Photographs: Morocco

wanderlust and the west

There is something different about the South West of England. When we’re on home ground, we feel relaxed, laid back, cool even. But in slicker areas such as London, although I desperately try to hang on to my inner Bristolian by choosing velvet leggings over heels, I end up feeling simply scruffy. Like the country-bumpkin in Jane Austen, we often struggle to remain calm in formal occasions, and only the other day my 6 year old cousin corrected me for mispronouncing Marylebone in a game of monopoly. Although Bristol is the sixth biggest city in England, and home to some of its edgiest graffiti, it is also surrounded by counties such as Gloucester and Somerset, famous for producing cider, cows, and that stereotypical farmer’s accent. This rural-urban clash perhaps means we’re left in limbo – back to London, I couldn’t name a single station on the circuit lane, yet I’d also be hard pressed to identify a given tree, wildflower, or butterfly.

I am a Bristol girl through and through. My idea of sophistication is a spa in Clifton, and I am at ease in a cafe on the Gloucester Road. When the weather warnings arrive in December I remember the Downs in 2008, and the bars and clubs along Stokes Croft remain the epitome of cool for my inexperienced eye. Perhaps more significantly, I find it hard to imagine living anywhere flat.

And yet although some weeks I feel fiercely loyal to this small corner of Britain, on others I just need to excape. It is this that draws me towards the big industrial cities of the North; the raw, brutalist architecture and blackened redbrick, that once would have made me come fleeing straight back to Park Street, now have me considering Sheffield, Manchester and Leeds as university choices. The unknown, in all its glory, beckons, and the sheer novelty of being able to go to a kareoke club and still look cool on a recent trip to Newcastle made me reconsider how laid back Bristol really is in comparison.

But I would still want to cling on to that Bristol part of me whereever I end up at university. Because I do think I stand out as being different in the North, perhaps not so much alone, but with fellow Bristolians. Upon entering a cafe in Newcastle, before we'd even said a word, the chirpy waitress asked in a full Geordie accent where we were from, a question I had never been asked straight off in England before. Several times of the weekend my friend and I were asked if we were cousins, sisters or even twins, and although we both have messy brown hair and huge mouths, it was again something we had never been asked before. We decided it was down to a general look of otherness, as most of the local girls had straightened, brushed hair and uncrumpled clothes.

Although I can think of few better places to be brought up than Bristol, I definately feel I am ready to leave. I want to be able to get lost in a city, to turn a corner and comment on how pretty or unusual something is, rather than ignore it through familiarity. After all, there are still 5  bigger English cities to explore. And that's before I've even gotten going overseas...