On the morning of July 5, 2018, I stepped off the train at Bath Spa with nothing but a small suitcase and a vague intention to wander. The forecast had promised sun, but a thick Somerset mist clung to the honey-coloured stone, softening the abbey’s silhouette into something almost ethereal. I had no reservations, no list of must-sees — only a quiet hunger for whatever the day might reveal.
Half an hour later, while nursing a flat white at a corner café near Green Park Station, I noticed a handwritten postcard pinned to the noticeboard. It read: “The Unexpected Bath — one day only. Follow the white arrows.” No website, no social media handle. Just a date — July 5 — and a scattering of arrows drawn in chalk on the pavement outside. That was all the invitation I needed.
Following the White Arrows
The chalk arrows led me away from the crowded main streets — past the Circus, up a narrow lane called Margaret’s Buildings, and through an unmarked wooden gate I had walked by a dozen times before. Inside was a hidden courtyard I never knew existed. Against the damp stone walls hung large translucent panels printed with photographs of local women from the 1920s. The artist stood beside them, quietly explaining that the images had been rescued from a house clearance. This was not a formal gallery show. It was a pop-up act of preservation, born from a month of conversations with the city’s elders.
Further along, I discovered a former coal shed converted into a sound installation. Inside, headphones hung from iron hooks, each playing a different field recording — birdsong from Prior Park, the hum of the River Avon at dawn, the clatter of the train station at dusk. A handwritten note asked visitors to sit on the wooden crates and close their eyes for at least three minutes. I obeyed, and felt my shoulders drop for the first time in weeks.
There were seven installations in total, spread across different addresses — a textile piece in a boot repair shop, a scent installation in a disused telephone box, a poem embedded in the pavement near the Holburne Museum. Each one felt like a private conversation between the city and those who were paying attention.
Practical Lessons in Finding the Unexpected
That day changed how I approach solo travel. I now look for the ephemeral — events that exist only for a few hours, word-of-mouth gatherings, and local bulletin boards. I've picked up a few strategies since then:
- Visit independent bookshops and cafés first. Owners and baristas often know about pop-ups before anyone else. Ask them, “Is there anything unusual happening today?”
- Look for community noticeboards. They may be hidden near the loo of a pub or beside the till at a bakery. The most memorable events are often announced only with a printed card and a drawing pin.
- Follow your curiosity without over-planning. Leave at least half of your day unbooked. The best discoveries happen when you have the luxury to say yes to a chalk arrow.
- Talk to locals over sixty. Many of Bath’s hidden stories — including the location of the former coal shed — were shared with me by an elderly woman who overheard me fumbling with a map. She pointed me down a passage I would never have noticed.
Later that afternoon, I stopped at a small bakery near the Roman Baths called Grain & Glass for a saffron bun dusted with sea salt. The owner told me the recipe came from her grandmother, who had worked in the kitchens of the Pump Room in the 1950s. I took the bun to a bench overlooking the Avon, watching a family of swans glide past the weir. The sun had finally burned through the mist, and the stone of Bath glowed warm and golden.
That evening, I sat on the same bench, watching the last light catch the water. I had planned nothing, yet the day had arranged itself perfectly. For me, that is the quiet gift of travelling alone – the space for the unexpected to become the highlight.
