There is a particular kind of magic in the North East that most people miss because they are too busy charging towards Edinburgh or London. I have often been one of them, staring out of a train window and thinking that those rolling hills look lovely before going back to my book. But to actually step off the platform in this part of the world is to realise that the North East is not just a place you pass through. It is a land of massive skies, castles that look like they were drawn by a child with an overactive imagination, and people who are so friendly it can actually be quite alarming if you are used to the stony silence of the capital.
My journey usually starts in Newcastle. If you haven't been lately, the Quayside is the place to be. Standing between the Tyne Bridge and the Millennium Bridge, which the locals affectionately call the winking bridge, you get a sense of the city's grit and its glamour. I spent twenty minutes just watching the bridge tilt the other day, which is perhaps a sign that I need more hobbies, but there is something deeply satisfying about a piece of engineering that moves so gracefully. Just up the hill is Grey Street, often voted the finest street in the country, and it truly is a masterclass in neoclassical architecture. I once tried to walk up it while eating a Greggs pasty — a local rite of passage — and felt simultaneously like a peasant and a king.
A short hop south takes you to Durham. If Newcastle is the rowdy, fun-loving sibling, Durham is the posh one who went to Oxford and never lets you forget it. The Cathedral and Castle sit on a wooded peninsula, looking down at the River Wear with an air of immense superiority. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site and for good reason. Stepping into the Cathedral feels like entering a stone forest. It is cold, quiet, and smells of old prayer and damp jumpers. I highly recommend the riverside walk afterwards to shake off the solemnity, especially if the rowing teams are out and shouting at each other.
However, the region's true soul lies further north, in Northumberland. This is the land of more castles than any other county in England. Bamburgh Castle is the showstopper. It sits on a throne of volcanic rock overlooking a beach so vast and white you would swear you were in the Caribbean if it weren't for the biting North Sea wind reminding you that you are very much not. I walked the sands there recently, wrapped in three layers of wool, feeling like a character in a Brontë novel but with significantly better snacks.
Then there is Alnwick, home to the famous castle and a garden that features a Poison Garden where everything can kill you. It is the only place I know where the tour guide starts by telling you not to smell the flowers unless you want to faint. It is brilliant.
The North East is a place that doesn't try too hard to impress you, which is exactly why it does. It is rugged, honest, and contains just enough eccentricities to keep you on your toes. Just remember to bring a coat. Even in July, the wind has a way of finding your bones.
