In Which I Meet An Inebriated Scotsman

As most, if not all, of you probably know, I finally have Internet access in my house. It's a bit dodgy, judging by some of my IM conversations earlier, but at least it's here, meaning I now get to update this journal nightly instead of bi-weekly. To be fair, today would have been a good day even without this long-overdue addition to my lifestyle. Classes were over with quickly this morning, and I was left with a full day, more or less, staring me in the face and no appreciable homework. It was perfect weather for a nice walk, and I decided that I knew Bristol well enough now to be able to get some decent photographs, so I headed out with my camera. I made my way to the Harbour by way of Brandon Hill and from there to the Hotwells neighborhood via the ferry. I had not been to Hotwells before. It is effectively the lower part of Clifton, and a much more industrial part of town. The highlight for me was the "Heavy Plant Crossing" sign underneath the Brunel Bridge (almost as good as the "Changed Priorities Ahead" signs that you see above many busy streets). From there the road leads up the base of the Avon Gorge with some pretty spectacular views of the Clifton Suspension Bridge. The Avon as it runs through Bristol is tidal, though you don't tend to notice it downtown because of a system of locks. The gorge, however, is downstream from the locks and it was low tide as I walked through it, meaning that the river was little more than a trickle with wide, muddy banks. Apparently this is how it was for centuries in the Bristol harbor itself, with ships stranded on mud flats at low tide. For some reason the thought fascinates me. At any rate, I managed to find the so-called Zig-Zag Path that leads from the base of the gorge to Clifton. One of the things that I love about Bristol is that it is so hilly that everywhere you look, there are hidden stairways and paths leading to who-knows-where, and without exception they have all been fun to explore. This particular one wends its way through some woods before depositing you at the Avon Gorge Hotel, which is quite literally perched on the very edge of the ravine, which I'm sure makes it one of the poshest places to stay in town. I found a bakery selling Cornish Pasties (one of the culinary delights of Southwest England - they're basically just meat and vegetables rolled up in a bun, but oh, are they good) and at it in the midst of Victoria Square. Victoria Square is actually more of a rhombus, but it is one of the nicest bits of Clifton and on a nice day like today was just absolutely gorgeous and made for one of the most English scenes you'll ever see.
The afternoon and evening were mostly spent revelling in my newfound ability to communicate with the outside world. I did make it to the library to take care of all of my homework (a whopping three pages of reading about how to prepare microfossils). Afterwards, I dropped in at the Berkeley on the presumption that someone I knew would be there. They were. I spent a few minutes with Phil, Emma, and Ross before Phil and I opted to head out to a less busy pub. We opted for the Hatchet, supposedly the oldest in Bristol. The atmosphere and drinks were fine, but the real entertainment was provided by a drunk Scottish man who insisted that we had taken his seat, but "wasn't trying to chase us out or anything. I just want somewhere I can sit back and put my feet up." We learned that he liked AC/DC and didn't trust anyone who drank Newcastle Brown Ale. He also gave Phil the opportunity to tell me the theory he came up with, namely that no matter where you go for a drink, there "will always be a pissed Scotsman." He may have a point there.
Incidentally, I realize that I've been referring to a lot of place names within Bristol that most of you know nothing about. If it helps, the city's website has a nice map for reference. Hopefully it helps clear my ramblings up a bit.