Jawww

It's funny how a city can feel like an old friend after just a few days. I found myself wandering the streets of Bath, not really sure where I was going, but somehow always ending up somewhere interesting. The buildings are all in that honey-colored stone, and it gives the whole place this quiet, timeless feel. You don’t hear much noise—just the occasional creak of a gate or the soft murmur of people talking as they stroll along the Roman Baths.

I sat by the pump for a while, watching tourists take selfies and locals sip their tea. There’s something about the way the water flows there, steady and unbothered, that made me think about how life moves—sometimes slowly, sometimes with purpose, but always forward. I didn’t go to the museum, but I did stop by the Pump Room, where they still serve the mineral water. It tastes like history, or maybe that’s just my imagination.

The town is small enough that you can get lost without feeling lost. I stumbled into a bookshop that smelled like paper and dust, and the owner, a woman with silver hair and a knowing smile, asked if I was looking for anything specific. I said no, and she handed me a book anyway. I haven’t read it yet, but I like the idea that someone thought I might need it.

Bath isn’t loud or flashy. It doesn’t shout its beauty. It just is. And that, maybe, is the most charming thing of all.