Those of you who have read my blog from the very beginning may remember that my story stopped short before going to the UK in 2008. I have to admit that I have been not very coherent narrative wise, because I started my blog only with intention to tell my own story about my solitary yearning towards the paradise:). Not long after it expanded, when I added seven more categories, and my followers and other interested persons (which is highly surprising for me that I even have them – big thank you for that – boring woman that I considered myself to be) may have loosed the core track to all this. But then, this addition is not completely disconnected from the main story 1) those are my interests, take it or leave it and 2) how can you be interested in some country or region, not being interested in all things around it: language, dance, food, music etc. So we can be content that it has not occurred to me to include also history, architecture, folklore or traditions. But don’t start applauding yet. I will keep that for later, when I’ll actually get there, if ever, that’s it.
So, let’s revert to the story. In 2008 the decision was made to go to the UK. My son and his girlfriend agreed to accompany me ant tickets were booked. But it wouldn’t be me if anything happened to bar my way. I felt inexplicable urgency to leave as if something disastrous was approaching, and it was. Let’s say in short that I managed to join my kids only next year due to health problems which happened a week before the booked flight. I couldn’t walk, and I couldn’t quite hit the keyboard’s buttons. I continued to work though, spoiled relations with some publishers and got confirmation that I have to flied as soon as possible. And in the spring of 2009 I was there together with my daughters who came to visit their brother. We landed in Bristol, and I will always be grateful to this beautiful city and it’s atmosphere. Let my home country forgive, but the first emotions after stepping out of the plane was overwhelming feeling of freedom. And I am not the only one who felt the same. It seemed even easier to breath. Bristol was very welcoming, friendly, and… people smiled a lot. You couldn’t help notice that. Even first encounter with british police, when I asked the way to city museum, was amazing. The policeman kindly explained how to get there, but after some minutes a car stopped next to our small group, and in some minutes we were dropped in front of museum.
Here you go! This is how I first saw Bristol.
The Clifton Suspension Bridge is a suspension bridge, which opened in 1864, spanning the Avon Gorge and the River Avon, linking Clifton in Bristolto Leigh Woods in North Somerset, England. Designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the bridge is a grade I listed building
Two men were killed during the bridge’s construction; since opening it has gained a reputation as a suicide bridge. It has plaques that advertise the telephone number of The Samaritans and above the railings on the bridge there are anti-climb barriers. The Clifton Bridge Company initially managed the bridge under licence from a charitable trust. The trust subsequently purchased the company shares, completing this in 1949 and took over the running of the bridge using the income from tolls to pay for maintenance. The bridge is a distinctive landmark, used as a symbol of Bristol on postcards, promotional materials, and informational web sites. It was also used as a backdrop to several films and television programmes. It has also been the venue for significant cultural events such as the first modern bungee jump in 1979, the last ever Concorde flight in 2003 and a handover of theOlympic Torch relay in 2012.
And yes, you are right! Next post will be about graffiti in Bristol.