I gazed at the humongous structure that was right in front of my eyes. In the photos, it just looked like a pile of brownish-beige bricks in the town of Harrogate. It looked like a more solid version of the sandcastles I built on the beach. If I were being honest, those photos didn’t impress me when Mum first showed them to me. I had just scoffed at them and rolled my eyes. Those photos paled in comparison to the actual building. They didn’t do it justice.
Now, up close and personal, I relished the entire architecture in all its classical-old English glory. It was a jigsaw of tan bricks that fit together into a wide building. I ran my hands through the bricks— they were jagged and uneven, roughing up my soft palms. There were windows with panes continuously arranged throughout the structure, framed in off-white. The front entrance was held up by columns of the same tan color, and in a stylish font was written “The Royal Baths”. There was an open ceiling dome on top of the main chunk of the whole structure, and behind it were twin British style turrets, like you would see on the London Bridge.
The whole establishment was introduced by a small lawn of shrubbery and greens in the front of it— so green that I could smell the freshly trimmed grass. A few cars were parked in front of it, and while many may see them as an interruption to the delightful scenery, I thought they added a hint of bright, modern color to contrast the tan of the whole premise. The blue sky looked over the whole scene, not a cloud of gloominess in sight. The whole scene was picture perfect.
Now I see why Mum insisted on bringing me here when I was on my summer vacation. I felt the summer breeze whoosh past my ears, and a wide smile lit up on my face. Here, I felt serene and peaceful. All my stress and worries seemed to be alleviated. Who knew this single architecture in the ordinary town of Harrogate could bring me such bliss?
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