A'bathing We Will Go

As some of you may recall, I blogged about my first trip to Bath back in April of 2007. Pretty much, I loved the place. Unfortunately, other than a drive by with Lili and Shirley, I hadn't been back until this September.

This time I decided, come hell or high water, I was going to visit the Thermae Bath Spa and pamper myself properly. After all, when in Rome...

The hot springs in bath are the only hot springs found in the UK, so you can imagine the Romans (bathing addicts that they were) went pretty nuts about it. Hence the settlement of Aquae Sulis, which still stands today. Only we call it Bath.

You know me and my history thing. Not only have I got to hit every single bit of Really Old Roman... um... Stuff... within a 100 mile radius, I have to know just what exactly they did there. Which is probably why I adore R. S. Downie's mystery novels about a "Roman medic and reluctant sleuth" stationed in ancient Britain during the Roman occupation (The author actually lives not to far from my former abode in Denham and I've talked shop with her via email. Very nice lady.). But I digress...

I found myself with my bag slung over my shoulder, tromping through cobbled streets, the golden Bath stone of Georgian walls glowing softly in the gloomy gray afternoon. The sheer glass walls of the spa sparkled before me, the dichotomy of ultra modern surrounded by time-mellowed Georgian works in an odd sort of way. The air, heavy with mist from the geothermal springs, tickles my nose. This I remember well. Even the name, Thermae Bath Spa, denotes it's ancient origins. Thermae was the word the Romans used for their bathing complexes, the ruins of which still stand mere feet from the modern spa.

Like the Roman legions before me, I gird myself with toga and sandals (Ok, bathrobe and slippers.) and with fluffy towel clutched to my chest, I head for the hot springs. Unlike the Romans before me, I take the elevator. To the roof.

Admittedly, this picture was taken on a much nicer day, but I am undaunted by roiling black clouds. I am made of sterner stuff. The roof top pool is amazing, though only about room temp. Downright chilly on such a gloomy afternoon, but I soon get used to it and bob along calmly, enjoying the view. At least until the dark clouds turn to rain clouds and I head for warmer climes.

Another elevator ride takes me here:

The belly of the beast, as it were. The air is thick and heavy with the zing of minerals and the beautifully warm water stings my bare legs (Note to self: Next time don't shave the morning you plan to hit the hot springs.). I find a warm bubbling corner and relax with my own bright-blue pool noodle.

After awhile the clouds open up and dump rain on the city of Bath. I love it as the ceiling above is made of glass and I can see and hear the rain splatting against the steel and glass, but I am warm and dry. Well, not dry, but certainly warm. And drowsy. And very reluctant to leave when my 2 hour session is over, despite the fact I've turned downright pruny.

I drowsily make my way back to my little changing stall and get myself dried off and back in my street clothes, my very un-Roman swim suit safely sealed in a plastic bag. Still drowsy, I hit the now sunny street and the bright, fresh air.

No wonder the Romans dug this place so much.