Bristol

Bristol is an interesting city. Right in the heart of it where we are staying, it's all shopping and franchises. There's not an independent cafe to be seen. But just head on out a bit, or catch the bus for five to ten minutes, and the franchises disappear, and people are doing bsuiness the old-fashioned way, marketing their shops so that passers-by will come in and where customer service really counts.

Out there too, you see art galleries and museums, courts of law and lawyers' chambers, hospitals, schools, the University of Bristol, and of course, it's England after all, pubs. Walking our washing to a laundrette this afternoon, we walked 20 minutes into an inner city suburb with Franciscan friars operating a church and charity right next door to the Islamic community's base. I liked that. To be sure, it felt rougher out there, but I felt safe the whole time.

Today was a day where we decided to try the Bristol Bus Service. We dutifully watched a YouTube vid on how to do this, how to download and use the bus app, and how to activate your ticket which you can pre-purchase. While this was all interesting and we felt we were ready, the whole thing came undone when the city put on some kind of half marathon or fun run. The streets were jammed, the buses ere running more than an hour late, and Chris and I had the wildest bus ride I've ever encountered.

You see, we caught the bus out to Clifton. Clifton is where Bristol's famous bridge is located. This is the Clifton Suspension Bridge of well-deserved fame, engineered by that Victorian innovator and clever man, Isambard Kingdom Brunel. IK Brunel is to be found everywhere is Bristol. There are portraits and images of his bridge as well as his other great feats of engineering.

Poor man died before his Clifton bridge could be completed. The towers either side were done, but the suspension cables that give it, and other suspension bridges, their unique look, were not in place before his untimely death by stroke in 1859, exactly 100 years before I was born. Untimely I'm not so sure about given that IK Brunel smoked 40 cigars a day and he was never seen without one in his mouth. He only slept four hours a day too, and devoted the rest of his waking hours to work. Not the healthiest lifestyle.

Our bus ride out to the bridge was relatively uneventful. We alighted and walked to the nearest side of the bridge and took photos from grassy parklands adjacent the nearer tower. Then we walked across it. At the very middle, you can reach up and touch the suspension cables where they hang lowest in their grand upsidedown arch.

Some of you may recall that in the last few years, I have developed a mild case of vertigo, so when I am up on these kinds of heights where I can see through to the abyss below my feet or just over the edge to the aforemoentioned abyss, my tummy turns (too much epinephrine) and my legs feel a bit wobbly (too much norepinephrine) and I experience a mild fear (limbic system upregulated and situational hypofrontality as part of a stress response). There is no rationalising my way out of it.

But dear reader, I wasn't going to let a bit of neurological disequilibration stop me from walking across Isambard Kingdom's bridge, not when it was right in front of me. No siree! Chris was good. He was calm with me and just set a gentle pace and I stayed with him. The problem with vertigo is that you don't get to see much because looking out or looking down makes it worse, so walking across the bridge looking at my feet and the roadway is clearly not the ideal view of the vast expanse set before me from such a high up vantage.

And what a structure! Brunel's bidge is gorgeous. It is not only an architectural marvel, it is a thing of great beauty. Each tower stands like a giant letter A, the suspension cables coming from anchorages on top and cables connected to bedrock deep in the earth on either side. It spans the River Avon and is truly majestic. I have seen the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge and I can now add a third awe-inspiring edifice to these great wonders of human ingenuity. And bridges! Who doesn't love a bridge! I love what bridges do. I love the very concept of a bridge. You're over here, and then, as if by magic, you're over there.

We went into the visitor's centre on the other side and had a good look around and read all the important information about Brunel himself, how he did it, and how it was finsished after he died, as well as some interesting tid bits about the bridge's place in local life over the years.

Coffee at a local Clifton cafe and then the bus ride from hell back to the city. A fifteen to twenty minutes ride typically. But today, with this half marathon/fun run thingy, the streets were jammed, and the bus was forced to stop multiple times. Our driver, a man from up north and with the most wonderful 'Time Bandits' accent, was cheerful and very clever as he wove this giant behemoth through tiny narrow streets, parked in on both sides, and forcing his way through the middle in places, otherwise we'd still be there. How he didn't take off a dozen side-mirrors from parked cars I'll never know. It was a magnificent feat and everybody on the bus was clearly impressed and thankful for such a ride to be in the hands of so skilfull a manoeuvre-er.

A drink at the hotel bar and dinner in again tonight, a walk in the park, and we're off on a day trip tomorrow to a city I have read about in Jane Austen's novels all my life.Read more