way through the car park for the best view (which I've already posted here). From here I followed the waterfront as far as the corner:
where John Cabot sits patiently outside the Arnolfini Gallery, gazing across the water at the replica of his ship, the Matthew. I half-intended to visit the Arnolfini on Monday, it being so conveniently on my doorstep (this wouldn't have worked, as it is closed on Mondays: I am a bad tourist) so I meant to walk right past, but was lured inside to the bookshop, where I bought several postcards and a book. Then I meant to walk on, under the trees past the hotel, where I had watched passers-by as I breakfasted. This is the nearest I come to a picture that expresses what a pleasant space this is:
but I deferred that walk, because the footbridge lured me across towards my destination, via the funfair. Like so many footbridges, it has become a place to declare your love by means of a padlock, and it had many, many padlocks. But what relationship does this constellation affirm?
I was Not At All Tempted by the big wheel, even before I heard an exasperated mother explaining to her child just how much it would cost. The Tourist Office offered entertainments that would have tempted me, if my programme had not been fully committed (street art! walking tours! walking tours of street art!) and others that would not (Concorde; Blackbeard the Pirate). It's all about Brunel and Banksy, and why not? But I bought nothing there - not a map, not even a postcard - but headed next door to the Watershed for coffee and lunch before registration (a very tasty caponata which bears almost no resemblance to the one I make).
I've already written about the conference in inordinate detail, so it will be obvious that I did very little wandering about over the next 48 hours. A brief expedition that evening in search of food failed to find the street of restaurants I had struck on my way to the hotel, but did score me a rather fine piece of street art:
Emerging from the café which is semi-detached from the hotel, I had a fine view of the above-mentioned nightlife:
The conference ended at midday on Sunday. The rain was sheeting down, but it had been doing this on and off all weekend, so I didn't lose hope. My first thought was to head for the M Shed museum, but as I did so the rain eased off, and there were interesting things to look at along Princes Wharf:
so I carried on. I made a slight detour up Gaol Ferry Steps to the footbridge:
because the name Gaol Ferry Footbridge is irrestible, and was rewarded with an information board explaining how the Avon New Cut had given Bristol's "floating harbour" its present form in the early nineteenth century. Also crusty paintwork, and something that isn't daisies growing in the crevices:
not to mention interesting salads for lunch at an organic café / supermarket. Then on as far as the SS Great Britain:
which I did not visit, because entry was a serious price, and I wasn't serious. Maybe another time (maybe withdurham_rambler). But I liked their in-period 'mo entry' signs.
Then back the way I had come, by now in warm sunshine, a brief visit to the M Shed to use the facilities, admire their Banksy and be confused by the exhibits, arranged as if for some sort of treasure hunt. There was an entire display case devoted to Fred Wedlock, but not a sniff of the blue glass I associate with Bristol. I didn't have the energy to play games, but nor did I take the most direct route back to the hotel, though by now I was more or less heading that way - and a chance meeting in Queen Square with F. and E., who were just now making their getaway, was the perfect close to the day's adventures. The little shop next door to the hotel had wine and sandwiches, and I had books and internet: my evening was sorted.
But my time in Bristol wasn't quite at an end: I had booked an afternoon train, which gave me one more morning to look round, and I wanted to spend it visiting the cathedral. It doesn't dominate the city, the way that Durham cathedral does, but it kept creeping up on me while I was looking at something else:
The colourful window belongs to something called 'We the curious' which did not make me want to investigate, and the pink thing is a memorial to Bristol-born physicist Paul Dirac (apparently there's also a statue of Cary Grant, but I didn't see that): but look! stealth cathedral... Turn around, and the cathedral is hiding, but there are steps, and lamps:
which lead up to a green, and to City Hall, which has unicorns on its roof, one at each end of its elegant arc:
There's a magnificent public library:
snuggling up to the Norman gatehouse which is what survives of the abbey which later became the cathedral. And then there's the cathedral itself. The leaflet instructs me to be impressed by the east end, which is one of the finest examples in the world of a medieval 'hall church', which means that the vaulted ceilings of the nave, choir and aisles are all the same height, and it's all very lofty and elegant. I'm sure it is, but I was more interested in the details. From the series of spectacular gothic starbursts which shelter past abbots:
to these elegant gentlemen hanging out with a friend (whose name I'm afraid I didn't catch):
to this little group of musicians in the Lady Chapel:
there is something for every taste. There's also an early and very beautiful Chapter House, and, as I was saying earlier, a garden.
I could go on, but this is quite long enough. tl;dr version: I had a lovely time, and took lots of pictures.
Hence the conversation (about other people's dinner plans):
E: "The Bristol? But there's a Hotel Bristol in every city in Europe!"
Me: "Yes, but only one of them is actually visible from here."
My room was on the first floor, overlooking the river - which means it was facing an area lively with night-time bars. It was heavily double-glazed, and it needed to be, but it was also screened by trees. I never closed my curtains, and I woke to dappled light, glinting off the water and patterned with leaves, which was a delight. Below the trees you can see the hotel restaurant, where I breakfasted and watched people walking along the harbourside under the trees.
I had got very lost on my way from the station to the hotel: extensive redevelopment was going on, and my map no longer matched the terrain. Despite which, things looked promising to begin with: signage offered me locations which were on my way. And then, of course, there were no more signs... But people were friendly, and eventually I found landmarks and then the hotel itself. Next day, supplied with an up to date map, I set off confidently - and indeed, I didn't get lost at all, though I never did find my way back to that very promising street with the restaurants on one side and the harbour on the other (I think, given one more try, I could now find it, but perhaps that's just the delusion). Back to Queen Square, then, which felt like home, the point at which I had ceared to be lost. If it is Queen Square, why does the statue at its centre depict a king (William III, with a seagull on his head, to be precise)? Who knows?
Having turned to inspect the statue, I continued until I reached the water: naturally, you have to make your way through the car park for the best view (which I've already posted here). From here I followed the waterfront as far as the corner:
where John Cabot sits patiently outside the Arnolfini Gallery, gazing across the water at the replica of his ship, the Matthew. I half-intended to visit the Arnolfini on Monday, it being so conveniently on my doorstep (this wouldn't have worked, as it is closed on Mondays: I am a bad tourist) so I meant to walk right past, but was lured inside to the bookshop, where I bought several postcards and a book. Then I meant to walk on, under the trees past the hotel, where I had watched passers-by as I breakfasted. This is the nearest I come to a picture that expresses what a pleasant space this is:
but I deferred that walk, because the footbridge lured me across towards my destination, via the funfair. Like so many footbridges, it has become a place to declare your love by means of a padlock, and it had many, many padlocks. But what relationship does this constellation affirm?
I was Not At All Tempted by the big wheel, even before I heard an exasperated mother explaining to her child just how much it would cost. The Tourist Office offered entertainments that would have tempted me, if my programme had not been fully committed (street art! walking tours! walking tours of street art!) and others that would not (Concorde; Blackbeard the Pirate). It's all about Brunel and Banksy, and why not? But I bought nothing there - not a map, not even a postcard - but headed next door to the Watershed for coffee and lunch before registration (a very tasty caponata which bears almost no resemblance to the one I make).
I've already written about the conference in inordinate detail, so it will be obvious that I did very little wandering about over the next 48 hours. A brief expedition that evening in search of food failed to find the street of restaurants I had struck on my way to the hotel, but did score me a rather fine piece of street art:
Emerging from the café which is semi-detached from the hotel, I had a fine view of the above-mentioned nightlife:
The conference ended at midday on Sunday. The rain was sheeting down, but it had been doing this on and off all weekend, so I didn't lose hope. My first thought was to head for the M Shed museum, but as I did so the rain eased off, and there were interesting things to look at along Princes Wharf:
so I carried on. I made a slight detour up Gaol Ferry Steps to the footbridge:
because the name Gaol Ferry Footbridge is irrestible, and was rewarded with an information board explaining how the Avon New Cut had given Bristol's "floating harbour" its present form in the early nineteenth century. Also crusty paintwork, and something that isn't daisies growing in the crevices:
not to mention interesting salads for lunch at an organic café / supermarket. Then on as far as the SS Great Britain:
which I did not visit, because entry was a serious price, and I wasn't serious. Maybe another time (maybe with
durham_rambler). But I liked their in-period 'mo entry' signs.Then back the way I had come, by now in warm sunshine, a brief visit to the M Shed to use the facilities, admire their Banksy and be confused by the exhibits, arranged as if for some sort of treasure hunt. There was an entire display case devoted to Fred Wedlock, but not a sniff of the blue glass I associate with Bristol. I didn't have the energy to play games, but nor did I take the most direct route back to the hotel, though by now I was more or less heading that way - and a chance meeting in Queen Square with F. and E., who were just now making their getaway, was the perfect close to the day's adventures. The little shop next door to the hotel had wine and sandwiches, and I had books and internet: my evening was sorted.
But my time in Bristol wasn't quite at an end: I had booked an afternoon train, which gave me one more morning to look round, and I wanted to spend it visiting the cathedral. It doesn't dominate the city, the way that Durham cathedral does, but it kept creeping up on me while I was looking at something else:
The colourful window belongs to something called 'We the curious' which did not make me want to investigate, and the pink thing is a memorial to Bristol-born physicist Paul Dirac (apparently there's also a statue of Cary Grant, but I didn't see that): but look! stealth cathedral... Turn around, and the cathedral is hiding, but there are steps, and lamps:
which lead up to a green, and to City Hall, which has unicorns on its roof, one at each end of its elegant arc:
There's a magnificent public library:
snuggling up to the Norman gatehouse which is what survives of the abbey which later became the cathedral. And then there's the cathedral itself. The leaflet instructs me to be impressed by the east end, which is one of the finest examples in the world of a medieval 'hall church', which means that the vaulted ceilings of the nave, choir and aisles are all the same height, and it's all very lofty and elegant. I'm sure it is, but I was more interested in the details. From the series of spectacular gothic starbursts which shelter past abbots:
to these elegant gentlemen hanging out with a friend (whose name I'm afraid I didn't catch):
to this little group of musicians in the Lady Chapel:
there is something for every taste. There's also an early and very beautiful Chapter House, and, as I was saying earlier, a garden.
I could go on, but this is quite long enough. tl;dr version: I had a lovely time, and took lots of pictures.
