bathbackpackers-213672

Why Are You Travelling?

Sun, 20 Oct 2024 21:44:55 GMT

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.

Hostel life is not for the faint hearted. In sociable hostels, you get to make profound connections with people in a way you can't in other spaces. Connections coalesce quickly, and this can be more intensely so if you're solo. Sounds counter-intuitive? Think of it this way: you're more likely to meet people when you're away by yourself than if you're with a friend or partner. Hanging out can be so close, so intimate - like a house-share but more so. You're not only sharing the bathroom and kitchen, but the bedroom too. Maybe you make meals together, watch movies, play games, get drunk. You explore together, discover the place around you - you have long talks, listen to music together, stay up late. You watch the sun set from Bathwick Fields. You discover new things about other people, and about yourself. You might end up seeing each other all day, every day. It can be visceral and emotionally charged and amazing fun. Maybe it’s romantic, an intense friendship, or something else you can't and don't even want to put a label on. Maybe you see your best self reflected in your bonds with a newly-formed group hailing from all over the world.

The trouble with people you meet when travelling is that some or all of you are not there for very long, and then your paths diverge, and suddenly they are not there with you any more. Yet perhaps brevity is a feature, not a bug. That sense of living in the moment, knowing this friendship may not be forever - indeed may not even exist after this week. Which doesn’t diminish the value of the connection. It makes it all the more raw and intense.

With around 20 check-outs each day, departures are a fact of life for us. Our first sad parting was Pilar - everyone was in tears. After that Aris and I resolved to get used to it. Following a big departure, we’d quote to each other a cheesy line written on the wall of another hostel: “people come and people go, but the love remains”. Sometimes I let that mask slip and just allow loss to be part of the experience. Hazel's vitality left a void that had me sobbing. Hot on her heels Issy was off - we've had a special affinity, making great feasts come true and sharing beautiful walks. That was hard. Julia, however, has left once already, so I thought it was going to be easier the second time. But as we parted in the women's toilets I had toothpaste running out of my mouth and we both had tears streaming from our eyes.

Crying isn't just for farewells - we've hosted many emotional reunions too. Noah went wild when Ainslie returned, screaming her name and jumping into her arms to be swung round, reunited at last after their days in Belfast together last spring. Julia leaving has made space for Mari to be here again. Pilar came back and gave us a copy of the book she'd written during her stay in Bath. After my first trips - before I even had an email address - I'd keep in touch with hostel friends through postcards to parents' homes. Rarely would we meet again, but those occasional missives at least made parting less painful, allowing a gradual waning of the connection. Like realising, once you've not checked someone's Instagram story for 6 months, that things have probably moved on.

Arranging to meet old hostel buddies is risky. Will your connection survive to other places and times? Can it even be borne by your sensible, daily-life selves? Reconnecting elsewhere can deflate a friendship when you realise it doesn't belong there, or can transform it into something that works on another level and will endure, like Adam and Lea meeting in Leipzig.

I bonded with Harjas when we made a rapid dash along the river to the refill shop to pick up beans for a big shared meal. My respect for him was cemented by witnessing his kindness to guests whose bookings we could not accept, and his ability to sometimes beat Aris at chess. On his final day, we both took part in a handstand workshop offered to guests by Truan. Walking back to the hostel together, Harjas said to me Kate, I’ve really appreciated my time here. But I’m not going to say “I’ll see you next time” because the truth is I probably won’t come back. I'm not on Instagram, and we aren't going to text each other when I'm gone. This is it.

At first this shocked me. It's such a cultural norm to say, I'll be back, we'll meet again. But I came to value Harjas' direct and honest departure. It gave me the chance to truly value the stay that he did have, and properly close a chapter. No loose ends.

The gap people leave behind can present you with a kind of grief, even if you do close things well. It's hard, says Darcey. I met a couple of girls in Iceland I really hit it off with, we hung out, we had a great time. And then they left, and I felt - flat, and like I don't really want to do anything now. I was just not interested, the place without them felt empty and I was waiting to leave. If you’ve made hostel friends like this, you’ll recognise the feeling. But surely it's better to make these great connections then feel sad when people go, than not to create bonds in the first place? Or as Tennyson put it, 'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all.

The loss we feel when friends move on, is only so because we've opened ourselves to connecting in the first place. The hollow feeling, the flatness, is because it meant something. We can cherish and value the time we did spend together, even if we don't meet again. Baking cookies together. Long walks with each other overlooking Bath. Late night jam sessions in the Vaults.

It's been an experience and it's shaped us.

The people are forever part of who you've discovered yourself to be.

A Hundred Plants

Sat, 20 Apr 2024 11:44:13 GMT

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.

I've always considered myself not to be green fingered, lacking the gardening enthusiasm exhibited by most of my family. But rooting myself in one place for the first time in decades has nurtured an enthusiasm to care for and grow indoor plants, drawing on wisdom from my father I’ve somehow retained. As I tour the building each weekend wiping leaves, moistening soil, and shifting plants around, dad's words ring in my head: it's easier to over- than to under-water; even when they look dead plants can sometimes come back to life; gardening is an experiment that won't always work.

At Prime Backpackers , the hostel Aris managed in London, Katie would care for the plants with dedication and skill, so during her recent Bath visit I asked how to repot orchids. As we carefully filled the pots with bark from Prior Park Garden Centre , we imagined making care instructions for all the plants in the hostel, setting out in a chart their preferences for light, humidity, and watering conditions. You could get some nice flat pebbles and write on them the name of the plant and put it inside the pot, said Katie. It'll be easy to reference with the care chart, and that way other people can take care of them too.

The following week, I visited the Somerset coast, staying at East Quay arts centre. I gathered two huge mushrooms as I walked the coast path from the ancient harbour town of Watchet to Mediaeval Dunster. Back at East Quay, I identified the mushrooms as edible, and researched Dunster, learning that it was part of an administrative unit particular to Somerset called a 'hundred'. Later, I took part in a virtual training session hosted by Julie's Bicycle where (unintentionally, yet precisely) one hundred participants discussed how to champion the environment in arts organisations. Down on the windy beach I gazed over the Severn Estuary at the industry of Port Talbot in South Wales and decided to gather one hundred pebbles, selecting them on my final day from among sea shells, smoothed chunks of brick, and dead leaves tangled in seaweed.

Last week I counted our plants, and invited guesses how many: Izzy's 87 was very close to the the actual number of 91 indoor plants, plus one thyme, the first of what we intend to be several pots of herbs on the kitchen windowsill. We bought just one of our plants from a shop, the gorgeous Botanica Studio , as a hostel treat to celebrate last year's Reception refurbishment. It's beautiful, but our satin pothos hasn't thrived during the dark English winter. Several plants were repotted by Leia when she last stayed with us - the peace lillies, the tradescantia pallida. Many were gifts - a fishbone cactus from Ana, a snake plant from Eden, and two aeoniums from Frances. Giulio's majestic terrarium has pride of place on a windowsill, while Thea's calathea luxuriates on a high shelf, a present to us that she found in Chapter 22 Roots and Records . Number 100 will be another shop purchase, this time from Urban Garden in Victoria Park, because we like their social and ecological ethos.

Then there's our recent gift of cousin Lucy's abundant golden pothos, formerly encircling her living room on the ladder racks - iconic 1970s furniture that once belonged to my parents, where it accommodated the 'best' crockery that we never touched in our family home, plates and bowls which are now used daily by our hostel guests. In cousin Lucy's London flat, the ladder racks were perfect for the trailing creeper, which seems just as happy in its new spot on our high kitchen shelf - or Ellie's shelf as we call it, named after the landlady of our perennial favourite indie pub The Grapes . Ellie popped round mid-renovation to check out how the kitchen refit was coming along, and suggested the shelf as a finishing touch. Other small businesses in Bath are always an inspiration - the care that local cafes Cortado and Daisy and Bean give to their plants reflects the welcome and generosity you can expect in both places, while Yak Yeti Yak next door have some wonderful mature specimens in keeping with their longevity as a Bath institution.

The two dracaena in our Common Room were the first plants we acquired, rescued in a shabby and uncared-for state from a house in Larkhall, now thriving and glossy with the little one enjoying the freedom of its own pot, quite happy alongside the guitar and blankets in their protected corner. Finding spots where plants are less likely to get knocked over is more of a challenge in a hostel than a regular home, so we make use of higher shelves in the first and second floor toilets, above the bookcase, and there’s even a hardy aloe vera on a remote windowsill as you head down to the showers. After Enrique had scrubbed the copper pipes in the men's toilets, Aris said it was time to reward the space with a plant. It seemed an ideal spot for the fern that received too much sun on the second floor, and it's now thriving, with a tendril wrapping itself lovingly around the urinal piping. Julia tried to nurture a jungle in her room, but only one sad pothos now battles on, while our own room used to be the spot to which I removed plants that were struggling, to give them extra protection and care. Recently we fitted a desk so we can do hostel administration more easily, with the improved room now filled with monstera and maranta rather than just being a botanical hospital.

Most of our plants come to us from homes around Bath. I spot them online, free or for a nominal price, then head out to Snow Hill and Foxhill, Claverton Down and Bathampton, where I meet people who are passing them on because they have a new pet that bites holes in the leaves, are raising funds for a project, or are moving to a boat with limited space. But mainly they are offered by people who love growing and so end up with an over-abundant collection. We recently walked over to Bathwick to pick up four plants including the huge new monstera now dominating reception. We took turns lugging it back, stopping at every bench on Great Pulteney Street to swap and stretch, exhausted by the time we reached the hostel, but thrilled with our giant new companion.

In the Common Room you'll spot two prints of locally-found leaves. One is a fern, which Eva made into a cyanotype as a gift. The second, Winged Head, is a catalpa leaf, gathered in Sydney Gardens by local artist Felicity Bowers, with her resulting work exhibited as part of the Botanical Encounters project at our local gallery 44AD . Inspired by Botanical Encounters, I'm embarking on my own investigation to learn more about the hinterland of our plants - how these tropical species came to be in the South West of England in the first place, to where they are native, and whose stories are entangled with their own. If this interests you too, we'd love to hear what you discover.

Remove, Restore, Rename

Sat, 18 Nov 2023 19:47:47 GMT

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.

Dorm room doors used to announce their presence loudly, with bold colour blocks in black, blue, red and yellow, on a dirty white background. Mondrian is an important artist but that doesn’t mean his style belongs on our doors. Meanwhile the Kitchen, Common Room and Reception doors hosted a variety of real and imaginary animals in pastel colours: flamingos coexisted with flies, axolotls lived beneath a mysterious four-legged octopus. Beetles and bugs abounded. Before we could actually change the room names, our doors needed deep care and attention.

We spent long hours, day after day, in the Vaults, sanding the doors one by one, readying them for a return upstairs. As if it were a patient on the operating table, Chris would inspect each door, feel its surface, see what measures were needed to restore it to health and give it strength for years to come. Aris polished what we learned to call the ‘door furniture’ - the handles, plates and knobs. Then, with the doors reinstalled upstairs, Julia and Nicky painted each of them in turn.

With the doors now ready, we chose our favourite local spots to name our rooms. Guests from all over the world stay at Bath Backpackers, so we needed words that are easy to say and read if English is not your first language. Aris perfected the signs themselves, refining the typeface, picking colours, choosing wood with our carpenter friend, and eventually making a prototype: ‘Reception’. It worked. Everything was ready. We finally granted our rooms their new names, and as our first guests checked in to Pulteney (formerly Caesar) we all felt proud.

Each name now evokes a walk we especially like: along the famous Cotswold Way from central Bath and over the hill to Bath Cheese Farm at Kelston; the canals, fields and beautiful views of Bathwick; an ancient fort and East Bath panorama from Solsbury (also the Solsbury Hill of Peter Gabriel’s famous song). Walcot and Moorland are neighbourhoods we love to visit and stroll around, visiting their charity shops, cafes and pubs. And the Avon is our local river.

Then there’s Pulteney. Beautiful bridge, lovely grand street, nice little local loop walk. What we didn’t know when we named our dorm was that William Pulteney himself, the man who paid for the buildings which took his name (in fact he paid with his wife’s money, and took her name - he was born William Johnstone) was a Member of Parliament and prominent supporter of the transatlantic slave trade. I learned this on a guided walk in Bristol, a city whose recent debates about the name “Colston” and the removal of his statue received global coverage.

On discovering this dark history, we realised we had better investigate the meaning of all our new room names. It turns out that most are drawn from ancient words connected to landscape, though Dundas - the only other name that originally derived from a local personage - is a bit suspect. Dundas Aqueduct is a great place for a river swim when it’s hot and the water is clean. But Charles Dundas - another politician who gained his fortune through marriage - voted in parliament that India should be governed from London.

We have decided to keep the name Dundas - he’s not our favourite person, but he was a rather ineffectual politician so had no great influence. Pulteney, however, has to go. We don’t want a room named after someone who powerfully supported the slave trade. So we’re replacing Pulteney with Widcome: a name meaning a wide valley, and the start of the steep walk to Alexandra Park, just 20 minutes from the hostel and offering one of the best views of Bath. When you arrive at the viewpoint, look across the city at the hill opposite. You might just spot the glinting gold spire of Beckford’s Tower, built by William Beckford, a man whose wealth came from ownership of enslaved people.

As Bath begins its reckoning with the city’s colonial links, the sources of its riches and the political stances of its grandees, we aren’t alone in questioning what to do about connections that draw on unethically-gained wealth or standing. If you want to learn more, you can look up Bath’s Uncomfortable Past, the Bath and Colonialism Archive Project, and of course Beckford’s Tower.

Beautiful Toilets

Sun, 13 Aug 2023 18:18:17 GMT

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.

Orchard House

Thu, 15 Jun 2023 17:26:11 GMT

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.

John Wood the Elder built Orchard House in 1740 and the archway - called St James’ Portico - in 1745, in what is known as Palladian style. He is widely renowned as one of the masterplanners of Georgian Bath - “Georgian” means the period from 1714 to about 1837, and takes its name from the Kings George I, II, III and IV (that’s one to four in plain English). John Wood the Elder’s other Bath building projects include Queen Square, Prior Park and - arguably his masterpiece - The Circus, which he based on the dimensions of Stonehenge. Further afield he also built Bristol Exchange and Liverpool Town Hall. He’s known as ‘The Elder’ to distinguish him from his son John Wood the Younger, who built the Royal Crescent and Assembly Rooms.

Orchard House is located at 13 Pierrepont Street. The street was named after, and commissioned by, the English nobleman and landowner Evelyn Pierrepont, 2nd Duke of Kingston-upon-Hull. Before commissioning Pierrepont Street he spent ten years travelling in Europe, where he was known for gambling and “loose living” (which we think means he had sex with lots of different people, perhaps paying some of them). John Wood the Elder had grand plans for the terrace this house is part of, but he couldn’t get permission to build the Royal Forum of his dreams. So by the time Orchard House was finished, he grumpily declared it to be “a row of fifth-rate houses of the grander sort”.

Originally a residential property, folk memory has it that over time this place has been used as a home for nuns, a kebab shop, and even an illegal cannabis farm. But mostly it’s provided accommodation, and has been a hostel since the 1990s or possibly longer. Ask us if you’d like to see old photos from the 1990s, or from 2022 taken just before we started our renovations, when the aesthetic style was a heady mix of laddish cartoons, Mondrian art and hippy animals.

You’ll notice that all rooms on the ground and first floors have the very high ceilings typical of Georgian architecture. You might also hear noises between the rooms - some walls are thin, and apparently they are full of horse hair because that’s how places were built in England three hundred years ago. Solsbury and Dundas dorm rooms have beautiful fireplaces, partly hidden by bunk beds, which we may one day restore. And if you stay in Walcot or Solsbury dorms, you’re sharing space with what is called a ‘dumb waiter’ now hidden in the wall - this was a pulley device to move things between floors. We guess it was there to help remove the bed pans people would have used, so they could have a wee in the night without leaving their room - but that’s one thing we aren’t planning to reinstate!

Lots of Bath buildings have vaults like ours - check out bars and clubs Opium, Moles and Labyrinth. Our vaults were used to store the coal that was burned for heating and cooking - with the resulting soot turning the beautiful stone of Bath black (it’s since been deep cleaned, and coal banned). In the Vaults, you can spot several entry points that once were coal chutes. One day we might install a window in one of the coal chutes to give natural light down there - but we have other priorities first. When we moved in, the roof of the Vaults leaked badly, and our numerous buckets filled up rapidly with water. We’ve solved that problem - though you can still see some damage on the ceiling.

Our plumbing and electrics are old and we’re upgrading them slowly, starting with things that could be unsafe, and working our way on to improvements that will make the place more comfortable or more beautiful. We considered fitting showers upstairs but decided against it. We don’t have enough space and, crucially, the height of the building means that getting enough water pressure to the upper floors for more than a trickle of a shower would be really hard. So yes, if you’re staying in the dorm rooms Dundas, Walcot or Bathwick, you do indeed have to go down 65 stairs to reach the basement showers - and back up again.

When visiting the Roman Baths, you’ll see that mineral deposits have created beautiful features where the water has flowed for hundreds of years. Nearby Cheddar Gorge has amazing stalactites formed through a similar process. Because the water in Bath has seeped through the limestone of the Mendip plateau to the South, the city has very hard water, high in calcium. Some people prefer the taste of hard water to drink, but it means that all our plumbing is subject to limescale. The calcium and other minerals that make Cheddar Gorge beautiful create a white crust on our kettle, halt our washing machine, and narrow our pipes, causing blockages. We plan to fit a filter where the water mains enter our building, but that’s a specialist job we haven’t yet been able to do.

Orchard House is a listed building, meaning lots of rules exist about what we can and cannot do to upgrade or change it. There are three types of listed buildings in England: Grade 1 is for buildings of exceptional interest (like the Royal Crescent, the Circus, and Pulteney Bridge). Grade 2* is our status: it means our building is considered a “particularly important building of more than special interest”. And Grade 2 means “special interest” - some smaller Georgian terraces in Bath have this status. What is more, the city of Bath is - alongside Venice - one of just two places in the world where the whole city is designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. This creates another layer of restrictions on what we can do here.

We imagined removing the wall between the Kitchen and Common Room to create one big space, but specialist guidance said we couldn’t do that as it would damage the integrity of the Common Room. According to a local heritage expert, “the panelling in the Common Room is considered a particularly good example of its kind and age and contributes very positively to the significance and special interest of the building, and to how the space of each room is perceived.” We read her report, spent time studying the Common Room, and changed our minds, eventually agreeing with her: the Common Room is a lovely space and its coherence should not be disrupted.

However, there are some restrictions we don’t agree with. We want to make the building more environmentally friendly - mainly to help it retain heat in winter, so we waste less energy and guests can be comfortable here. Our windows are the main source of heat loss, but we aren’t allowed to put in double glazing. Don’t get us wrong - we are very fond of our windows. Have a look at them in the hallways and kitchen - if you see panes where the glass looks a bit like it’s swimming, it means they are from before the Victorian era. Window panes that are over 200 years old! We love that. But hard choices must be made to stop people and the buildings we use from wasting the resources we have, so heat retention is more important than keeping the windows in an original or very old state.

We also can’t improve our creaky heating system by installing an air source heat pump - now considered the most ecological way of heating a building - because it would visually harm Bath’s harmonious architectural landscape. We are committed to being a part of Bath’s heritage and want to help preserve this, but we think it’s a global-level mistake to always prioritise heritage over ecology and believe that Britain’s national heritage policies will come to recognise this one day. We hope that day comes soon and that adaptation can be made as a choice, rather than forced upon us all by the even more dramatic changes in climate that are ahead.

Back outside, St James’s Portico - described in its building listing as “an unusual and successful feature” - leads through to Pierrepont Place and Old Orchard Street, which remains a quirky little cobbled corner where a couple of boutique shops jostle for a piece of cuteness alongside the hotel bins. Further round, there’s a Masonic Hall which is open to the public on occasional afternoons (John Wood the Elder was probably a Mason). The Hall was previously Old Orchard Street Theatre and back in 1799, in this former incarnation, it was visited by Jane Austen, who wrote about it in her novel Northanger Abbey. You can borrow Northanger Abbey to read while you stay with us, and if you’d like to delve deeper into the themes we’ve explored here, you can also borrow from our selection of local history books in reception. Or check out the Mayor’s Guides - they are volunteers who offer free (yes, totally free!) guided tours of the city every day, which is a great way to learn more about Bath’s history, including the architecture of John Wood the Elder.

While dear old Orchard House will always present us and our visitors with inconveniences - lots of stairs, squeaky floors, peeling plaster - we hope you’ll enjoy its quirks and appreciate its long history as much as we do. We love hearing from guests about how you think we could improve things here, so please share your ideas. And if you can help persuade the people who make heritage rules to get with the ecological programme, then let’s talk! New Paragraph

The Swap Shop

Wed, 29 Mar 2023 13:18:48 GMT

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.