North, and the end of the road in England

So this time, it really HAS been a while since I’ve written anything. Manchester, York, Newcastle and Edinburgh, and Dublin, gesh, I think I’m going to have to split this up!

Manchester is a city famous for football, curry, and for being what some call England’s 3^rd city. First impressions (such as mine) stepping off the train are bleak. A formerly highly industrial city, it is in the process of prettifying itself. After a city like Birmingham where the city has taken its new image seriously, investing heavily in a more aesthetically pleasing city centre, Manchester’s centre was a sight for sore eyes. Like other UK cities, the buildings are old, but here they look unkempt, and dirty, covered in the soot of an industrial city, a soot which other cities have since cleaned. Finding my hostel (another Hatters) I settled in for a while, enjoying the free internet. Looking for things to do amongst the brochures in the hostel and online (www.wikitravel.com has proven to be amazing), I suddenly had regrets over my extended stay. I found there to be a distinct lack of things one can do in Manchester. No eclectic jewellery district, no cool chocolate factory, no super modern shopping centre in the middle of the city. Wait...am I comparing Manchester to Birmingham? I suppose I am. Two cities with similar histories, I guess I expected them to be much the same. Unsure of what to do, I decided on a walk around the city to see what was what. I found the canal system to be similar to Birmingham, having been recently renewed, however the amount of garbage in the canals was disgusting, massive flotillas of trash occupying each lock. Dispirited, I returned to the hostel where I met some friendly people visiting from France and went out for a drink and supper. Here I was first introduced to Printworks. Formerly the site of (you guessed it) print works, it is now a roofed main street with many pubs, clubs, and bars. The security presence is heavy, and the atmosphere changes from establishment to establishment while the general feeling in the air is of carefree partying.

Friday, Manchester showed its true colours and the skies opened with a good rainfall. Nevertheless I walked the 3 miles to the Imperial War Museum North, located near Old Trafford, the famous home to Manchester United Football Club. The war museum’s building itself is a statement about war, supposed to represent a ‘shattered earth’, it’s three curved surfaces which would come together to form part of a globe. Inside is the second largest collection in Britain (after the London Imperial War Museum) of war memorabilia, weapons, and tools, from early empire, to modern day. Impressive about the museum is not the size of its collections, but the method of presentation. The displays are not interactive, but packed with information for reading. This would usually annoy me, but the museum more than makes up for this with hourly shows called “The Big Picture”. Featuring photographs from their extensive archive, seats line almost every wall in the main gallery and pictures are displayed on almost every wall. Three show run (so staying for 3 hours is more than worth it) covering the weapons of war, children in war, and war on the home front. Intense imagery combined with firsthand accounts, startling sound effects, and suspenseful music make the 15-20 minute shows a riveting insight into war. The museum quite clearly demonstrates that their purpose is not to glorify war, to hail achievements in technology, or to applaud the success of military campaigns, but to question war, its purpose, and what we achieve in warring. I had a tear in my eye as an elderly lady discussed having to leave home in London during the bombings, and what adapting to life was like without her parents. A striking display shows a map of England, with lines indicating levels of destruction around Manchester if a nuclear bomb were detonated over city centre, and below the display is a nuclear bomb which if active, would cause the described destruction. Refreshing to me was that it was not a captured Soviet bomb, or a Middle Eastern made “dirty bomb”, but a British bomb which was used to train British pilots to wipe cities from the map. A refreshing view on this history of humanity’s inhumanities, it is well worth the visit, especially since admission is free. Taking the tram back to city centre, I met again with my French friends for drinks and a night on the town.  This day was revealing to me as I realized that to the West of the main city, exists a rebuilding area, shunning downtown life in favour of a more glamorous, modern way of life. The old city stone is abandoned in favour of the glass monuments to the future. This is a shame to me, in a city where the old stone buildings hold so much potential for development, if only they were cleaned and utilized.

More than a little hung over on Saturday, I had a quiet day wandering the city, seeing what there was to see (especially to the west), and going to supper at an Indian restaurant near the ruins of the old Roman fortress. Nothing remarkable there, day done.

Sunday morning was a train to York, a stop I hadn’t initially planned, but was very glad for. Home to the famous York Minster, the architecture, good maintenance, and good management all make York a stunning city to explore. First impressions out of the train are nothing but amazed as the cobbled streets stretch out in every direction, winding through every age of architecture. First priority is always the same, find a map, find out where I am, and find out where my hostel is. Conveniently located at the York train station, the tourist info people gave me a map and walking directions along the beautiful River Ouse to my hostel, a 15 minute walk from the city centre. The hostel itself it an older complex of three buildings, all attached by pedways (which apparently Word spell check doesn’t recognise). With a free buffet style cooked breakfast, free Wi-Fi, and a pretty cheap rate, it was an excellent deal (which was refreshing after the pricier rates in the bigger cities). Back in town without my heavy bag, I explored the streets, saw the sights, and set about reuniting myself with one of my longest love affairs. Finding a local electronics store, I bought a cheap mp3 player, and went to the Sony Store for a pair of noise cancelling headphones. Now feeling technologically up to date (and financially a little lighter) I went to a little pub for some pie (remember pie over here doesn’t necessarily refer to dessert), a pint, and to figure out my new purchases. Sitting at the side of the picturesque river, I enjoyed reading while families walked by, boats hummed down the water, and the sun slowly set. As the sun sunk from the sky, I was introduced to a sensation that unfortunately won’t go away until Christmas. With a little wind running along the river, it was COLD! Packing up and walking quickly back to the hostel, I barely kept warm in an undershirt, shirt, and windbreaker. Since then, it has never truly been warm outside, and I am usually wearing a sweater. Luckily my sleeping bag was warm, and brought me a toasty night of sleep.

Feeling lazy, and planning for a later night, I slept in past breakfast, getting out of bed at 10ish on Monday, wandering into town to see the most impressive sight the city has to offer, the Minster. There has been a church on the site for around a thousand years, and it was also the site of the Roman headquarters where Constantine was declared Emperor after the death of his father while visiting York. The Minster is so large and intricate, I found it hard to comprehend its construction in the 13^th century. Everything from its intricate carvings, to its extensive stained glass, and its high arched ceilings are awe inspiring. While it is amazing to someone visiting in the 21^st century, imagine how a worshiper in the 14 century must have felt. It must have indeed inspired a sense of God’s greatness in the immense pillars alone which hold up the main tower. A short 275 step climb to the top of the main tower, and you are rewarded with a view of the whole city from the city’s highest point. Unfortunately, the steps are so narrow, people cannot pass, so you must go up and down as a group. Apparently someone near the middle of an earlier group suffered an attack of claustrophobia, and could not go any further up the stairs, requiring that the whole group behind her go back down to the bottom. To put it bluntly, that sucks. Also available for viewing at the Minster (or rather under the Minster) are the ruins of the Roman headquarters. The Roman settlement was destroyed by the Vikings who later inhabited the area, and built upon later by a Norman church, only lasting a couple hundred years before construction of the Gothic building we know now began in 1220 (lasting until satisfactory, and consecrated in 1472). In 1969 a survey of the church discovered that the central tower was near collapse because of an insufficient foundation. The Minster’s floor was torn out, and excavated a storey below. Here they built massive concrete collars which bear the weight of the main pillars, preventing any future movement. During excavation, they discovered extensive ruins of the foundations from both the Roman building, and the Norman church. These were removed where the collars were to go, and replaced on exhibition between the pillars. The collections under the church are well worth a view for both the Roman and Norman history.

Looking to discover more of the Viking history of the area, I went to what is known as the Jorvik Experience, a slow ride taking you through a recreation of York in Viking times using artefacts found on the site. The whole site built over by buildings, you travel underground where much of the ground is still exposed the way it was left when the archaeological digs were completed. This makes the tour a little smelly, at times smelling like a damp basement, and at times, slightly worse (I’m sure they discovered a few old latrines during their digs...). The interpretation centre after the ride provides you with further information, including the chance to examine a Viking skeleton, and see the effects of different weapons on this highly scarred body (apparently our Viking friend laid out before us was a fighter). After a very yummy pork sandwich, I took a quick visit to the National Rail Museum. The biggest in the UK, it has a very impressive collection, outlining the history of rail in a country famous for its pioneering of all things on tracks. The building itself was once part of the York train system, storing locomotives off its three turn tables. Now, it holds an overwhelming number of engines including the Flying Scotsman, and in a separate building it holds coaches from all through the ages, including most of the Royal coaches in British history. While the information panels assume that you know a certain amount about trains and it would certainly be more exciting for someone who knows a good deal about trains, it can be a fun visit for anyone.

I took an evening stroll through The Shambles, a street lined with timber framed buildings, many of which are slowly tipping forwards. I am told that due to a building formerly being taxed by the footprint it occupies, buildings were built with a small footprint, subsequent levels overhanging the bottom a bit more level by level. In The Shambles, this has resulted in the buildings on each side of the street bending inwards close enough that you could shake hands from the top floors across the street. A tiny Italian restaurant here served up a very yummy (although nothing terribly special) dinner, all at a reasonable price. Starting with bruchetta covered with roasted tomato, mozzarella and anchovies, I had a fettuccini for my main course, followed by pistachio gelato. I can’t remember the name of the place, but it wouldn’t be hard to find as it is the only Italian restaurant in the shambles, and I would recommend it for its quiet ambiance, and generous portions. I headed to meet up with a ghost tour departing from the Minster, at only around £4 it was a hilariously entertaining experience. Led by a man who was all jokes and humour one moment, then a dramatic and mysterious story teller the next, we travelled the streets of York, hearing tales of the plague, greed, witches and torture. For a laugh, and for the history, it was an enjoyable two hours, although a few people who stuck around at the end of the tour felt otherwise and told him quite bluntly how they felt they did not get their money’s worth. How awkward...

York was one of the stops where I feel like I saw everything I wanted to, but I could have stayed longer. While it is a gorgeous old city, it is unpretentious and most of the residents are quite friendly. Prices are not hugely overinflated, and there is plenty to do for all ages. This plus the picturesque scenery, and this is definitely a place where I could see myself living if life were to take me to the UK.

From York, I continued my trek north, heading to Newcastle upon Tyne, my last stop in England. Visitors to Newcastle often leave the city confused as to whether or not they really liked the city. Another formerly industrial city, it is modernizing its image to attract its own share of tourists, cultural attractions, and businesses. I arrived to a very bleak city, rainy, cold, and windy. Quickly finding my way to the wonderful Albatross Hostel only a 5 minute walk from the train station, I was greeted by the friendliest staff I have met yet at a hostel. Seriously, these people had the readiest smiles, and were just looking for an excuse to laugh. Getting rid of my gear, I hunkered down in the hostel for a while to search for things to do and places to go. Having arrived mid afternoon in the middle of more rain, I took the evening off, only venturing out to grab a bite to eat.

Setting out in the morning, I wandered the city, taking in the sights of a city based around the river. In what is quickly becoming my favourite thing to do in a new city, I got hold of a map, pocketed it, and wandered in every which direction until I was as lost as possible. Unfortunately, Newcastle is like Halifax, in that downhill always leads to water, making it impossible to get lost. It is a lovely city however, craftily integrating the old with the new. Quite common are 300 year old buildings with modern glass extensions or entrances. While some would see this as a spoiling of the old aesthetic of the city, I see it as a brilliant compromise to the problem of an aging city which wants to show a new and progressive face. My first stop in learning about the city was the Discovery Museum. Celebrating some 80 years of existence, the museum is entirely focused on the history of Newcastle as it tracks the local population through recorded history. It also has exhibits on the history of Newcastle’s music scene, naval endeavours, industrial activities, and more. It is well geared to all ages with mature exhibits for adults while incorporating fun interactivity for the younger crowds. Oh, and did I mention it was free? Something which struck me was the presence of employees with intellectual disabilities. I have noticed this at a few UK museums where there are disabled employees performing repetitive but important duties. At the Imperial War Museum I not only noticed these individuals pushing carts around refilling all the brochure holders, but was greeted by a very friendly lady who proceeded to explain to me the many ways the museum could be viewed. While unlike some staff she probably won’t be able to recite any fact you would be interested in knowing, her Down’s Syndrome has not held her back, and she delights in directing anyone with questions. She seemed passionate about her job, and though she is overseen by another staff member, he just smiled and stood back while she competently went about her job. It is refreshing to see members of the disabled community out in all sorts of jobs, where one might not expect to see persons with disabilities employed. It is quite refreshing to see smiles on museum employees, and while in many museums smiles are rare, these individual’s smiles seem to be infectious, not only affecting the other staff, but the visitors as well.

Feeling I had a good handle on the local history, I left to try and get lost once again. I discovered that the theatre in town had nightly performances every night, and was currently playing an on stage adaptation of Rainman, originally a film from the 80’s starring Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise. I purchased tickets for later that evening, managing to get an absolute steal on tickets which were half price (due to me being a student purchasing the day of the show). I set off for the recommended Museum of the North, a lovely old building originally established by two taxidermists who endeavoured to share their trade with the public in the 19^th century. Now a joint venture between the University of Newcastle and the Tyne and Wear Museum group, it is still in the same building, but its collection has been drastically enlarged. It makes no pretences at being a huge collection, but instead dedicates itself to displaying the original works of the two taxidermists, an impressive collection on Hadrian’s Wall, and other small exhibits designed to educate about the world both natural and manmade. Many of their exhibits attempt to stimulate at least two senses, featuring talking statues, or a touchable Roman stones, refreshing after museums lined with readable info panels, with exhibits behind glass. Satisfied with my local knowledge, and intent on seeing the wall the next day, I set out for the evening. A quick stop to the market got me some cheap cuts of lamb, some couscous, and veggies for after the theatre. The show was terrific, including Oliver Christ from the UK Office, and adapted for stage by MGM. I went in not knowing the plot, just curious to take in some local theatre, but was delightfully surprised by the story of a cold business man who warms to an autistic older brother he never knew about until after their father died. It was very well played, with a convincing but inoffensive portrayal of an autistic savant. Having enjoyed the play thoroughly, I returned to the hostel to enjoy some supper and plan my next day.

The aforementioned next day included a trip to the east of Newcastle, an area called The Shields, North and South, depending on which side of the river you are on. Logically enough, it is home to the shields which protect the River Tyne from major ocean waves. The South Shields are also home to a partially preserved, partially reconstructed section of Hadrian’s Wall, and a fort/supply base from Roman times. For anyone not ‘in the know’, Hadrian’s Wall was the Roman’s solution to Scotland after their conquests across Europe. Conquering the tribes of what is now England, they evaluated the Scottish and their territory, deciding they didn’t really want anything to do with any of it. You often hear (and I previously believed) that the Romans viewed the Scottish as a fierce force they would rather not fight, but in reality they simply didn’t think it was worth it for the land they would obtain and the people they would conquer. They saw the Scottish as barbaric simpletons who weren’t worth the time. The wall was built to span from West to east, at varying heights, but four metres on average, started in 122AD, and finished some six years after that. It stood as a great monument to Roman power, daring anyone to oppose them. The site in South Shields has been partially reconstructed; especially the West gate which was entirely rebuilt in the 80’s to approximate the appearance of the gate in Roman times. The site is a great way to see what the wall was about without venturing too far into the countryside, however there is a bike path travelling the entire stretch of the wall, a ride which I myself would like to travel someday. The Commanding Officer’s house has also been half reconstructed, and decorated as it would have been when occupied by a powerful military leader, responsible for the supply of half of the wall’s troops with grain and supplies. It is an amazing feeling stepping through a doorway and seeing what a bedroom would have looked like almost 2000 years ago, and even more amazing that the foundation are all original, so you are standing where a powerful Roman stood so long ago, after a long hard day of work, ready to crash for a night of sleep.  (PS, no photos in this section as I forgot to take my camera with me to the Shields…oops!)

Suitably amazed, I headed back into the city to make myself another supper and head out with friends for a drink. Ok, so ‘a’ drink is an understatement, but many drinks later I happily went to bed, dreaming of my trip to Scotland the next day.

Of course, I write this from Dublin, a fair amount of time away from these events as I unfortunately procrastinated and didn’t write for a while. Last time I make that mistake! My next entry is on Edinburgh, my one Scottish destination, and falling in love with the friendly people, rugged landscapes, and awesome food. Until then, slán leat!