Bath in April is so gloriously nice and pretty it’s almost unfair to the rest of the world. Brits seem to care about the state of their neighbourhoods, and I see beds of carefully selected and planted flowers everywhere. There’s more tulips here than I’ve ever seen in the Netherlands.
Imagine a town shaped of ancient Roman buildings and houses in ‘Bath stone’, a beige-to-orange pastel stone that is quite comforting and rustic. It works to make everything feel more summery in spring and for everything to feel more autumny in winter.
Bath makes me breathe. Breathe in, exhale. It is a town of creativity and ease. Of polite queues at bus stops and students dressed up as Pokémon at night. Of Mediterranean scenes on a Saturday night when everyone is out on the town and I have to skip around short skirted legs and crying creatures with heels in their hands. Bustling with life and eerily quiet at the same time. It’s a place where I can laugh out loud with my roommates, have pic nics in the sun and talk in Dutch at the Royal Crescent or stand on the balcony with a freshly made coffee in hand and look at all the light touches. It is mine.
I can sit at the big table in the living room and write while listening to the new Sufjan Stevens’ album. I can be in peace with my thoughts or lose myself in free shots and crazy sweaty dancing with Colombians in our favourite pub in town. It’s a place where I can walk around in a floral dress and say hi to strangers. It’s the 2nd safest place in the world. It’s boring. It’s beautiful. It’s discovering new blossomed paths each day.
It’s lounging on the couch and wondering what I’m doing with my life. It’s feeling empowered after talking with my 83-year-old tutor and friend, and it’s feeling the anxiety of wanting to create but being left with empty hands. It’s missing home terribly. It’s rediscovering that this is my home. It’s discovering.
Bath. This is to you.