Back in June, I was headed to Bristol when a train line representative suggested elsewhere. Good advice for it led me to the Shanty Festival in Falmouth. Now in August, I’m feeling it’s Bristol time. I score an apartment with a patio in the Clifton neighborhood (the Queen’s Counselor back at the cigar shack recommended this area). Bristol Temple Meads

Temple Meads

train station offers an impressive welcome to a first-time visitor, like you have Arrived Somewhere Important. Designed by the revered civil engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunel (I’m changing my name to Kingdom), a tour guide later describes the facade as not knowing what it wants to be — a cathedral, a castle, a watchtower, or a train station.

Abdi the taxi driver, drops me off at

Forty quarry step by steps
to and fro the apartment

Quarry Steps, one block from the intersection of Black Boy Hill and Whiteladies Road…

It’s a two-mile steady downhill to the tourist information centre to pick up a city map. Buses, taxis, cars, mopeds, and bicyclists share the road in polite harmony; I hear no horns. Pedestrians smile as they pass. Friendliness seems to be a city attraction. Even the buildings play with one another through water, sculpture, and design, creating an architectural dance.

Victoria Rooms

City Hall

Willis Memorial Building

After a pleasant visit with the folks at the tourist centre, I hop on one of those sightseeing double-decker red buses that operates in every city to get an overview, then return to

where my fancy was tickled. Bristol is a beguiling city; each neighborhood pulses with a different vibe, yet a collective beat resonates throughout. People that live here, love it. When I ask why (and I ask everyone I meet), they answer without hesitation in similar words: “There’s so much going on here. People are friendly, artistic, accepting.” I’m finding a rhythm here, but my (older) twin’s birthday is approaching and I’m thinking to be somewhere else, somewhere foreign, somewhere unusual.

At the Flight Center travel bureau, Sam and I spent almost two hours discussing travel destinations.
My first choice is to experience the mountains gorillas of Rwanda/ Uganda. He compiles an interesting itinerary, but realizes the logistics are challenging. There are shots and vaccinations involved. Next. How about Sri Lanka? South Africa? Portugal? Greece? Tunisia?
I was all over the map, poor Sam. He outlines a couple more travel agendas and I said I’d sleep on them.

Morning squeezes into afternoon as I ponder. This trip has been about trusting the Universe (Self) as guide. Days unravel without plan. Is it trust or indecision? Determinism or free will? I remember a coffee conversation with Clare, a peripatetic I met at a Farmer’s market. She suggested, “You are not indecisive. Don’t listen to that judgement. You are spontaneous!” (To which I promptly responded, “I love you for saying that”!) Now, I make a ‘spontaneous decision’ to celebrate our birthday in Bristol! (Sam receives conciliatory chocolates for his time and effort.) Yes, I imagined to be somewhere exotic…hey me, traveling abroad solo IS exotic!  I am so thankful to be…here, now.

The apartment has been rented, so I check out and in to…Bristol’s Hotel du Vin. Yep, there’s one here, too. It sits on the cliffs of Avon Gorge overlooking another Brunel masterpiece of design, the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Friendly manager Matthew upgrades me to a balcony room. Evening comes, let the festivities begin with champagne. To You, my twin!

Happy Birth Day, Kurt!

Skip and I enjoyed dining at The Ivy in London

Balloons in The Ivy (computer image)

and there is a sister property a short walk from the hotel. The centerpiece of the festive atmosphere inside is a giant hot air balloon, installed to celebrate the restaurant’s second anniversary. After more champagne (and dinner), I bop around the corner to Bristol Fringe. I hear the end of a comedy show in a back room while a three-piece

Live music at
Bristol Fringe

band is setting up in a corner of the main bar. It’s a small space with little room to move. I shake it in place. Then for crying out loud, comes an age-awakening tap on the shoulder — a grey-haired great, great, great grandpa, asks me to join him to go dancing at some club a ten-minute taxi ride away. “Oh, thank you but I just broke my toe,” or “Oh thank you, but I’m meeting my very young twin brother,” or “Oh, thank you but I’ve just burped throw up.” I can’t remember what I said, but I politely declined and shuffled back to the hotel. (Oh, I’m getting older, too…)

That Sunday at The Duke, an Old City institution, folks mingle and dance while a band plays New Orleans music all afternoon!

Paul, Jack, Sid

Outsider – he’s down, not out

‘All you can eat jazz’

New Orleans style

The Old Duke
 (Ellington)

This celebration of champagne, balloons, comedy,

camaraderie, and live music has been a vanilla sundae. The hot fudge on top is when I listen to my friend Jerome dedicate his radio show (The Universal Language KCBX), to me and play a groovin’ and memorable mix. Surprise, surprise. Thank you, J.

Thank you Bristol, I’m very glad I stayed.

“Everybody seems to want to get away to someplace
Get away from themselves
I got a feeling if they found that someplace
They’ll want to go some place else.”

– Cassandra Wilson, “Right Here, Right Now”