Sorry to be back, but here in Toronto, I just realized that if I saw these scenes in Bristol, I would’ve posted photos of them here. Let’s call this a closing of the circle. Thanks again!
Well, guys, I’m here in the Yotel at Gatwick Airport. Pretty neat, huh? It’s like a single sleeper on a VIA Train, only with a tv, a bathroom and not all that pesky movement.
So tomorrow morning, I fly back to Toronto. Matt remains in Bristol through the holiday season, with mince pies and Christmas Crackers and goose and wearing paper crowns on people’s heads and the X Factor winner hitting #1 in the charts (unless a great rebellion occurs, which happens).
And thus ends my odyssey in Bristol and Somerset, and therefore this Tumblr. If you stumbled here late, there’s a fair bit to go through to eat away your time. Thanks to everyone who liked or reblogged or favourited. And of course, thanks to everyone who crossed my path in Gloucester, Cardiff, Portsmouth, Clevedon, Weston-Super-Mare…and of course, good ol’ Brizzle. You’ve all been gert lush. Good day, eh.
More from Weston-Super-Mare, on the other side of the pier, while we actually had some sun! Low tide is pretty impressive, especially when you consider the water fills up all this space about 2 hours later.
Here’s what was a few feet away and a couple hours earlier from what I posted yesterday: from Weston-Super-Mare’s Grand Pier, which had a massive fire in 2008.
Curry houses (Indian restaurants) are a big deal in England, and have been for decades. In this small town of Clevedon, we’ve seen at least six of them. Yesterday, we were at the very excellent pub the Royal Oak, and Matt asked folks what they thought was the best Indian place in town. We got three different answers, rather hotly contested. We ended up going to a fourth place, which was also great.
Can’t account for those other two places… :-)
And now we’re in Clevedon, which is a 40-minute bus ride west of Bristol. Matt was going to work here, but the agency called today saying the client has bailed and is hiring fewer people. Bastards. Still, we’ve been here since yesterday and it’s been a really nice place, though involving too much walking up and down a big hill.
Also, there’s this pier on the Severn River. Somewhere over there is Wales.
Last night, we arrived at the Rock’n’Bowl Motel, which is a “motel” in name only because I guess they think it sounds cool and American. It’s a hostel with dozens of people from all over the world (so far we’ve heard Italian, Spanish, French, Portuguese, German and Australian), many of whom are staying for months while they work or study and learn English better. For a hostel, it’s a pretty great place, with a large shared kitchen, hallway doors only opened with keycards, and as you’ll see, some decent artwork. And yes, there is bowling, along with a very good bar (though they offer milkshakes they can’t entirely make properly - still gotta love the intention), pizza and what seems like a valiant attempt at a midwest US vibe: plywood walls, Old Milwaukee and Blatz signs, a Stroh’s neon light. Oh, and unlike our last UK bowling experience, they do make the bowlers wear bowling shoes. However, those bowlers keep wearing them walking out into the rainy courtyard to smoke. :-)