Bristol: A Journey Through Culture and Color
Following the Black Lives Matter protests and the removal of Edward Colston’s statue, the city of Bristol has gained significant attention in the UK media. Vanessa Kisuule, a talented Bristol-based writer and performer, offers insights into the city’s sights and its vibrant community.
Bristol: The Fleeting Kingfisher
Good, you’re here. Just in time, we’re about to set off. Welcome to a walking tour unburdened by time, fear, or fitness levels.
We’re starting at the Suspension Bridge. Don’t bother taking pictures; a cramped image on your camera won’t do the breathtaking view justice. Marvel at the coppery streaks rippling through the sheer drop of the Gorge. While pretty, it’s not where the action is.
Now run, skip, or roll down one of our many hills. Fact: We have the steepest street in the UK, Vale Street, boasting a slope of twenty-two degrees. Thighs burning? Suck it up; it’s just a rite of passage for Bristol residents!
Next, we find ourselves at the Harbourside, home to The Apple, a cider bar on a canal boat. This charming spot allows you to sample the West Country’s claim to the best cider. However, don’t expect any respect from the staff if you request Thatchers.
Onwards to Broad Quay, the central hub of Bristol. This wide, pale stone walkway is frequented by sleek cyclists and endearingly clumsy skaters congregating around the war memorial. Regarding that empty plinth—it holds an embarrassing tale. For over two hundred years, it showcased a statue of a notorious slave trader. Shudder.
Even if you’re unfamiliar with Bristol, you know the deep bass of Massive Attack, the ever-present Banksy art, or the early 2000s TV show Skins. Here lies College Green, where the cast once sprawled out, smoking spliffs. As a fourteen-year-old, I watched them with a mix of scandal and envy. Years later, I would sit on that same patch of grass with my chaotic friends. Nestled beside City Hall, this gently curved building houses the local council offices. Its grandeur, however, often comes with an aroma of stale urine, reminding us that no person or place exists free from flaws—just ask the slave trader we tossed into the harbor.
This is the vibrant essence of St Paul’s Carnival, filled with sweat, music, and a palpable energy. If soca, dancehall, or bashment is your vibe, you could easily lose yourself among the sound systems. Local entrepreneurs may charge you a quid for a loo visit, or you can cleverly use your empty can. Spot the many tracksuited entrepreneurs, rucksacks brimming with gas canisters and balloons, while the elders reflect on the simpler festivals of the past.
Moreover, you’ll meet Bristol legend Jeff, a perpetually cheerful Big Issue seller who greets everyone, irrespective of their purchases, with a patois-infused fist bump. Big Jeff, a tall man with messy blond curls, is another local fixture. It’s common knowledge in Bristol that his presence is essential at any concert worth attending. If you want to see him in action, catch him at the Fleece, where a special spot on the floor is reserved just for him.
While many might regard Lawrence Hill as rough, it offers a refuge from overpriced cafes and mediocre meals. Here lies Barton Hill Settlement, a community space featuring a creche and free English classes, along with a cafe that offers lovingly crafted sandwiches for just £1.50 and lattes for £1.20. Find yourself a spot on the gently worn sofa and savor your meal.
Gloucester Road stretches long, once free of chain stores but now plagued by them since the Tescos riots of 2011. Pay homage to Plantations, the West Indian restaurant that once thrived here, now replaced by Turtle Bay, which lacks the vibrant authenticity of its predecessor. I might sound like a grouch, perhaps overcompensating, as my Bristolian credentials are self-appointed. Nevertheless, I remember the independent cafe that once stood where a Costa now exists, and I mourn the clubs long gone since my student days, replaced by new flavors. Yet, I’ll cling to my nostalgic frustration until the day they come for Jason Donervan, the beloved kebab joint known for its punny humor and greasy chips.
As you see, I am a fervent advocate for Bristol. Its increasing popularity has ignited a surge in house prices, spurred urban development, and a wave of hipster food spots. Stickers found throughout the city plead for us to Make Bristol Shit Again. Those often vocal in these debates are progressive, artistic types like myself. Ironically, we also contribute to the gentrification we lament.
I’ll leave you at my favorite spot, Eastville Park, where runners, mothers, and couples move gracefully through their routines. The lake, seemingly mundane, is enchanting in its stillness. Cast your vote: Does it resemble chocolate milk or dishwater? Watch for moorhens and emerald-necked mallards gliding serenely across the surface; you might even spot a fleeting kingfisher.
Look! That flash of electric blue, winged and ephemeral. Did you miss it? Well, sometimes that’s just how things go. This account is ultimately a historical document—a frenzied snapshot of moments, people, and places that never remain still. They flit like kingfishers: bright, beautiful, and elusive. For a moment, they touch our lives, leaving behind traces in our memories that we hold onto, fluttering within our minds.
