It was a
warm, sunny evening and we sat outside reading the Sunday papers, aperitifs in
hand and a BBQ at the ready. Apart from a few playful rabbits, we had the
meadow to ourselves. We had earlier completed a walk around the Tees valley, taking
in some pretty views and meeting no one but a gaggle of randomly dressed
teenagers lugging huge rucksacks who, from previous experience, we took to be a
group of Duke of Edinburgh Award hopefuls. And now, after a brief negotiation
with a farmer, we had secured a bucolic overnight site for our campervan and were
enjoying the benefits of a temporary tenancy with unimpeded views over swathes
of green, rolling countryside. Behind us was the imposing ruined core of 12th
Century Bowes castle, beside us a stretch of the Pennine Way - although no
hikers came by that evening. In fact the only intrusion was the sound of
traffic from the invisible but not-so-distant A66: that and a solitary 'ding-ding'
from my Nokia notifying me of an incoming text message.
The purpose
of our trip to the North East was threefold: to pay our first visit to the
Baltic Centre for Contemporary Arts, to hike in or around the Tees Valley and
to avoid being stuck at home, in front of the TV, watching the Wimbledon men's
final. When I conceived the idea, however, I had not realised that our route
through Yorkshire would be complicated by road closures and diversions on
account of yet another sporting fest - Le Tour de France. (Yes, I am naive
enough to imagine that a French cycle race would have not the slightest impact
on my life.) And so, to offset this
unfortunate timing, we set off a day early.
I have since forgiven the French for the
inconvenience, having read a piece by one of their journalists admitting to
their collective ignorance of the charms of l'Angleterre
profonde (the sun had been shining in
Yorkshire that day) and comparing it favourably with their own hinterlands. If
they get as far as the North East, they will discover that it too is a very
attractive region. Anthony Gormley's massive, rusting Angel of the North dominates
the low hills south of Gateshead seeming to say "You have arrived at a
significant place" and, sure enough, a few miles further north you cross one of the
Tyne's spectacular bridges into the centre of Newcastle where the steep
topography displays to dramatic advantage streets lined with magnificent stone
buildings. They are impressive but, when you consider that one end of Hadrian's
Wall is still visible nearby, you realise that they represent just one layer of
the important history of this place.
The waterfront
of Newcastle reflects the passing of its industrial economy - people now live
in converted and newly built apartments; hotels and restaurants occupy some of
the prime locations - and the Baltic Centre itself, once a flour mill, has
become a tourist destination. Unfortunately I had, in my haste to get away,
neglected to check the programme of exhibitions and was disappointed to find
two of the three galleries closed for re-hanging, the top floor closed to all
except customers buying tickets to ride a zip-wire across the river and the
terrace bar reserved for the exclusive use of wedding guests. Fortunately the
fine weather made an alternative walking tour of the city both feasible and
enjoyable.
Back in the
meadow, we were talking about the importance of forward planning, especially in
the case of our up-coming trip to Nice on September 5, when that text message
arrived. It was from my Finnish friend whom I last spoke to a year ago. It read
"Fancy joining me with vacation trip to Nice on Sept. 4 - 9?"
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