Liu Yang

It's funny how a city can feel like an old friend after just a few days. I found myself wandering through the cobbled streets of Bath, where history seems to hum beneath your feet. The architecture is quiet but proud—each building tells a story without shouting. I sat on a bench by the Roman Baths, watching the sunlight dance across the water, and for a moment, it felt like time had slowed down just for me.

I met a local at a small café who spoke about the city with a kind of gentle pride. She wasn’t trying to sell me anything, just sharing her love for the place. We talked about the hot springs, the festivals, the way the light changes in the late afternoon. It was one of those conversations that doesn’t need to be dramatic, yet somehow feels meaningful.

I tried a traditional English breakfast, which was more than just food—it was a ritual. The eggs were perfectly cooked, the bacon crisp, and the toast just right. It wasn’t fancy, but it was comforting. I couldn’t help but smile as I ate, thinking about how simple things can make such a big difference.

Walking through the city center, I noticed how the people moved with a calmness that felt rare. There was no rush, no pressure—just a steady rhythm. I think that’s what I liked most about it. It wasn’t about checking things off a list, but about being present, even if just for a little while.