Tyneside

Having dodged Amble we find ourselves on Tyneside rather earlier than expected, in fact we have six days to fill. This turns out to be considerably easier than expected. On the whole the weather cooperates which enables us to get out and about, enjoying the city, river and coast.

We use the bikes to visit some lovely sandy beaches at Tynemouth and South Shields. Spurred on by the number of locals in the water we even have a swim in the sea at Tynemouth. I’m a big fan of sea swimming, even taking ritual dips in the North Sea at Skegness during the winter, but the sea at Tynemouth is a whole new level of cold, worse than Scotland.

One day we take the bikes across the river on the North/South Shields ferry so that we can ride down the coast to Marsden Grotto. There is still a little magic about a little foot ferry and it makes the journey special.

For anyone who is unfamiliar with the area Marsden Grotto has a lift built into the cliff which deposits you in a cafe on the beach. It used to deposit you in a pub but this is now sadly defunct. My father in law Bill told us how as a child in 1945 they were allowed to use the lift and play on the pub terrace, but not go on the beach on account of the mines. We had a similar experience sat on the beach watching the kittiwake colony, where we were spattered with weapons grade guano.

Royal Quays marina is handily placed to access the Tyneside Metro, although our local station, Meadow Well is in need of a little spit and polish. On reflection just polish.

There is no substitute for a few trips on an urban transport system to help you get a feel for a city, and we certainly got a feel for Tyneside.

We did discover a really cool Sunday Market in the old station at Tynemouth, it even had the trains running through the middle of it, just like you see on the TV documentaries about Asia.

Newcastle city centre is a real treat, packed with great architecture, pubs and bridges; in fact you really can’t get away from the bridges.

Two afternoons are taken up with sessions sampling some of the many pubs that have been recommended to us, every one is a gem but the Free Trade at Ouseburn wins out for us. It’s here that we meet Alfie who resolutely refuses to pose for photos when his owner tries take them but  poses like a supermodel for me.

August 17th is Indonesian Independence Day, which we mark in honour of our Indonesian friends. When I dig out our depleted flag roll I notice that alongside the red and white of Indonesia 🇮🇩 , there is a very smart sewn Saltaire. Throughout our time in Scotland we have been wearing a kiddies sandcastle courtesy flag while this beauty languished in a locker. I have vague recollections of making this and other flags when we first bought Flamingo, dreaming of the countries that we might visit one day. I must have had some insight at the time because I also made a yellow free pratique flag, which was redundant at the time, but is now required in post-Brexit Europe.

A feature of this trip has been our journeys back to Lincoln by rail for family birthdays. This time, on the same day that Flamingo is 30 years old, I am 60 years old and my aunt has a zero birthday too, but good manners prevents any further disclosure.

I have never had to use the railways to commute to work, so for me a train journey almost always means adventure, an almost old fashioned sense of romance. Newcastle railway station has that fantastic buzz of energy, all of the people coming and going tell little stories. Football fans wearing black and white shirts, hen parties wearing less, little kids with parents or grandparents visiting the city, it all adds up to an intriguing little sketch.

Gradually we dismantle the romance of the journey, firstly we board with our traditional Greggs train picnic, and once seated we look around at our fellow travellers; why is it that the people travelling on the trains are so much less glamerous and appealinjg than the ones getting off the trains? And are they thinking the same about us?

Railway photography is like shooting fish in a barrel and I have a field day amongst the Victorian glass and arches.

On arrival at home we find both of our children and their partners there to meet us, and a fault on the mains electricity which leaves us with no fridge, freezer, music, phone charging……. It is lovely to see everyone but it is chaos, rather more chaos than we are used to. On my birthday the electrian arrives, identifies and isolates the fault, then backs his van through the front wall!

On the train back to Tyneside we agree that we don’t want to simply pick up Flamingo and sail south, there are five weeks until we would like to be back in Norfolk. Five weeks is almost a third of our trip and it needs to be a continuation of our journey. To that end we agree an outline plan, Flamingo will fly north again to Amble and on to Holy Island for a third attempt to visit and get ashore. I harbour a secret ambition to continue north to Eyemouth for one night so that I can run up my Saltaire, just once.

We have enjoyed Tyneside a great deal, it is gritty, grubby and in places downright dirty, but we definitely prefer it to the polish of Edinburgh, or her little sister St Andrews. Incredible architecture and engineering, great pubs (each of which has better beer than the whole of Scotland) and probably more than anything a great river. A river gives a city focus, as a visitor a river gives you a sense of direction and place. Name me a great city that isn’t centred on a river.