A Street Art Lover’s Treasure Hunt

Bristol, England – City Walking Map

Tattered map in hand, walking around an unexpectedly hilly Bristol, I searched feverishly for Park Street and the treasure I sought there. Did the spiky-haired teenager working in the mall purposely give this American tourist wrong directions? I only had eight hours on this day trip from London, and time was running out to find what I was looking for.

I finally made it to Park Street, gasping at the thought of walking up this hill too. I might never be in England again, I thought, so I took a deep breath, prepared to continue on with my search, and then…there it was. A passing bus revealed the pseudonymously named Banksy’s famous image of a naked man hanging from a window, which was painted on the side of a sexual health clinic. This anonymous graffiti street artist’s works are what I came two hours by bus to see firsthand. Score!

Believed to be a native of this largest city in the south west of England, Banksy is arguably the most popular graffiti street artist around. With the use of stencils, he quickly and efficiently (and illegally) sprays his satirical artwork on walls all over the world and in some of the most interesting locations. His works have gained such popularity that, instead of being painting over, Plexiglas walls have been installed to preserve the images.

I continued up Park Street, wandering into shops where it became apparent this artist’s neighbors were full of hometown pride for him. Copies of his works were everywhere on items from mouse pads to T-shirts, wall art to mugs. I asked the shopkeeper if she knew of any other Banksy images in town and, before I knew it, I was climbing those hills again. I was now on an unexpected Banksy treasure hunt to find two more well-known images courtesy of the shopkeeper’s hand drawn directions on my map. On Park Row I found the Police Marksman stencil, which has since been painted over. On Stokes Croft I found the Mild Mild West stencil, one of Banksy’s most famous and earliest known pieces of graffiti.

Music: “God Save the Queen” by The Sex Pistols

While on my art hunt, I found more magnificent graffiti that blew my mind. What was going on in this city? There was so much, big and small, some 5 stories high on the outside of buildings, and others neatly tucked away in unexpected corners of the city. It turns out that Bristol not only loves Banksy’s work, but it also encourages graffiti in general. In fact, located on Nelson Street is the UK’s largest permanent street art project, showcasing the world’s leading street artists.

In my 8 hours in Bristol, it’s safe to say that I found what I was looking for and then some. I was exhausted but thrilled with how my day trip turned out. And then I realized my hunt wasn’t over. Somehow I needed to find my way down all those hills back to the bus station.

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A Side Street Awakening

As I leaned against the impenetrable Buckingham Palace gates, my gaze locked on the statue-like Foot Guards on the other side whose responsibility it was to protect all inside that grandiose building. I felt their lifeless expressions and rigid warrior exteriors connecting with me on a profound level. After my recent failed engagement to be married, I had also been listless while hiding behind an emotional barricade. I immediately pushed my thoughts aside and soldiered on around the palace grounds.

After years of just thinking about it, I was finally in England, a country with which I have been fascinated for as long as I can remember. I decided to go alone, and was ecstatic about this adventure that was all mine. I had planned and researched for months, vowing to make the most of my nine-day vacation.

I purchased the £18 adult ticket for a Palace tour. The voyeur in me said that I would hate myself if I left England and hadn’t gone inside.

(Music: “They’re Changing Guards at Buckingham Palace” by Max Bygraves)

It was 11:30 a.m. and my tour didn’t start until 1:30 p.m. With two hours to kill, and that vow to fulfill, I walked to the busy Westminster area. Not in the mood for the tourist crowds, I detoured myself to the desolate side streets just behind Westminster Abbey and the Dean’s Yard.

My mind wandered to my ex-fiancé and the “what ifs”. If we were still together, would we have walked down this street? I’d never know…

I suddenly felt terribly lost; not geographically, but as a person spiritually and emotionally. Away from the traffic and tourists, the commotion in my mind was louder than any crowd as I ruminated over my personal loss.

Out of nowhere, a gentle, soothing female voice shook me from my thoughts and asked, “Where are you going?”

I looked up to see where this voice was coming from.

“I don’t know,” I said, in a very trance-like state.

As I said the words, I heard the many meanings our two-sentence conversation had in that moment.

On the other side of the street stood a petite, elderly nun. Where on Earth had she come from? She asked if I would walk her back to her church. She had sprained her ankle and needed the assistance. I was suddenly walking arm in arm with a nun down the side streets of London.

“God sent me to you for a reason,” she said.

My heart skipped a beat, and I squeezed her arm that was intertwined with mine as we walked. Was I going to die on this trip, and my family was never going to see me again? Why did she say that to me?

As we walked she inquired about me, where I was from, my family, how I was enjoying London, and what other plans I had while in the country. I told her that I had hoped to take a day trip to the city of Bristol, and that I would also like to see the White Cliffs of Dover. In response to my comment, in an angelic voice she sang:

There’ll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow, just you wait and see
There’ll be love and laughter
And peace ever after
Tomorrow, when the world is free

We arrived at her church where she capably pushed open the front gates and climbed the stairs on her own. Inside, she sat in a pew behind me and recited prayers for me. I shed some tears and thanked her. She repeated that God had sent her to me for a reason.

She asked if I would like her mailing address. I quickly reached for my notepad, and as I wrote it down – Sister Barbara Clarke, Abbey Orchard Street – I froze.

Just above a whisper, I responded, “My address is also Orchard Street.”

She didn’t hear me and asked where I was going next. I desperately wanted her to understand our spiritual connection but instantaneously I realized that if God had sent her to me for a reason, then she already knew.