Arriving in Alnwick

I’ve never been a train traveler. A few weeks of using a commuter train between Manchester to Boston, years ago, is the extent of it, but Hannah and Marg have told me lots of times how pleasant it is. I have to say, the train ride from Inverness down into Northumberland was very relaxing. I’d always thought they’d be noisier for some reason. I could easily have slept, if it hadn’t been a morning trip.

We were carrying around way too much luggage for a train trip. There was room to stow it alright, but getting around with it all was a pain. We were definitely playing the dumb American tourist there. I think we’ll be shipping some stuff home before we leave Alnwick.

Our trip started in the Great Glen. Broad green fields and patches of woodland made up most of the scenery. There was plenty of nice farm country, with those beautiful stone houses and barns. There also were plenty of sheep, but without all the colorful marks that were sported by the island sheep. Most of the trees were evergreen, but there were the odd deciduous trees that I couldn’t identify be the train was moving too fast. Larch? Sorry, obscure Monty Python reference. While we were pulling into one of the train stations, Marg wondered aloud what “the tall trees without anything on them” were, and Gretchen offered “light poles”. Gretchen could give the Python crew a run for their money some days.

As we gained altitude the trees became a lot fewer, and we saw a lot of bare hills and heather. After being in the Hebrides I half expected to see signs of peat cutting, but no, judging by the amount of gravel along the stream beds, we weren’t in that kind of moor. The weather changed from sunny and warm to overcast.

The way back downhill took us through Edinburgh, and finally into England. The train ran near the coast in Northumberland, and a fog had moved in. The ocean was at our side and we could sometimes see a bit of it, though not well through the mist. When we got off at Alnmouth Station, it was cold.

Gretchen and Marg write about the taxi to the cottage and the quick spin through town, so I’ll leave that to them. Except for one thing. Though the driver had pointed out the big Morrison’s grocery to us, he made quite a point of suggesting that we shop at the Co-op. Local politics? Interesting.

I had to walk around after it was all done. A new place is like Christmas morning to me. I can’t be in a new place and not start looking around, under and behind everything right away. Town center is a mile and a half from the cottage. The land rolls a bit along the way, but not so much as to be strenuous. It was right at a half hour for me when I reached Bonds Gate, the old piece of fortification that takes the road down to one (narrow) lane. Past that old arch, you’re more or less in town center. The Market Square (Gretchen calls it a rhombus, but it looks clearly a triangle to me) is in the middle of it all. There were four cash machines in about 50 feet and none elsewhere. A place for every thing and a thing for every place, we say. Lots of clothing shops, places to eat (or, better, drink) and plenty of choices for getting your hair cut. There was even a computer geek shop. And the bus station, which will be important later, I think. I hit town center at about 5:30, which is just when most of the shops close. Not the bars, though. But I wasn’t up for a nip just yet. I had some walking around to do, and a lot of that jaywalking, so the drink would have to wait. I did a bit of backtracking and circling, got lost a few times and found myself, and all told it was an hour and fifty minute walk. Cool in the shade and a bit too warm in the sun, so the jacket went on and off. I timed myself on the way back and found that the cottage was twenty minutes at a quite leisurely pace from the closest restaurant (the carverie and pub at the Oaks Hotel) and about eight minutes from the last bus stop.

After tromping over dunes, machair and peat moors on Lewis, this walk was a pretty easy one.