I am pleased to confirm that I have packed light enough to allow me to haul all of my things up and down a rather large hill without any discomfort, though much exhaustion. This particular hill was found in Bath, one of its seven surrounding hills. The view from the top was well worth it, even in the misty rain.

But this is all a bit ahead of where I last left off. In between has been St. Paul’s, various wanderings about London, many tube rides, a bus ride, a free concert, several bike rides, and a very, very large anti-austerity/anti-conservative/related march down the boulevard near the palace in London. This was a sight to behold. Google tells me that 150,000 or so people turned out, which turns out to be an awful lot when you line them up 10 or so wide. It was a cacophony of marching bands, chants, sing-alongs and car horns. I’m not sure if the concert was related, though there were many banner-wielding recent marchers in that general area. I’ve never been so close to so many people motivated by a political aim. It was heartening.

But that all seems ages ago from there here and now of Bath. Again, a place about which I’m not sure I have much original to say. It’s, it’s relaxed, there are some fantastic buskers to be found. The hills around and the views of happy sheep on the way here from London have thoroughly inspired me regarding biking around the UK. The logistics are still a large question mark, especially as some of these hills would be a challenge on a fully loaded bike, but I am determined to spend time on two wheels in this country (cue confusion regarding the status of the UK’s various constituent parts). Speaking of a return to the UK, I spent the evening with a pair from Louisiana (no discernible accent L) who are headed to northern Scotland to wilderness camp, and if they can do it in November, I’m reassured about spring. Anyway, lot of future inspiration, but plenty to be happy about in the present/immediate past. Climbed two of Bath’s hills (only one with the pack) to see what could be seen. Georgian architecture is certainly different, and while it can be quite striking, I am forced to wonder why it is that this sort of style, in which rows of identical buildings are neatly lined up (sometimes with a curve) is so vaunted, while everyone (with any taste myself included) condemns suburbs for the same attributes. Someone Bath pulls it off though, whether it’s history or compactness, sheer build quality (an attribute which the plastic shells of modern suburbs clearly lack) or some other aesthetic magic. It’s lovely.

And so is England, really. It’s what you’d expect, really. Rolling hills and plenty of big old trees and sheep and horses and many things made of brick. Also rain. And mist. And fog, and drizzle and so on. And somehow it feels so different. It’s nothing like Canada. Almost every inch of it (from my very, very limited perspective) has been tamed, and shaped. It’s lovely, and I can’t help loving the hills and the small fields, dotted with trees and lined by small hedges. It’s lovely. I’m not sure if this is accurate, but it seems at times that it’s almost objectively lovely. People of one stripe or another have had centuries to look at a place and think to themselves, “well, wouldn’t it be lovely if….” and then they put a wall just here, or a tree there, add this, take that away. It’s a perfected landscape, but without the weird, hugely artificial feel of a modern, constructed courtyard/garden/whathaveyou. More organic, somehow. Collaborative, over space and time.