Bath and Salisbury: The Arrival of Chad!

After Paris (and a few panicked days of last minute essay work/cleaning), the next leg of the Easter break journey began. What could be the best way to kick it off??? Well, if you can't tell by the photos, yes, that is another USA with me-- in short, Chad, who literally lives 3 minutes walking distance from my home in Kentucky, is studying abroad in Spain for a semester. Spain didn't have enough tea, so he decided to pop over to Bristol for a short while before we took off. It was AMAZING to see a Ft.Thomas face!

In an effort to impress, I started us off at the Roman Baths again. Sadly, it's gotten too warm now for it to be steaming the way it was the last time, but this is still one of my favorite places to visit around Bristol. I  love that it combines that fantastic sense of ancient mysticism with the simple humanity of the people: the bath house was, in a sense, a local hang out.

The other thing that is so cool about this place is that you can literally see how time has moved around it, each generation having adapted it slightly for their own purposes. The water level has risen and fallen, and the marks still remain on the bath walls. New decorations have been tacked on, like the sculptures and fencing that you can see around the top of the columns in this picture (19th century). The history even goes all the way back to the Celts, who worshipped "Sulis" at the holy spring- the Romans merged this goddess with their own, hence their "Sulis Minerva."

 This time, much thanks to Chad, I actually discovered a few more smaller baths that I hadn't seen before. We also actually went up into the "Pump Room" (fancy restaurant tacked onto the baths) and tried some of the water from the hot springs- haha, I hadn't gone in last time because I figured they'd charge me extra for it. Back in the 17th century, this stuff was all the rage- doctors had patients chugging gallons (pints?) of it everyday. It's got 43 different minerals in it (in comparison, tap water has about 6 or 7)... mmm, tangy.

Chad is now immortal. 

While still in Bath we decided to pop over to the Royal Crescent too. To me it looks like a charming half circle of apartments with a lovely view, but it's actually one of the UK's finest examples of Georgian architecture, built in the 18th century. Since then it's housed a number of sort of B-list celebrities over the years (ie: Marie Antoinette's hand maid, etc).

After Bath we moved on to Salisbury to check out the cathedral there. Legend says that the original bishop of the area, as he pondered where to build his fancy new church, decided to just shoot an arrow in the general direction that he was considering. The arrow hit a deer (hopefully not grazing any peasants on the way), and so the bishop followed the animal until it collapsed and died on this sacred spot.

Now, the MAIN attraction here is that the cathedral houses the best of only four existing copies of the original Magna Carta (how cool is that??). Tragically though, what we found out in the last 25 minutes of the cathedral being open was that they close the wing with the document in it... 30 minutes before the cathedral closes. Ridiculous.

This cathedral has the tallest spire in the UK! We were both a bit on the
exhausted side though, so we had to pass on climbing this one.

Fortunately though, the cathedral had several other items of interest, so we did more than just press our noses against the windows of the chapel where the Magna Carta document was kept. Observe: Chad standing in front of the oldest known working clock in the world (AD 1386).

Hey Chad, what time is it? Hu,hu,hu...

Also, they had several interesting (if not necessarily recognizable) characters buried here too: a prime minister, plenty of bishops, and here (below) was one of the women from history class who I'll never forget... because her life story is just too freaking depressing. If you look at the sculptures on this memorial, notice that the image of her lying down is actually raised, higher than her husband's. Why on earth is that, you ask? Well, she had some royal blood in her, just enough to make her technically a legal heir to the throne, and therefore more than enough to ruin her life.

All the rest of her family was on bad terms with the queen, especially her older sister, who was queen for about two weeks before Elizabeth quickly *ahem* "disposed" of her. Catherine's first husband (who she was married off to at 13 years old), panicked when this happened and, like a truly loving and supportive spouse, kicked her out of the house and had the marriage annulled, washing his hands of the business.

Yet, despite all this, Elizabeth still took something of a liking to the girl; at one point rumors were flying that the queen might even adopt her to groom her as an heir. All this changed, though, when Catherine met Edward Seymour. She and Edward Seymour took one look at each other and fell completely in love and, unable to wait or think for two seconds, ran off in the chilly winter to be secretly married in his home. For a few blessed weeks, I like to think Catherine was happy. Especially since after that, it all started falling to pieces.

Edward is sent away by the Queen to improve his education, and he leaves Catherine a precious document which can prove their marriage; in case anyone in his family dies, this document will allow her to inherit everything. Of course Catherine loses it, so when her good friend/Edward's sister dies, they get nothing. In addition, while she is still trying to hide the wedding, she also realizes she is quite pregnant. Eight months later, she starts desperately asking trusted allies to talk to Elizabeth for her (who STILL doesn't know). The first one panics and tells her to get lost, the second jerk panics and goes straight to the Queen, spilling the beans in the most indelicate way possible.

Naturally, Queen Elizabeth is furious. First of all, she wasn't big on Edward to begin with, and secondly, the girl had actually married him without her permission! Most importantly though, she was pregnant... which meant a potential son or, in other words, a very competitive heir. Elizabeth, in her infinite patience, reacts with what is technically restraint for a monarch: she has them all thrown into the Tower of London, and walks away hoping this is over with.

However, here's the glorious punchline: far from it being over, instead, a few months later, Catherine winds up pregnant AGAIN... with another boy. I'd hate to be the guard who had to share that news with the queen... Obviously, at this point, Elizabeth blows a gasket and has Edward and Catherine placed under house arrest on opposite sides of the country, and (just for good measure) has the Archbishop of Canterbury annul their marriage and declare them both (hahaha) "fornicators for their carnal copulation."

Catherine never sees her true love or oldest son again (until their family reunion in this memorial grave), and eventually dies of either consumption or misery (they can't be sure). And with all that in mind, ponder this: Catherine's sister, Lady Jane Grey, caught it ten times worse. I won't go into that though; way too wretched to tell.

Finally, I also just wanted to point out the Amnesty Candle, which sits at the front of the cathedral. No crazy story here, but even though it was just a simple gesture, it also struck me as a poignant piece. It specifically serves as a reminder of all those who are imprisoned or held hostage, and burns constantly to represent the continual prayers of the church for them. The harsh, black iron and vicious barbed wire surround the warm candle in the center: it is a small and simple construction, but very expressive.

Also notable:


When we grabbed lunch at a "family" pub in Salisbury, sitting in the table central (just to the right of us) was one of the most appallingly obnoxious families I've ever seen... and I'm from the States. For at least an hour, the parents let all three kids sprint in circles around the tables, screaming, pushing, shoving, staring at customers, thinking they were the cutest things on the planet the whole time. Finally, some customer, a weird looking old dude by himself (thankfully on the opposite side of us), says something to the kids. Admittedly, I don't know what it was- it could have technically been inappropriate (though if he'd given each one a smack, they would have earned it).


Well, crazy dad hears and FLIPS OUT. "You can't talk to my precious little angels like that!" It escalates until dad is shouting unbelievable things at this guy, "You're so ugly, there's not a girl here who would go out with you, etc." Kids are still running about totally unaffected, idiot mom is laughing like they're all having a good old time, and (I guess) the dad's brother is interjecting an insult every once in awhile. 

The restaurant finally sends somebody over who the dad proceeds to completely stomp on, since this guy can't break out of the British politeness/is kind of a push over anyway. Long story short: the stupid family got their way, and arseholes unfortunately exist everywhere.