To start this article I wish to channel a little of my father’s philosophy when it comes to travel. He likes to think of himself as a fiercely independent wayfarer who eschews the horrors of package travel. He also chooses his holiday destinations with a…Read More

To start this article I wish to channel a little of my father’s philosophy when it comes to travel. He likes to think of himself as a fiercely independent wayfarer who eschews the horrors of package travel. He also chooses his holiday destinations with a keen eye for ‘authenticity’ and places that are ‘real’. For example, it genuinely seemed to break his heart when he visited me in China and I arranged all his travel from Tianjin to Xi’an from the comfort of my couch using the internet. Using the Chinese booking sight ELong took a certain element of the joy of the trip away from him. I dread to think how he felt when he saw the several branches of Starbucks in the centre of the city and the array of tourist stores close to the Warriors themselves.

As you can probably tell from the tone of my opening to this journal, I am not 100% in line with my father’s ideas. I am of the school of thought that argues that, in the twenty-first century, you are unlikely to find the type of authenticity my father yearns for. Globalization and the internet have made finding places untouched by the outside far harder – not impossible, but far harder. If you find a Starbucks or McDonalds outside a beautiful temple or ancient castle, it is probably best just to enjoy a latte and not worry about the loss of identity.

The picture I paint may seem a little sad. For what it’s worth, I do agree to a certain extent with my father’s philosophy. And, when I see somewhere that seems full of local flavor, life and tradition, I find it best to really enjoy it. This brings me to a favorite haunt of my Dad’s: The Leeds Arms in Scarborough. He likes it because it is a wonderfully traditional English pub that is the heart of the fishing community in Scarborough and is steeped with history and tradition.

When my girlfriend and I went to the UK to visit my family, my father was keen to take us to the Leeds Arms. If I am honest, I was not so enthused. The way I saw it, I could get a pint of beer anywhere. However, he insisted and after much persuasion, I relented and agreed to go. I was unbelievably glad that I did. Not only was I able to enjoy two or three very nice pints of beer, but I got a fantastic look into the traditional livelihood of one of England’s most interesting coastal towns.

The walls were bedecked with some genuinely interesting memorabilia. There were ship’s bells and ship’s clocks. There were stern-boards from boats as well as oars from the lifeboats and dotty boats that served the fishing trawlers. The ceiling looked as though it were made solely from deck beams of ships that had fallen out of service. There was also a great array of marine art and antique photography of the harbor and old boats. It was wonderful. The only thing that was missing was a few grizzled old seamen sat at the bar smoking heavy tobacco and spinning their yarns about the sea.


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After two nights in Robin Hood’s Bay it was time to head north to our next hotel and we decided to drive along the coast rather than head back inland and to stop for some lunch in the small seaside town of Saltburn. The only…Read More

After two nights in Robin Hood’s Bay it was time to head north to our next hotel and we decided to drive along the coast rather than head back inland and to stop for some lunch in the small seaside town of Saltburn. The only thing I knew about Saltburn was that it has a fascinating old ‘cliff lift’ tramway which joins the upper town to the beach below. I’d seen photographs and was keen to try it for myself.

We arrived at about 11.30 and parked up in the car park at the southern end of the town. The public toilets had been closed due to some vandalism and this act of destruction (a bit of spray paint and lots of wet toilet paper, I presume) turned out to be ‘the talk of the town’ on that quiet Sunday morning. We left the car behind and headed for the beach, wary of the dark storm clouds threatening the calm of our day out.

Saltburn has an exceptional beach and I say that as someone who generally prefers a rocky coastline to acres of sand. For a sandy beach to impress me it has to be wide, extremely clean, and preferably have no people on it. I can cope with a few people walking their dogs and that’s pretty much what we got at Saltburn; a handful of people taking a stroll and lots of dogs having a wonderful time.

In some ways it’s a shame that Saltburn’s Cliff Lift gets so much attention when it should be the pier that’s the star of the show. Saltburn Pier is a beautiful work of art and engineering although I couldn’t help thinking that surely the point of a pier was to allow people to walk ‘above’ the water rather than just to the edge of the water. During our visit the tide was very firmly ‘out’ and the end of the pier didn’t even reach the waves. Whilst this gave us the spectacular sunny beach, it did rather make the pier redundant.
Piers are for walking on so that’s what we did; from the shore end to the sea end and back again. Well you have to, don’t you? The pier is in excellent condition and has been well maintained and is a fine example of its type. It’s rather a simple pier because all the entertainments and arcade machines are at the shore end and there’s nothing actually on the pier except a few benches. Whilst this isn’t one of the grand piers more typical of the south coast, it still proudly boasts of winning Pier of the Year in 2009

The head of the pier stands opposite the base of the Cliff Lift Tramway and both are decorated in cream paint with the beams picked out in red. The cliff lift is a so-called ‘inclined tramway’ which replaced an earlier ‘hoist’ which used to transport people up and down in a contraption not unlike a coal mine cage which was powered by hydraulics. Given the winds that can build in the North East coast, it must have been a terrifying thing to use. The Inclined tramway is a more reassuring beast and its tracks are fixed to the cliff side so it’s much safer than its predecessor. Since 1884 it has carried passengers in two brightly painted carriages which travel up and down the tracks – one going up whilst the other comes down and each holds about a dozen people.

I believe we paid a pound or less for our trip. It really shouldn’t be much more as it’s quite a short distance which we could easily have walked, but the cliff lift has been recently renovated and they obviously need to generate some income from it. My husband and I paid for our ride, passing through an old turnstile and then settling into the carriage. My husband hates cable cars and other high swingy things and is regularly subjected to terrifying ordeals on our holidays but even he thought the cliff lift provided a comfortable and totally unterrifying journey. The mechanism is so smooth that you almost glide up the hillside. Whether you walk or take the lift, it’s definitely worth heading up the cliff to get the best views of the beach below although I couldn’t see too much at the top that would have lured us away from looking at the sea.

We headed along the cliff top until we found a path back down again and then walked back along the beach. Just as we were starting to think about finding something to eat it started to rain so we took shelter under a small pavilion with everyone else who could reach it. The rain showed no sign of stopping so I borrowed my husband’s coat and went back to a food stall and bought us some bread rolls filled with freshly fried fish and then we ate them on a bench when the rain had stopped. In total we probably only spent a couple of hours in Saltburn but found it to be charming, pretty and to have a wonderful beach. I loved the pier, enjoyed the cliff lift and was very glad we’d broken our journey to have a look around. I can’t imagine spending a week there, but a few hours were enough to make a good impression.
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In 2011 I moved to the South of France. In many ways this was a dream come true as it provided me with great food, great weather and some of the nicest sea-based scenery you could ever wish to see - the blue of the…Read More

In 2011 I moved to the South of France. In many ways this was a dream come true as it provided me with great food, great weather and some of the nicest sea-based scenery you could ever wish to see - the blue of the sea in Nice is truly breathtaking. Because there is so much wealth in the area, secluded little ports are not something you can find easily. Instead, there are several ports and harbours that are filled with millions (and possibly even billions) of dollars of hi-tech yachts. Antibes for example houses row upon row of expensive pleasure craft. As Impressive as this can be - and several of the super yachts do look fantastic - I find a little tiresome and just a tad superficial.

Because of the scenery I am used to in France, the break I took in the North of England brought some rather refreshing scenery. My father, my girlfriend and I visited the towns of Scraborough and Whitby, where the ports brought a great deal more authenticity and a much greater sense of reality. Rather than merely housing pleasure crafts, both harbours were very much alive and relied on fishing for their livelihoods with tourism as something of a sideline.

The first thing to strike you in both Scarborough and Whitby is the smell ... of fish. Now, when I say 'fish' I do not mean a hint of grilled salmon or fried calamarie drifting on the air. Oh no, I mean an all-encompassing pong that comes from years of hauling cod from the fishing trawlers and onto the quayside. It is a smell so strong that it overpowers the sweet shops selling candy floss, it drowns out the pubs that are over-flowing with with fishermen and tourists, and it doesn't even give the fast food stalls selling hot-dogs and donuts a chance. It is the type of smell that tells you that you are in a port that still works, that still has traditional industries as it's heartbeat.

Both Scarborough and Whitby look lot more focused on real work and making a living. The boats that we saw moored at the quayside were, in the main, fishing trawlers. These were dirty, smelly and grimy. They genuinely looked as though they had just arrived back from a week in cold waters of the North Sea I which many of them probably had. Stacked next to these craft we could see huge piles of fishing nets and piles of small netted pots designed to catch crabs. I found the day-to-day fishing work on show to be fascinating. It looked like dirty and dangerous work, but it all seemed so full of life.

Another area in which the ports of Yorkshire looked different was due more to nature than any particular raison d'etre. As the Mediterranean is not tidal, you see very little difference in the ports in the South of France. The water is generally calm and never seems to really move or change I this certainly helps in creating the idyllic setting wealthy boat enthusiasts look for. The North Sea on the other hand is extremely tidal. The water level can rise and fall by as much as 10m. This means that, during low tides, you can often see the bottom of the port. This is a giant expanse of squelchy mud upon which the majority of boats are left marrooned until the tide begins to flow in again. This was the case in Scarboroigh where several of the boats were sat snugly in the mud.

Thus far in this article, I have painted the ports in Yorkshire as being devoted solely to work, almost like they are devoid of fun and humour. This would, though, be inaccurate. They do have a fun side, it is just nowhere near as pronounced as the ports in the South France. The pleasure craft on show were extremely different to those I might have found in Antibes. There were no super yachts. However, there were plenty of options for holidaymakers to take to the waves. In Whitby, there was a replica of Captain James Cook's Endeavour (The ship in which he discovered Australia) that gave trips out into Whitby Bay. There were also speedboats that 10minute spins around the harbour. In Scarborough, there was an old tramp steamer that also did tours and which had been used as a troop evacuation ship during WWII.

I enjoyed my trip to Yorkshire and its ports tremendously. Whilst they may not quite match the South of France for glamour, they were a great sight.Close

When I was a child, my family took vacations or long weekends in the north-east of Yorkshire. I use to love it. This may have been because towns like Scarborough and Whitby are genuinely fascinating and fun for an eight year-old boy. Or, it could…Read More

When I was a child, my family took vacations or long weekends in the north-east of Yorkshire. I use to love it. This may have been because towns like Scarborough and Whitby are genuinely fascinating and fun for an eight year-old boy. Or, it could be because I had, at that point in my life, not travelled outside the UK and knew no better. Looking back through the years, it is probably a combination of the two. The fresh sea air and football on the beach were wonderful, but when you have no knowledge of Mediterranean beaches to compare them to, it is much easier to love them.

Because I loved our trips to Scarborough, Bridlington and Whitby so much, I would often be pre-occupied during the actual journey there. I would be planning all the things I wanted to do – football on the beach, play bingo, play arcade games, eat huge amounts of sweets – and asking my dad "Are we there yet?". I never really spent all that much time actually appreciating then countryside through which we passed. This was a crying shame because parts of the Yorkshire Dales are absolutely stunning. Therefore, when I got a second chance recently, I was all for it.

My girlfriend and I decided to visit Whitby with my father, who drove us across the Yorkshire Dales. This was a fantastic drive. The scenery was awesome. It was made up of wonderful rolling hills that were covered in lush greenery. As it was Britain, I need to stop short of describing them as mountains for we have few such peaks. Instead, the hills are large and imposing, but do not stretch away to dramatic snow-covered peaks. The best they manage was on the odd tree looking forlorn and windswept. It was all very scenic, albeit slightly sedate.

There were two particular points of interest on the way to Whitby. The first was Filingdales Moor. In the 1980s this was an area of great controversy in the UK when it was home to an early warning system used by both the British and American military to spy on the Soviet Union and potential missile launches. This became rather iconic as it looked like two giant golf-balls. It was also the focus of several anti-nuclear demonstrations. Happily, warmer time shave prevailed and the need for such systems has dissipated. However, I was disappointed not to see their iconic shape on the dales. The second was the Devil's Hole, a giant 30p0m wide depression in the earth that looks like some form of ancient crate caused by an asteroid or meteorite. It is a very strange little area that sees hundreds of cars stopping for their occupants to peer down into the hole below.

The Dales were so nice that it almost felt a shame to see the green rolling countryside give way to the tiled roofs of the town. One thing is for certain, though, if I ever make the trip again, I wont be.
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I live in Nice in the South of Result. As a result, I get the opportunity to sample some truly fantastic food. The blend of French cuisine and Italian dishes is truly wonderful and leaves me spoiled for choice. Even though Nice may be famed…Read More

I live in Nice in the South of Result. As a result, I get the opportunity to sample some truly fantastic food. The blend of French cuisine and Italian dishes is truly wonderful and leaves me spoiled for choice. Even though Nice may be famed for dishes such as Socca and Salade Nicoise, it is also renowned for its sea-food. Dishes such as boulabaise are commonplace as are restaurants offering moules or seafood paealla – one of the finest meals I have ever eaten was moules a volonte (all you can eat) in the Cours Saleya area of the city.

When I took a trip back to the north of England, I was excited because seafood would again be on the menu, but on the shores of the North Sea it would prove to be very different. There would be far less paella, not so much tuna and significantly less salmon. Instead it would be things like cod, herring and all manner of shellfish. The mussels would remain, but they would be served in a very different way.

One of the things I love about visiting towns like Scarborough and Whitby is the food on display in the widows of the local fishmongers. In Nice, we often see all kinds of Mediterranean fish displayed on ice outside restaurants. In Yorkshire, though, the displays were far less bright and aesthetic. There were rows of different shellfish, slabs and slabs of cod and herrings smoked into kippers. In one of these, this display was given a little extra life by the addition of two sets of shark’s teeth.

On our trip, we spent much of the morning eyeing the sea-food greedily. However, it wasn’t until lunchtime that we actually managed to partake when we stopped of for fish and chips. My father and my girlfriend had freshly caught battered cod. My father was certain that the fish he was eating had probably still been swimming that very morning because it tasted so fresh. My girlfriend was also impressed at the crisp taste of the colder water fish. Sadly, I missed out as I only eat shellfish and not fish.

My time came later in the day when we drove down to Scarborough and I enjoyed some shellfish on the promenade. The small fishing cum tourist town has scores of small concession stands on the side of the harbor selling everything from candy floss to burgers. However, I made a bee-line for the shellfish stand and decided to chow down on some of my favourites. I started with some small prawns. These were served icy cold and swimming in vinegar. They were divine. I followed these with mussels. However, unlike in France, they came without their shells and with no sauce. I simply had the creatures themselves doused in salt and vinegar. Again, they were wonderful. I followed these with some whelks, a type of English shellfish that is hideously ugly and unbelievably chewy, but which somehow seem to define a trip to the seaside … for me at least.
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Another of Huddersfield's highlights is an annual festival; the Food and Drink Festival takes over the Georgian era St Georges Square in front of the train station for a long weekend early in August. While the festival has only been running 12 years, it has…Read More

Another of Huddersfield's highlights is an annual festival; the Food and Drink Festival takes over the Georgian era St Georges Square in front of the train station for a long weekend early in August. While the festival has only been running 12 years, it has become incredibly popular with around 100 000 attendees at the 4 day festival last year.

The 2012 Huddersfield Food and Drink Festival coincided with a period of hot weather and the 70 or so stalls have had a bumper time. The stalls are mainly local food producers offering a variety of wares and plenty of samples. Some of the stalls concentrate on food and drink to eat there and then, others offer food to take home.

I always like the idea of sampling something to eat for lunch or dinner and £5 or so will usually get you a full sized meal. This year I sampled food from one of the local curry restaurants that I haven't yet visited (yes they exist!), but there was full range to try from Mexican, Argentinian, Thai or the offering from a local gastro pub or restaurant listing things like pigs cheek on their menu. I didn't fancy the anemic looking Zebra steak that one stall offered.

There are plenty of communal tables for visitors to dine at, or like me you can make a nuisance of yourself by sitting on the train station steps annoying those folk that have to work and commute.

We also found that three of the local real ale pubs had stalls in the market; as did some cider manufacturers from the other end of the country. The "slush puppy" cider for £2.50 a glass particularly intrigued me; the queues waiting to be served put me off a little, but they had obviously pitched it right on this hot and sunny day.

Once I've eaten I can look around the food to take away stalls in the knowledge that I'm not likely to get into a shopping frenzy because I'm too hungry. Again, there is a great choice where locals can order a regular vegetable box delivery of seasonal vegetables, or buy bottles of relishes, cooking sauces, cheese (ooh lots of lovely looking cheeses), local fresh meat and sausages and oils, wines, beers and ciders and cordials. You can often sample the wares before you buy.

The only downside to the Food and Drink Festival is that these little "trinkets" of food can add up, and consequently I usually walk carefully around the market before limiting myself to two purchases. It's very easy to buy some kind of sauce or relish on an impulse and then find it gathering dust and out of date at the back of your food cupboard in a couple of years time.

Overall the Food and Drink Festival is a great place to visit and to stay for an hour or two. There is a friendly, relaxed buzzing atmosphere with folks hunting down food to snack, and with different street acts around to entertain the crowds. I like the grand surrounds of St Georges Square and the statue of Harold Wilson seemingly walking through the centre of the action. If you are in Yorkshire at the end of July or August then look out for it.
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''It's grim up north'' is an oft-mocked cliché which has, as many a cliché, quite a solid grounding in reality. The North-South divide in England is very much alive and there is more to it than just simple levels of wealth or material deprivation. North…Read More

''It's grim up north'' is an oft-mocked cliché which has, as many a cliché, quite a solid grounding in reality. The North-South divide in England is very much alive and there is more to it than just simple levels of wealth or material deprivation. North is industrial and/or working class, and the Northerners like to think of themselves as tough and down to earth, a bit downtrodden, a bit of an underdog. South is where the power, the money, the influence is. South's wealth is based on finance and rent, inherited property and (at worst) trade, and the Northerners like to think of Southerners as soft, sophisticated and snobby. This is all a grand simplification, of course, and for each Coronation Street there is EastEnders, for each Toxteth riot a Brixton one, for each Essex centre of bling a Cheshire one to match. But still, the default position of England is the Southern one, undoubtedly influenced by the huge importance of London in the media and the governance, as well as so-called Home Counties. It's the northern accents that are considered to be ''regional ones'' and the North remains the poorer cousin.

All this was greatly exacerbated by the de-industrialisation of the Thatcherite era, which left whole communities desolate and hopeless, blighted by unemployment and loss of purpose. A lot has changed since then, and the combination of natural recovery, local reinvention and regeneration efforts smoothed the scars left by the 1980s ravages, but the legacy of hundreds of years of regional inequality is still noticeable and the fact that the North was the workshop of the world for over 100 years (as well as its coal mine and a textile mill) is reflected in the towns and cities of the area.

None of the above means it's ALL grim up North - in fact some of the most stunning landscapes in England can be found there as well as magnificent historical monuments, grand architecture and vibrant cities that produced some of the best culture that ever came out of England, from the Bronte sisters to the Lakes' Poets and for the Liverpudlian pop legend The Beatles to Manchester's outstanding music scene of the 1980s and 1990s, and beyond.

The definition of the North is endlessly argued (some say anything north of Watford Gap qualifies) and many places in the northern Midlands are, well, middling, but the grand three areas that pretty much everybody will agree are Of The North are Yorkshire, the North-West (Derbyshire, Cheshire and north of that all the way to the Lakes which are usually treated separately) and the North-East (more or less around Newcastle).

The most interesting destinations are (although all such judgments are necessarily subjective), the vibrant post-industrial cities of Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds and Newcastle; the historic cathedral towns (technically cities) of Lincoln, Durham, York and Chester and the natural glories of the Peak District, Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District. Everybody should also visit a traditional English sea-side resort, for a cultural experience as much as actual fun; from Scarborough to Morecambe to Blackpool, take your pick. Close

Things were going swimmingly and then the consistent line of stones we were following as our route, rounded from years of use since the days of the 1700's and the packhorse trail, were getting lower and lower in the marshland as we progressed. Eventually we…Read More

Things were going swimmingly and then the consistent line of stones we were following as our route, rounded from years of use since the days of the 1700's and the packhorse trail, were getting lower and lower in the marshland as we progressed.

Eventually we had to admit defeat, abandon the path and forge our own way through the moor. About 100 yards of this and things went going swimmingly indeed as I slid elegantly off a tussock of bog grass and ended up floundering mid thigh through the thin coating of ice and down into the bog. My other leg fortunately ended up not quite so fixed.

I shouted to my beloved as getting out was going to be messy and my exposed camera stood just scant inches above a watery death.

"Grab my camera" I gasped, travel reporter to the end.

"Of course", she replied, "You don't think I'm going to miss getting a shot of this do you?"

Fortunately, we were only a couple of miles from ending our walk, so my water filled boots didn't irritate my feet too much, and even in the February sun, my trousers soon dried, leaving a slight residue of peat staining.

Up until the moment of my near demise we had really enjoyed our walk and most of the ground beneath our feet was either path, lane, or frozen grass. The high slug up the 1400 feet of Stoodley Pike and its distinctive monument on top, out of Hebden Bridge was punctuated by a nice relaxing flat lane, looking out over fields reclaimed from the Moors before another stiff but short hike up to Stoodley itself.

Beyond the wilds of Stoodley Pike, we took a circular walk which offered the range of walking experiences on offer in this neck of the woods; heh, yes including woods, but also lane, field and moorland (where I met my sticky demise). En route we came across goats, lamas, fat (just about to give birth) sheep, and startled a stag in the woods; we could spot his hooves flying up above the undergrowth.

Our walk took us back into Hebden Bridge in slightly less than 5 hours and with enough time to buy a couple of bottles of beer to celebrate our achievement.

We chose our route from the Walking Britain website (www.walkingbritain.co.uk); route number 1291, Stoodley Pike from Hebden Bridge. To find it, search by county/area and choose "Calderdale". We were very grateful for our additional detailed OS map, as the instructions on the web site was really rather vague in places.

Notwithstanding our personal little issue negotiating around the sunken footpath, I think outside of summer this is always going to be a muddy walk and so requires sturdy hiking boots to complete. We also didn't spot any shops or bars for food en route (apart from in Hebden Bridge itself) so if you want to eat, or take on some water on the way then you need to bring your own.

Overall the Hebden Bridge to Stoodley Pike circular is an excellent choice as you get a good variety of walking, a bit of exercise climbing up a hill, and as you follow the ridge for much of the walk you can usually see roughly where you are going.

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Having lived in many different countries over the past five years or so, I have experienced several different transport systems and have covered many miles in many different ways. Travel in each of these countries provided its own unique delights and, perhaps more pertinently, its…Read More

Having lived in many different countries over the past five years or so, I have experienced several different transport systems and have covered many miles in many different ways. Travel in each of these countries provided its own unique delights and, perhaps more pertinently, its own set of challenges. For example, in China, whilst the train was cheap and reliable, it was often difficult to get tickets at busy times - some of the queues involved often defied belief. In Mongolia, the trains were cheap and were always very punctual, but services were less than frequent and often left passengers waiting for hours and sometimes days to get where they were going. Similarly, in Turkey, the express bus services were first class - they were fast, clean and very comfortable - unfortunately, they were also very expensive. When I returned to England after living in Turkey for 6months, I knew I would have to use the English transport system for the first time in a few years. Having endured nineteen hour train-rides on crowded trains through central China and waited hours in the desert for a slow Mongolian train, I assumed things back home would be easy.

Things started off well. I booked my tickets online from Turkey using the trainline.com – a popular and very useful website for booking train tickets in the UK. I was easily able to get tickets from Birmingham International Airport to Meadowhall, the station closest to my house in England. The whole process was unbelievably simple. I reserved seats on each of the three legs of the journey and was even able to specify that I would like a window seat close to a luggage rack. As I was traveling with a large amount of luggage, this was a major concern. With my booking complete, I felt satisfied that my trip home would be easy, comfortable and free of complications. I was convinced I wouldn't encounter any of the problems I had encountered overseas.

The British train system is one of the most extensive in the world, with hundreds of lines serving even small and remote locations. It is also renowned for being less than reliable and being susceptible to bizarre delays and cancellations. For example, in the summer months there are often delays when the tracks get 'too hot' or in winter when they freeze. There have also been regular newspaper stories detailing how train services had been canceled because of leaves on the line. Tickets are also often very expensive - it cost me 32GBP for a journey that would take a little over two hours. The equivalent price in China would have taken me thousands of miles deep into the interior of the country, and, in Mongolia it would quite simply have been impossible to spend that amount of money on a train ticket. Despite the potential problems and high price, I was confident I would get value for money.

After my flight landed in Birmingham, I made my way from the airport to the station. Collecting my tickets proved to be a smooth process. I simply placed my credit card into the ticket machine and out they dropped. I then embarked on the first leg of my journey, from the airport to Birmingham New Street. This all went well and I actually arrived three minutes early. It was only when I reached New Street that the English train system began to live up to its reputation. The train I needed to catch was a cross-country service operating between Bournemouth and Aberdeen. It pulled in to platform 9 five minutes before it was scheduled to leave. As Birmingham is a big city there were hundreds of people waiting both to get on and get off. The resulting melee almost matched some of the scenes I had witnessed in China for chaos and confusion.

After finding my carriage I was able to force myself in and drag my luggage up the steps. However, once inside, I was met by a wall of people. To my dismay, I quickly discovered that there appeared to be no limit on the amount of people allowed to travel on the train. As a consequence, the train was rammed. The carriage was full to bursting. Every seat was taken and many passengers were even sitting in the aisle. Worse still the luggage rack was completely full. I quickly drew the conclusion that there was no way I could take my seat and keep an eye on my luggage. Therefore, the only option I had was to stand in the foyer between the carriages for the whole journey.

The journey cost me 32GBP and I was forced to stand in cramped conditions the whole way. I was massively unimpressed. The whole experience sent my my mind back to Mongolia where for 8GBP I took a 700 mile and 13 hour journey across the steppe in a sleeping carriage in which I could relax in relative luxury, and, to China where the new express link between Beijing and Tianjin operates at 340kph and costs just 7GBP for a first class ticket. It made me feel that we were somehow doing something very wrong in my home country. Close

As you may have noticed from some of my other journal entries about Rotherham, the centre of the town is mired in a period of decline and decay. The causes of this include the closure of much local industry and the emergence of major out…Read More

As you may have noticed from some of my other journal entries about Rotherham, the centre of the town is mired in a period of decline and decay. The causes of this include the closure of much local industry and the emergence of major out of town shopping complexes that draw both retailers and customers away from the traditional heart of the town. The effects of this are clear to see. The town centre no longer plays host to major retailers, instead it is full of mobile phone suppliers, charity shops and discount stores. In short, it is not a place many people choose to go shopping.

Because of the downturn the town centre has suffered, the local government has attempted several schemes to breathe new life into the old buildings around town. There have been some schemes that have worked quite well. For instance, the old-fashioned street market on a Tuesday is very popular and brings a certain buzz back to the town. Others have worked less well. Two blocks of stylish town centre apartments stand unoccupied. Because they were so expensive to build, the rents are very high. So high, in fact, that there are few jobs in the centre of Rotherham that pay enough to afford them.

One initiative that has worked, though, is 'Rotherham by the Sea'. As Rotherham is 100km away from the nearest stretch of coast, a trip to the beach is often an expensive day out for many families in the town. So, the local government decided to bring the beach to the town. They did this by trucking several tons of sand and depositing it in All Saints Square in the centre of town. They then added a few deck-chairs and umbrellas and the plan was complete.

I must admit that in 2003, when the idea first premièred, I laughed out loud and ridiculed such a concept. However, when I returned home in August 2010 from my latest stint overseas, I found Rotherham by the Sea in its eighth year still going strong. The image it created in the centre of town was a bizarre one. The centre of the square was covered in sand and filled with young children, many of them actually wearing swimming costumes as though they were at the 'real' beach. This was circled by rows of deck-chairs filled with parents sat talking and enjoying the occasional ice-cream. Some of the children were even paddling in the square's main fountain in lieu of having any real sea.

Despite my scepticism, Rotherham by the Sea was doing a fantastic job of recreating a traditional day at the English seaside. However, sadly, true to keep the authenticity at its highest, just a few minutes after I walked past England's newest 'coastal' resort, it began to rain and everyone went scurrying for cover.
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