The chaos of Bath’s Christmas Market

Bath, United Kingdom

I was not expecting Bath to be chaos, especially when it came to Christmas. Yet as I drove into its city centre early on a winter’s evening, I realised this scenic Georgian town was the epicentre of mayhem.

It was the annual Christmas Market that did it, an event that straddles 18 days and dominates the city. Stalls, which are largely wooden minichalets, are tidily arranged in key positions, each merchant competing with the others for maximum attention and custom. Buses carry shoppers from out-of-town locations while finding an empty parking spot in the city centre is more thanks to good fortune than planning.

The Bath Christmas Market has been a feature of the city since 2005, attracts 400,000 visitors annually, carries up to 200 separate stalls, and appears ever-expanding. Tourists block streets as charabancs disgorge their human load, long queues for taxis block the city’s higgledy-piggledy pavements, and police cars chased by ambulances flash and wail around perilous street corners. Road rage is the order between the city’s drivers. Forget any hope of changing lanes or pulling out from a side street. Selfishness and Bath’s Christmas Market is the way life is led.

I cannot explain why I chose the Francis Hotel. Perhaps it was the internet, perhaps the hotel’s central location, perhaps something to do with history. The Francis has, after all, been housing guests for more than a century, boasts several hauntings, while fatal duels took place in earlier times directly opposite its wooden, revolving front doors. For me, it was an early Saturday evening, and clearly a bad time, as after barely a step inside the hotel’s reception area I felt certain I was part of an environmental disaster. There were suitcases here, umbrellas there, people sitting, couples chatting, selfies clicking, while harassed receptionists denied any knowledge of my online check-in. Restaurant and bar tables were heaving, lines of folk were impatiently waiting to be fed, while outside on the pavement a drunk staggered past yelling a sequence of swear words. Frozen breath streamed around his head as he stumbled through the cold evening air. The weather was icy, with most visitors in gloves, hat and overcoat. Through the hotel’s street-side windows I could see the city’s Christmas lights sparkling, welcoming the season of good cheer, yet they could not dampen the bedlam.

I blame London’s tidy Olympia, where my earlier visit to its Spirit of Christmas Fair had changed me from grumpy to overjoyed within moments. Olympia had been neat, clean and non-threatening. In London, I had seen a lifetime of organised Christmases stretching before me. No longer would I be panicking for presents in the last few days before Christian society went into lockdown. London’s Olympia made Christmas simple. Perhaps Bath would be even better? I realise now that Christmas markets vary. Bath may be seen by many as successful, but it is not London’s Olympia.

After a rapid-fire check-in, I somehow found my room, touched my digital key card against the electronic door lock and waited for a green light and satisfying click. Nothing. The lock flashed red and there was no click. I tried again. Red, no click. The damned key card was non-functional.

Angered, I returned to frenzied reception for a replacement.

“Mobile telephone,” said the receptionist in a disapproving, matter-of-fact tone.

I patted my jacket pocket, realised and nodded. Yes, I had placed my key card directly on my telephone, which was why the card did not work, but I was not about to confess that to reception.

“Can’t think,” I lied. “Certainly not my mobile.” I ostentatiously patted the telephone’s invisible outline in my pocket as if nothing was there, took the reissued key card from the disbelieving receptionist and made my way up the single flight of stairs to my room. Moments later the light flashed green and with a click my door had opened. I glanced at my watch - 6 p.m. and the Market closed at 8. There was little time, so with a sigh I threw my luggage in a corner and headed out into the cold Bath air. It was time to see the city’s version of Christmas.

Finding the Christmas Market is easy, just walk until you find the first stall and then follow the pandemonium, even if the festive signposts carry misspellings. Who, after all would spell Square as S-q-u-a-e-r? This, the city with its own university, with its own Mensa quiz team, a home of Artificial Intelligence, yet spelling has passed it by.

Despite the chaos and illiteracy, and the risk shoppers will be trampled in the rush, Bath benefits hugely from its Christmas Market. At last count, the punters spent a whopping £7 million. From the first appearance of daylight stallholders assemble and wait for the start at 10 a.m. However much a casual browser begs or pleads - I was especially taken by a Yorkshire pudding that was so huge I mistook it for a Frisbee - nothing can happen until that official moment. One nanosecond later, mayhem arrives, shoppers here, browsers there, children yelling, folk trying on hats while gazing into awkwardly suspended mirrors, tasters guzzling, and the penetrating aroma of mulled wine hovers in the air. Meanwhile security staff look on in the hope they can keep the disordered orderly. Mostly they succeed, sometimes they fail, as the Christmas Market is a pickpocket’s paradise. Mugging has increased by more than 50% in the last year even if Bath was once named as the second safest city in the world.

It is not only the stalls that earn the money, it is the shops and eateries, too. Talk to most of the full-time merchants, whose shops and eateries remain open throughout the year, not just the 18 days of Christmas Market, and they will say how the event brings everyone business. Local residents may hate it, some even choose to leave the city for a period, but shop owners love it. All thanks to Bath’s 18 days.

Will I return? I think so. Bath has something that other markets do not. Chaos, yes. Fun, for sure. Next time I will head straight for the Yorkshire pudding and be there from the moment the market opens.