I am no longer in Bristol, but I was having so much fun that keeping up on my writing was impossible. But I cannot just skip over the most beautiful town I have seen. It deserves more: Perhaps more than I can give it.
Above is the view from my room- an old church. The building in which I stayed houses international students-but was built in the 1700s as a home with servent quarters and a big kitchen in the basement for them to prepare food. Then it came under Methodist ownership for nuns or something. It is still owned by the methodists which adds a few irritating rules-no alcohol (though wine was recently allowed) and no guests overnight.
The place has a lot of history- one can feel it. There is a second set of narrow and steep wooden stairs where the servents would go between their rooms to the basement kitchen. The stairwell to my room is curved with a worn wooden railing. There are 4 floors- creeky and drafty.
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| The common room where we ate breakfast each mornng |
Bristol is where my friend Seico was wrapping up her masters in molecular neuroscience. She had a room downstairs. One of the memories I am most fond of was our cooking rituals-yes I know it is all about food for me. We cooked a lot and though there were tables to eat on down in the basement where the kitchen is, my friend preferred to bring our food up to this room on a platter. Often joined by her good friend and classmate Stephen- this ritual felt the most British to me. For breakfast our platter consisted of a tea kettle of coffee, quaint little china with warmed scones, freshly whipped cream, 6 or 7 jams and marmalades, fruit salad and eggs. A wonderful start to the day.
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