Bath at Night

I'm sitting in my tiny hotel room just off of Great Pulteney Street in Bath. The hotel is in a Georgian townhouse, which like almost every other building here is about four stories tall, with a basement. Dwellings here are deep but narrow, like big books on a shelf, all bound in honey-colored Bath stone. This means stairs, and lots of them. I'm lying on my bed with the laptop keeping my thighs nice and toasty warm, and about a foot beyond my headboard I can hear pretty much everything happening on the street below through the single-pane window.

The noise isn't bad most of the time. Everybody wants to go up and down Great Pulteney Street, not this branch-off, since there aren't any shops along this road. Bath is pretty quiet by 10 pm anyway. The stillness is what makes the noise there is stand out a bit.

For example, for the past two nights between 11 and midnight, a lady wearing high heels marches up the street. I don't know who she is or where exactly she's going, but I can hear the clop of her shoes practically from Pulteney Bridge. The sharp staccato slowly crescendos as she walks right under my window until I'm wincing a little with each CLOP (it's the Chinese heel torture!), and then it finally begins to fade.

Last night it reminded me of the clopping noise I used to make with my mouth when playing Barbies with my little sisters. Even at the tender age of whatever age I was, I knew that it's not a high heel if it doesn't have the clopping noise.

Last night was also X and Y's big breakup. X took it harder, screaming out, "WE'RE #$%@#%$ OVER! WE'RE @$#%@^ OVER, Y!" from the doorway of her house, I guess, which was down the street from my hotel from the sound of it. I could hear the exiting Y calling out jeers in a teasing voice as he walked away past my window, provoking X each time into another round of "WE'RE #%@#%^ OVER!" (The lady doth protest too much, methinks.)

Just a moment ago, a fellow walked down the street, sounding like he was talking to someone. "It's a lovely color, though," he said. I guess the person he was talking to didn't hear, because the man got progressively louder. "I said, 'It's a lovely color.' I said, 'It's a lovely color!' I SAID, 'IT'S A LOVELY @#%@$ COLOR!' IT'S A LOVELY @#$%@# COLOR!!"

I have to admit that part of my amusement at hearing these kinds of things comes from the fact that they're not Americans. We don't have a monopoly on dysfunctional relationships or anger management issues! Woohoo! Otherwise, the noise doesn't bother me. I'm too tired at night from going up and down so many flights of stairs to do anything more than laugh to myself and go to sleep. Tomorrow I'll be back in the quiet countryside again.

First Pics

This trip to England has been basically an excuse to finally get me a digital camera. Here are some pics I took before I left, for your viewing pleasure. :)

Everything Is Smaller

My initial response to England is this: Everything Is Smaller. I think that's one of the main differences between here and the US. The second (and related) is, Everything Is Older.

The biggest (ha!) thing that strikes me is how much smaller the houses generally are. Smaller doors, smaller rooms, narrower hallways, steeper stairwells. This place is directly opposite of the dozens of new, gigantic homes I watched filling the valleys of Utah, with few windows and tiny, freshly planted trees. It doesn't seem to be a matter of not having enough room for a larger house, because most English properties I've seen have extensive backyards (while American houses increasingly have very small yards), but people seem content to live in much less space here. They're pretty creative with what space they do have, none of it's wasted, so you have these interesting nooks and crannies. America is not generally a nook and cranny nation, but I find that I love them. I have to admit that, by and large, smaller usually works just fine.

So instead of feeling cramped, I've been wondering why exactly we need so much room in the States. Is it that we value living space more than the English, who value their gardens more? Is it just that the older houses in England were smaller, so they're used to it, while America is comparatively new and the land is great and spacious? I've been thinking maybe it also taps a little into America's focus on the individual. A person's importance is reflected in the amount of space in his/her home, whether or not that space is actually used.

Not that every person in America is arrogant and self-important—certain things in the US, like stairs and doorways, probably have to be a certain size according to laws and building codes anyway. But it's interesting to consider a cultural difference.

However quaint and thought-provoking, smaller houses can be a little strange for a tall person. One of the first things I noticed was the placement of the doorknobs at the Cameron's. I was just short enough to not bump my head on some of the old doorframes, but I had to stoop a tiny bit to use the knob. The picture is me at my little bedroom door, standing at full height. Is the knob low, or am I gargantuan? That is the question.