A stroll through Bristol

It has been quite some time since I wrote a photo essay, and I have no excuse for that. On a recent visit to Bristol for a conference I realised I had the ideal opportunity to publish again and was determined not to let it slip. This essay is the outcome of my visit.

Last week was my first ever visit to Bristol. Because of the nature of my visit, I had quite a few constraints; and I added some of my own constraints because I realised quickly that all-in-all they would only make things a lot more interesting. There is more to Bristol than this essay conveys and the essay stays truer to this name than one might realise: this is quite literally the result of a single stroll through Bristol because that was all the time I could afford. And it was a colourful time indeed.

The weather app on my phone read 16°C feeling like 13°C. In reality the place felt warmer and more humid. I was unsure if this was just the experience of someone used to the colder temperatures further north or if it had anything to do with the sea: the closest beach to Bristol is a 40-min drive away but it does have direct access to the Mouth of the Severn in its namesake channel via the River Avon. I have previously lived in places 40 min from the sea that were just as humid as the coasts, so this really comes as no surprise.

My self-imposed restriction, only partly because I chose to travel light, was to shoot Bristol in 50mm. I have a deep appreciation for 50mm and 85mm primes, and the 50mm has the added advantage that it is easiest to frame shots for it with the naked eye. And it is usually one of the more compact prime lenses available—in my kit anyway this is true. Armed with my camera and 50mm lens, therefore, I stepped onto Whiteladies road to begin my stroll.

My walk took me from Clifton to the Harbourside, along half-a-dozen roads that go steeply downhill to the Avon. Clifton has university buildings dotting it, from the Vic rooms housing the Univeristy Music Department to the stately Philosophy building that shares space with the disabled centre and the Department of Psychiatry. To the south, not too far off lie a handful of other important (and historically notable) buildings: the partly-circular city hall, the grand Bristol cathedral opposite it, a tributary statue of Raja Rammohun Roy in-between them, the fantastically curious old structure of the choir school a stone’s throw away, and on the main road further West are the massive British museum and art gallery building, and the Wills Memorial building (which houses the University Law School) with its intricate and enormous tower.

Contrasting these stately buildings closer to the river are modern art installments somewhat reminiscent of Birmingham, which stand out but are not gaudy. And there is the ubiquitous ferris wheel without which apparently no British city is complete. Along Pero’s bridge—named after a slave who was once brought to Bristol—across the River Frome are several pubs as one might expect. Indeed there are pubs on either side of the Frome, all boasting in-house brews, and there is a falafel stand. Equally ubiquitous in (nearly) seaside English towns are seagulls and Bristol is no exception. A cacophony of gull cries pierced the dusk sky throughout my walk and my AirPods stayed in my pockets.

Interestingly enough, two out of two cinemas I saw were old school (at least on the outside), which I really appreciated.

On my way back from the harbour I ended up finding a stairway that would let me cut through the zig-zagging road uphill and the veiws over the rooftops were quite impressive. In some ways Bristol reminded me of Lisbon: the colourful buildings, the undulating streets, the narrow, terraced buildings, and of course the riverside humidity. While Bristol likely had little to do with Lisbon and even less so in olden times—most of the colourful buildings appear to be modern paintjobs—it is quite remarkable how similar seaside towns tend to be. I fail to notice such stark similarity in landlocked cities, mountaintop towns or even desert oases, but seaside towns in my experience somehow end up sharing a lot of commonalities.

The sole addendum to my stroll came the following day when I walked about 10 min across Clifton to the famed Clifton suspension bridge. This is a massive structure high above the Avon gorge designed originally by the industrial revolution-era British civil engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunell (after some politics and a bridge designing contest) with the initial construction starting around June 1831. The Bristol riots shut down construction until after Brunell died and a modified 1862 design by William Barlow and John Hacksaw saw the bridge finally take the shape it has today.

The views over the Avon gorge are a sight to behold, as is the height of the bridge, which seemed unusually great when I saw it because of the low tide. Regardless, for the time of its construction and its suspension technology, the structure remains quite a sight to this day. Atop a small hill next to the bridge on the Bristol side is the Clifton observatory, a building with a wild history—sitting atop an old Celtic settlement, supposedly once home to the Bristol giants, later an air raid shelter during the war, and more recently a museum.

Granted, this is not Bristol City so much as the outskirts of it; and it is not the majestic, wide open spaces of Yorkshire either. It is more urban, set closer together, but charming nevertheless. Perhaps on another day, a longer stay would allow me to get to know more of Bristol. Until then, this has been a wonderful experience.

Full resolution versions of all the photographs in this essay, as well as many more photographs, are available in the photography section.