Bonnets and Backpackers
September 10, 2026
Wow, you look amazing, I love your outfit, we all exclaim as Sophie joins us for lunch in the Common Room, her meal deal incongruous with the beautiful Regency clothes she's wearing. Did you make the bonnet yourself? Yes, she says, shyly tucking ribbons behind her ear to keep them out of her chicken wrap. I wanted to come for the Jane Austen festival but it's sold out, so I am here now instead.
Regency holds huge appeal, combining the familiarity of fixed social structures and romantic exploits, with a wistfulness for pre-industrial times. And with the Jane Austen Festival starting later this week, the hostel is buzzing with guests in town to attend balls and parades, and to visit the iconic Bath spots of Jane Austen's novels. Bonnets, made from soft fabric and with a tie under the chin, typify Regency wear so form an essential part of any serious female festival outfit. Like Sophie, many guests make their own, waiting - patiently and nervously - in a queue to use the hostel's sewing machine as they put finishing touches to costumes.
Yet even during the Jane Austen Festival, bonnets won't be the only hats around. The pink cowboy hat seems to have made a permanent home for itself on top of the reception clock. Found on a night out in Bath, this iconic item has been to many a party, on many a head, completing a wide variety of outfits worn by guests over the years, from Ally to Jason to Rocio, and played a starring role amongst our Queer Bath festivalgoers back in June.
Cyclists with bike helmets are a frequent hostel fixture, diverting through Bath on the way from Land's End in Cornwall to John O'Groats in Scotland, or heading over to Bristol the next day. Last Autumn, Julian arrived and departed by motorbike, wearing a big protective crash helmet, while Truan moved to and fro on his special wheel, with the combination of his transport mode and helmet channeling futuristic vibes.
Feeling naked at a music festival this summer after leaving his usual cap at home, Aris - a committed cap wearer - headed to the merch and bought a black corduroy cap from the band Ditz. The problem was he'd not yet listened to their music, so it was a relief when they came on stage and were really good. His Ditz cap looks great but I still like the botanical cap best. A cheap purchase from Greece - where we lived in a hostel on an island - it reminds me of that time of our lives.
Many years ago, I found a gorgeous trilby in the Brussels flea market and wore it forever, winter and summer. As we packed for our move to the hostel, I finally accepted that it didn't really fit my head and it was time to move on from the pronounced red stripe it left across my forehead. My new favourite is a lovely burnt orange beanie picked out from our lost and found box. I will happily wear it for six months of the year, outdoors and in, once my summer hat is put away for the season.
As a group of four Malaysian women gather in the Common Room for a shared meal, headscarved indoors for religious reasons, Aris and I talk about how not all headwear is created equal. The social and cultural meanings we attach to head hair also play out through headwear, reflecting how we understand freedom and attractiveness. While silk headscarves may be worn simply for their beauty, and wigs can be a fun party piece or expression of identity, they're also worn in the hostel by women who've lost their hair through chemotherapy. And in secular Western societies, signifiers of Islam can be easy targets for cheap political point scoring.
Balaclavas can protect the wearer's identity for good or bad reasons, while caps have taken on a more complicated meaning in the Trump era. Even the Regency bonnets soon to fill our Common Room and the streets of Bath held political connotations in Jane Austen's times, as markers of marital status and social class. As you watch the parade, see if you can spot any of the simpler, less-adorned bonnets that housekeepers, scullery maids and other working class women would have worn. There won't be many.
Photo creds Dave, Emily, Kate
Why are you travelling? When I ask our guests, most people say it’s for the experience: visiting the Roman Baths, doing the Skyline walk, checking out the Jane Austen festival. The idea in the ‘90s, when I first travelled, was to 'find yourself'. I used to mock this ironically - such a cliche! - but the truth is I did come upon personal insights in the deserts of Texas, the glaciers of New Zealand and the mangroves of India. Ainslie and I are making salad together. When you're old, I ask her, what will you remember about your trip to the Balkans? The people, she answers, not missing a beat. She's nailed it - there’s a more profound reason why we travel: to connect with people. Even in the most special of places, you’ll remember the people you were with, more than the place itself. Swimming across the Rio Grande in Texas was special - because I did it with Jane.
Manu, Maggie and Aymeric are spring cleaning - sorting out the last cupboards and cubby holes that are not yet fully-organised spaces. One goal is putting all gardening equipment in the same place - free Olio plant pots picked up from Twerton, found bamboo canes, and soil rescued from Abbey Hotel 's end-of-summer dismantling of their outdoor planters. Once we have a gardening store, it'll be easier for me and Leia to repot plants that have outgrown their vessels, and in turn transfer into small pots the little sprouts that have sprung roots in jam jars. We have grand future plans - cuttings, herb planters, hooks to hang baskets from ceilings - but first we need to organise our equipment. Our brave shoots of tradescantia zebrina have waited patiently over winter, after I found them blowing around in the street having been yanked from city floral displays by heavy winds or drunk students. Winter is always tough for plants and this year it's been a real struggle for ours. While we closed for building work in January, the lucky ones merely had to cope with daily coatings of brick dust, while those less fortunate found themselves teetering precariously on naked metal bed frames in a lightless Solsbury dorm, in a futile quest for pale, cold light from windows blocked by stacks of kitchen equipment. One little succulent died, likely already weakened by my overwatering.
The dorm room names we inherited when taking over Bath Backpackers formed a chaotic patchwork of Roman emperors, historic local figures, and different words for water that did nothing to offer guests a sense of harmony. People were fond of Jane Austen, and Aqua had a calming appeal, but “you’re in Brutus” always had a ring of punishment when we checked in guests. Julia got around this with, “you’re in the dorm, ‘Brutus’” - rendering the violence of the name a bit less, well, brutal. Still, we decided early on that we wanted to change the room names to make them more coherent and relevant, and while we were at it, we thought we may as well restore and paint our doors too. After six months of planning, designing and labour all rooms had beautifully-restored doors, complete with their lovely new names. Job done, we thought. But no. Only days after we re-christened our ground floor dormitory, we discovered we had given it a name celebrating the worst of Britain’s past. We had to think again.
Every day we try to make things a little bit better at Bath Backpackers. Some days that’s hard - we’re tired, lack inspiration, or business operations just take over. But with collective effort we stick to this spirit of small improvements - better pillows, more charging points, upgraded storage - that make daily life smoother and more pleasant for guests. Sometimes people tell us what would help: a hook here, an extra sign there. And sometimes we’re encouraged by what other people are doing. As we’ve gradually improved our toilets, we’ve been motivated by ideas from architects, cultural centres and local bars, and have applied what we’ve learned by seeing the world through their eyes. Maddie Kessler is a ground-breaking and award-winning architect. Rather than designing the starchitect-style buildings that typically make for fame in her trade, she focuses on what people really need in public spaces, including basics like benches and toilets. She instigated public opening of the basement toilets of the British Pavilion in Venice as part of her enquiry with Manijeh Verghese into public and private spaces. As Maddie says, toilets are important in enabling access to public space. Watershed in Bristol is a cultural cinema and inviting cafe, bar and arty meeting place. As well as hosting excellent film and events programmes, they recently invested in a major toilet refit to make them welcoming and inclusive, ending up with individual private cubicles that are open to all based on function rather than who gets to use them. At Bath Backpackers, we have two universal toilet cubicles on the first and second floors, with male and female blocks downstairs - and for now, that general configuration works alright. When we took over last year, the first floor toilet’s need for emergency remedial work made it one of our immediate projects. The floor listed so much that regular guests dubbed it the Titanic Toilet: you had to use special muscles to sit on the seat, while a gratuitous cartoon of Jessica Rabbit leered down from above. Rather than waste the piece of board she was painted on, she’s now turned to face the wall. Upstairs, once we replaced the toilet itself, where Bath’s hard water had clogged the plumbing with limescale and it had stopped flushing properly, guest complaints reduced to a trickle. And by the time Franco had deep cleaned, meticulously scrubbing every inch of floor, wall, door and all installations, the toilets started to feel ok. But Aris kept reminding us: ok is not enough, we want the toilets to be beautiful. Visiting Budo bar - the new Japanese izakaya on Pulteney Bridge from the team at the Grapes - we were inspired by the aesthetic of their gorgeous ground floor toilet which reuses installations from a family home, matched with animé wallpaper. It was indeed time to start making our toilets beautiful. Julia picked out nice curvy dispensers for soap and toilet paper in a striking shade of orange. We worked out from there with apricot walls, black vinyl flooring, and refurbished vintage mirrors. Then improvements stalled. The first coats of paint weren’t robust enough, so we upgraded with a wipeable version. Our rickety floorboards resisted smooth flooring, which at first looked like a tiny mountain range. And our new lock broke immediately: the company said this was a first, having sold thousands, while we were just relieved it had malfunctioned without trapping someone in the toilet. Guests were patient as we closed one cubicle then another to improve and fix. One by one, we solved the issues and each time the toilets emerged a little bit better than before. Excited to find an off-cut of foliage blowing listlessly around Kingsmead Square, I brought it home, unearthed a jam jar Adam had kept for reuse, and potted it in soil rescued from a couple of coriander plants Eva and Estefany used to cook a shared Mexican feast. Now at home on the shelf Chris installed from a piece of wood we already had, it’s sprouting new growth. Then we returned to Watershed, and before the screening we used the toilets, where a dispenser on the wall next to a bank of sinks invites you to help yourself if you need a period product. If you’re used to female toilets, you may be familiar with such occasionally-free items that make you feel welcome, seen and cared for. But until now Aris hadn’t come across them. Heading back after the film (Barbie - neither of our cup of tea, but brilliantly presented at Watershed by Trans Barbie and Drag King Ken) he said, we should do that. We should put a nice little basket of tampons and sanitary towels in our women’s toilets. I resisted: they’re ecologically terrible products, everyone with periods should be using menstrual cups by now, we don’t want to promote unnecessary sanitary waste. Sure, Aris replied, but not everyone does use a cup yet, and it’s welcoming for women, especially if you’ve forgotten to bring something. I was persuaded. Brushing my teeth in our women’s toilets a few days later, I noticed that people were already starting to use the tampons and sanitary towels carefully arranged in a cute little tray. Watershed’s gender-neutral toilets had made the needs of menstruating people visible to everyone, including Aris. And, prompted by a design feature typically hidden from men, he’d been right to instigate this small but important improvement.
Welcome to Bath! You are probably here for the city’s history. And you’ve likely chosen to stay at Bath Backpackers having seen our reviews. You may have read things you like, but could also be put off by comments about the building: “everything creaks”, “old building” and “lots of stairs” - all accurate. What you probably don’t yet know is that this old place where you’ll be sleeping, eating and hanging out has fascinating connections - to Stonehenge and stalactites, horse hair and orchards, gambling and promiscuity, nuns and - of course - Jane Austen. Ours is certainly an old building. 36 years older than the USA, it was built before Britain took India, Australia and other countries as colonies; before light bulbs, telephones or the steam engine were invented. Bristol and Liverpool were active slave trading ports at the time of construction. To be precise, the main house is 284 years old, while the archway (which the Kitchen sits above) is slightly younger, built 279 years ago. Look above the front door, and you’ll see our building’s name: Orchard House. It is so called because originally it was in the orchard that belonged to the monks of Bath Abbey. If you pay for your stay by PayPal you’ll see that your payment is made out to Orchard House, Bath Ltd. When we took over the hostel, we considered renaming it from Bath Backpackers to Orchard House, but decided not to: Orchard House is a beautiful name, but Bath Backpackers is elegantly self-explanatory, so more helpful for guests.
If you’re a true Backpacker - one of the literal ones who travel with no more than a bag carried on your back - you think carefully about every item you add to that pack. And naturally, you’re on a budget. But in the seasonally-changing weather of South West England, all this can be hard to square with looking good, and being properly equipped. So we're testing out a potential regular event: the Swap Shop. Guests can bring stuff they don't need any more, and we'll put it out in our Common Room along with unclaimed lost property. People can rummage through and pick up whatever they need for the next stage of their journey. Any bits and pieces left at the end, we'll take to the Charity Shop. We love exchange. Money doesn't have to pass between people for things to be good or valuable. And so, just as the process of exchange can create an enjoyable occasion in itself, the act of resisting consumption, of avoiding endless purchasing of new things, can also bring great pleasure to daily life. We minimise our own purchases, thinking about where everything we buy or acquire has come from, how it's been made, whether we really need it. For Aris this means being a cartoon character. I wear the same clothes all the time, he says, so I'm recognisable. His charity-shop top and grey trousers - once Kate's - create a distinctive look, so he's easy to point out to guests: the curly-haired guy in the cream jumper. Kate's moratorium on buying stuff started during Covid, when she went to meet Aris in Greece, carrying a backpack with two dresses and one pair of trousers for what was meant to be just a long weekend visit. Borders closed, and she was willingly stuck - wearing her three outfits on rotation, and realising that was completely fine. Five months later, we got married - Aris wearing a pair of trousers passed on by his boss's girlfriend, with Kate in one of her two dresses - the white-ish one, discovered ten years ago in a market in Brussels, rifled for five euros in a pile of second hand stuff piled on the cobblestones. Last year, as we organised ourselves to take over Bath Backpackers, thinking hard about what stuff we really needed, Kate realised she had enough clothes for a lifetime. If the small backpack was fine for what ended up being nearly a year away, then the stuffed wardrobe of fancy clothes, bought from classy shops in her previous life as a Busy Important Person, was more than enough - forever. In sorting out her family home she added a few sentimental treasures: her dad's cagoule, brother's shell suit jacket, and a beautiful cocktail dress her mum had once worn. When we uncover things in our possession that we no longer use, we pass them on. Clothes and other objects need to be brought to life and used, and if we're not going to do that ourselves, others can. Julia looks great in the brown jacket Kate no longer wears, and it's so much more satisfying to give it a new life than to leave it sadly in the cupboard. Sometimes, though, you really do need something specific. Julia is an expert on the charity shops of Bath and can give guests personal tips on the best spots to root out whatever they need, without contributing to the endless stream of fast fashion trash. Sometimes she’ll take people to visit her favourite spots for cool, cheap, second hand clothes. We’re even renaming one of our bedrooms Moorland, in honour of Moorland Road in Oldfield Park, home to some of the best charity shops in Bath. If you need something only for the short period of time while you’re staying with us in Bath, please just ask. If we can lend you something, we’ll gladly do that - whether it’s a book, a bicycle or a bar of soap. We’d much rather you help us get best use from the things we already have, than that you feel obliged to buy something you aren’t going to keep using for many years to come. If you’re a bit crafty and want to salvage a favourite item, you can use our sewing machine to restore it and extend its life. Hostels focused only on their bottom line can be tempted to charge for things like borrowing towels, hair dryers or adaptors. They might see good business sense in getting you to pay £2 to rent lockers for luggage storage before check-in and after check-out. We don’t want to do that. We’d rather guests ask us for what they need. If that leaves them with a feeling of abundance, then in return they might decide to share something with other guests, back with us, or with another person encountered on the next stage of their travels. When guests are inspired by the plentiful shelf of Sharing Spices in our kitchen to cook a meal, share it with other guests, and make connections over good food, that makes us feel happy. We’re trying to stock up our games corner at the moment, so that guests exploring The Vaults can find Jenga and Pictionary, as well as chess and Connect Four. We’re foraging in online second-hand forums for the games we seek, and the secondary pleasure of this is what it tells us about people living in different parts of our region. Bathonians (which is how the people of Bath are known) are, it seems, not avid game-players. But it turns out that Taboo is especially popular in Southampton and South Wales, while Risk is intensely loved in Bristol. All our plants are gifts from friends and volunteers - check out the trailing plant from Ana above the clock in Reception, the succulent in the Women’s Showers given to us by Natasha, and the orchid from Eden on the Common Room mantelpiece. Or they are found for free online. Kate loves scouring Bath for struggling plants in need of a new home, while Leia has put great love into repotting and coaxing back to life the more fragile specimens, nurturing plants with foods she’s made from leftover coffee grounds and stewed banana skins. Finding cheap and free resources, and living light, is a way of life for backpackers. We want to help our visitors experience the joy of resisting the consumption trap. And through borrowing, and in turn through offering things to others, in finding profound pleasure in the arts of sharing and exchange. Maybe you’ll see someone wearing a top you brought along to the Swap Shop later that evening. Maybe they will invite you to join them to share the food they’ve just prepared, by way of thanks. Maybe you’ll explore Bath together the following day, and perhaps this will be the start of a lasting friendship. We don’t always know where exchange will lead. But we do know it can create opportunities for great joy.
