Spring Break (In Summer)

It’s been a while since I’ve published on here, and as bills continue to rise I was considering reverting back to the free version, but I would miss the community, so have decided not to. I must get my money’s worth however, and write something!

I do like my travel blogs and so will offer a short, and, to be honest, tired, review of a little trip Hannah and I took to North Yorkshire for my recent birthday. We were travelling by train, a lovely journey from Newcastle, despite all the talk of how wonderful a drive it is. It really isn’t far to drive either, but I hate driving. I do drive, of course, and it will probably horrify the American mind that a one-and-a-half-hour drive was something I couldn’t be bothered to do, but it is not my idea of a good time, and it was my birthday after all. There was also the small problem of my car having exploded six days prior, in the middle of the countryside and the pouring rain, just after it had been serviced and passed its MOT. My subsequent efforts to defraud the AA (I do not pay for roadside recovery) by pretending to be my Dad, and this going smoothly until I was asked by the man who came to tow me to confirm my date of birth, are both a story for another time and a contributing factor to me needing the break when it came.

So, yes, the train. Which came on time, and passed seamlessly through the rolling hills of Northern England, as I sipped beers and read my newspaper in my flat cap, a collection of characteristics that probably mean I am quite suited to Yorkshire surroundings.

Not sure if I’d ever been to Harrogate, but all I knew was that it was a pretty spa town, a smaller-scale version of Bath which I had enjoyed last year, but the first thing I noticed was that it was not in fact all that small. In fact, it felt bigger than Bath to me (it probably wasn’t). Anyhow, it looked beautiful in the sunshine, with the flowers on display, and the wonderful architecture (like Newcastle, it struck me as a good place in which to “look up”). In terms of accommodation, rather than pay over the top for the Hilton which has a proper spa (always suspicious of what uncomfortable things people might try to do to my body in such places), we opted for the ever-reliable Premier inn.

But not for long, as it was my birthday and so I had chosen a list of pubs, breweries and restaurants to visit. First stop was the highly-recommended Fat Badger, a traditional but popular pub with enough pale ales and quirky artwork to satisfy my tastes, as well as a foul-mouthed message from the badger etched onto every tankard. Next we went to one of the local breweries, aptly named Cold Bath Brewing. This was your classic open plan tap room that was heaving on a Saturday night, probably a little over-priced, but still an essential visit. The beer was nice but I felt a bit overstimulated. We decided to head towards the restaurant we had booked for the evening, Stuzzi, which is defined as Italian small plates – Tapas Venetian style.

We soon discovered that this was directly next door, and didn’t look from the outside like quite what I expected. It almost seemed a continuation of the tap room, but then I should’ve realised this was not your standard Italian restaurant (I can be a snob about crap Italian restaurants, but this seemed a bit pretentious at first). I t was recommended but we were originally going to go for Sunday dinner. However, a nice local pizza restaurant being fully booked (forget the name – I know it was small hence why), meant we came here for a regular meal instead.

In my infinite wisdom I did not take photos, but it was certainly as pretentious as it seemed (however, in terms of the food you are being served, this is never a bad thing).

It certainly wasn’t pizza and pasta. Well, there may have been pasta involved, pasta I’d never seen before, but certainly no pizza. Forget pepperoni, I was served rabbit pate, arancini, nduja (I think), and copious more dishes I neglected to take a photo of. Despite the aura about the place - we will NOT alter dishes to meet dietary requirements - there was plenty for Hannah to eat as well, suffering from that condition (in the European mind) of Vegetarianism.

How does one complete an evening after paying out the arse for Vegetarian tapas? Wetherspoons of course! Now, I’ve knocked Wetherspoons in the past. The food is hit and miss. The owner seems to be a bit of a dick. But to be honest, with their two pound pints (sometimes less), their support of local breweries, and their lovely refurbishment of old buildings, they’re doing God’s work. And this one - The Winter Gardens - was a particularly lovely building, part of the old Harrogate Royal Baths. Beautiful, but I’ll admit The Caley Picture House in Edinburgh is still my favourite. When we got back to the hotel we were served a nightcap for free by a canny employee who never really explained why (I don’t think I said it was my birthday). I think he worked there anyhow…

Day two was to begin by sampling some delicious tea by way of Betty’s. Now, I’d know about Betty’s/Taylor’s of Harrogate for years - look back to one of my really old blogs for a political piece themed around Yorkshire tea. I didn’t realise until I got to Harrogate, however, that it was established by a Swiss guy (big fan of all things Swiss - see yet another former blog) and that, interestingly, nobody knows why it is called Betty’s. You can’t book, and we expected to queue, but it seems the breakfast hour isn’t as popular as afternoon tea, and we were served straight away and even given a place by the window. Hannah opted for the classic full English (rendered considerably less so by its vegetarian nature) where as I, enticed by the Swiss dishes, opted for a Rosti. As someone who orders eggs less and less these days, for fear of receiving a bad one, can confirm that the ones accompanying this Rosti were perfect. As was the rest of it.

After breakfast we decided to take a bath. Well, visit the museum all about the old springs where Victorians would travel for miles to be cured by the waters. It’s a nice and very affordable little museum, which, befitting for its nature, couldn’t quite decide to tell you if all that water was a natural healer or the whole thing was pseudoscience. No matter either way, this was a good enough approach (certainly in my opinion) to keep the gift shop in business.

A stroll next, as the west she continued to be lovely, around the Valley gardens, the location of many of these aforementioned springs of old, as well as more lovely flowers and the obligatory Japanese (and on this occasion, New Zealand) garden.

There was another brewery to visit, which unfortunately for Hannah appeared to be way out in the suburbs on an industrial estate. To get there, we first had to cross a big open green space called the stray (where a nice looking food festival was going on - but oh the prior plans). We also passed the football stadium (I didn’t realise how good Harrogate Town were), what felt like a million hospitals/healthcare facilities, and a pub, where we opted for a quick break on our way to … the pub. In pub 1 we were entertained by some light cabaret in the form of an elderly couple who appeared to have rang earlier to say they were coming for two beef dinners, arrived at the pub, and then not actually ordered, believing the dinners would just know they were there, plate themselves up and present themselves to them. “We will NOT be coming here again” was the verdict, much to the disappointment, I imagine, of the staff earning minimum wage at a franchised establishment.

A short walk it was then to our eventual destination, Harrogate Brewing Company. Had been quite a trek, and there were one or two angry wasps joining us for a pint, but it was absolutely worth it. The pale ale I and was one of the nicest drinks I think I’ve ever had, and a lovely beermat for my collection to boot.

We eventually set off to return towards the town centre. Thankfully the pub we’d booked for Sunday dinner, Three’s a Crowd, was located opposite the stray.

A nice gastropub - very popular - but thankfully we had booked a table. As we were shown to it, the two of us, the waiter mistakenly said “we are expecting a third person yes?” and I did not think at this opportunity to say “Nah, Three’s a Crowd” but alas never mind. To be honest, the permanently stern look on his face suggested he wouldn’t have appreciated it.

Lovely food mind, supposedly the best roast in Yorkshire, and it certainly came with the obligatory Yorkshire pudding. Finished off with a baked Alaska take on a brownie. Staff were lovely too (even Mr Stern) although I could tell they were stressed by the various needs of the birthday party (I think) that seemed to encompass our table. No matter though, could not ruin a meal as delicious as this.

A trip anywhere in the UK wouldn’t be compete without a visit to a micropub, and Harrogate’s offering, which I unfortunately can’t remember the name of and can’t find, was canny, with a menu that informed us pizzas from the place we couldn’t get to the day before were available in the bar on said day. On the way back to the hotel - via The Fat Badger and Spoons - I believe we also passed a city centre-located version of the Harrogate Brewing Company. I should probably plan my travels better. But then not doing so fully is part of the fun I suppose.

On the way back the next day, to cure the going home blues, we visited Knaresborough, on the recommendation of a mate from work. Essentially the next town along, it was beautiful with its riverside walks, viaduct, lovely pubs and train station.

It’s famous for Mother Shipton’s cave, but a combination of me thinking you needed to book in advance and suffering with a big bag on my back in insane heat meant we didn’t make it there. We did, however, walk along to the House in the Rock, and the Chapel of Our Lady of the Crag, both carved into the cliff face. There were stairs up to the chapel, but it did say it was only open Sundays, and I feared the voices I heard at the top were gardeners that would boot me straight back down. Another few pints in another few pubs then.

On the way back to the train station, when crossing the railway, I thought I’d take a nice photo.

While taking it, I was quickly bellowed at by a man in a box who said “straight over please!” I wonder if similar photos of this quaint town’s railway have ever appeared on those threads of “photos seconds before disaster.” I doubt it, but never mind. Was time to go. A lovely weekend it had been. Happy birthday to me.