Every winter, usually around January or February, I try to escape London for a few days. Somewhere warmer, if possible.

This year was different. My husband was changing jobs, and January disappeared into applications, interviews and waiting. I didn’t want to leave while everything still felt uncertain. When the offer finally came and the contract was signed, I felt as though I could breathe again.

I wanted to go somewhere, but I didn’t want airports, security queues or a long journey.

So I took the train to Bath.

I had visited Bath once before, in 2018, but only for the day. I saw the sights, went to the spa and returned to London. I thought I had seen Bath.

This time, I stayed for two nights. And somehow, I saw much more by doing much less.

I booked a spa hotel and arrived ready to spend half my life in warm water, only to discover that hotel guests could use the thermal baths for just a few hours each day.

Seven to nine in the evening? That was dinner time.

Nine to eleven in the morning? That was practically sleeping time.

After the thermal baths I had visited in Budapest, where one ticket could keep me soaking for hours, this felt very British.

Still, the spa was much better than I expected. There was a beautiful pool large enough to swim in, hotter pools, a steam room and a sauna. I walked along the river in the cold, watched people pushing prams, ate a very good steak, and slept alone in an enormous, wonderfully comfortable bed.

There was even soft music playing when I entered my room. It was still playing when I wanted to sleep. I eventually discovered it was coming from the radio beside the bed—and then discovered I had no idea how to turn it off. Every button seemed to find another station.

In the end, I unplugged it from the wall.

That bed may still be my strongest memory of Bath.

At home, waking up means thinking about coffee, laundry, cleaning and dinner. In a hotel room on my own, I woke up with only one question:

What do I want to do today?

By the third morning, even I had had enough thermal water.

Before checking out, I carefully inspected the room. Charger. Bathroom. Bedside table. Dressing table. I checked everything twice.

Satisfied, I boarded my First Class train back to London, enjoying the small luxury of coffee and snacks while the grey English countryside passed outside the window.

I arrived home still thinking about that wonderful bed.

Then my phone rang.

It was the hotel.

I had left my bank card and my brand-new British passport in the safe.

Of course. I had checked everything except the safest place in the room.

The hotel kindly sent them back to me. When my passport finally arrived, I held it in my hands and laughed.

It was my first British passport, a little milestone after years of making Britain my home. And on our very first trip together, we hadn’t even left Britain before I nearly lost it.

I looked at it and thought:

We haven’t even been anywhere together yet.

Let’s try not to lose each other before we begin.

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