The soul of a city

At the heart of Bristol lies the harbour. I know this because a sign on the side of one of the hideously bland new blocks of flats that flank the waterside tells me so. A sign that claims this historic area for its own, and, even more grandly, says these abodes are helping to create a 'soul' in the centre of the city. Well, they've got the right place, but – I'm sorry – the harbourside doesn't need the help of these architectural soggy tissues to enrich its personality. This city already has that. Take a look at the signposts on the otherside of the walkway for a hint of what really makes Bristol tick. Porto Quay, Bordeaux Quay, Hanover Quay. Yes, voyages. Ships, sailors, foreign countries. The port has formed Bristol’s soul. And like any soul, there is both dark and light within it. That spark of adventure, spirit of daring is there – it was from this West Country city that John Cabot sailed to America (thinking it was Asia); but there’s also the other side – Bristol was one of the homes of the slave trade, this dirty money providing the means to build mansion-like houses for wealthy owners, as well as – more problematically for us now – fund schools, almshouses, and aid hospitals and churches. Bristol’s history is bound to the water. Of course, that's not true now. The harbour no longer welcomes trading ships, no longer has that buzz and exchange of goods, languages and tales. But Bristol is still a city of creativity and exploration. It's home to the BBC's Natural History Unit, the crucible for Concorde, the backdrop to countless hot air balloons. That's why I get infuriated every time I walk past that marketing board, and smile when I read the quay names. Yes, they're named after Bristol's twin cities rather than the places which boats set sail for on a regular basis, but they point to one of its most valuable qualities.