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The weekend just past was a marvellous long weekend, with perfect weather for relative hunting (hounds and rifles optional). I took James to meet my family in Newcastle. I think it’s a loose connection genetically, but it’s definitely a close connection emotionally, starring my Uncle Peter as the grandfather we never had . At 85, he remains settled in independence, and he welcomed us into the home with more love and patience than I could have hoped for. He still drives (only causing me to catch my breath a couple of times!), and his house is spotless and organised. To be honest, my heart jumped more when I jumped into the passenger seat beside one of the managers from my office, whose driving skills prompted me to say (in mind of the fact that she has strong religious beliefs): ‘For all your faith in God, you drive like the Devil!’.

Uncle Peter’s sister, Doris, is similarly impressive. At 83, she also lives alone. She told the story of having to upturn a garbage bin every week, to stop from squishing a frog that had made her wheelie bin his home. The image of this tiny, elderly woman heaving a bin onto its side to free the frog underneath seemed Herculean to me, and worthy of an admiring smile. She did accuse me of looking like my mother, though. I think it was meant to be a compliment, but I still insist on using the word ‘accuse.’ Sorry mum.

Newcastle is a really lovely city. I think of all the big British cities outside of London, it’s got the least ‘cringe’ factor. When you say ‘I’m going to Liverpool/Birmingham/Leeds/Manchester’, you’re inevitably greeted with a cringe and the question ‘uh…why?’. Newcastle is greeted by ‘Oh! Have fun!’. And we did.

The train ride up was quicker than expected, and Uncle Peter was waiting under the big clock for us. We went straight away to see Hadrian’s Wall and an old Roman Fort, which was great. I’d seen it before, but it was fantastic seeing it again. I was 13 last visit, so it’s great seeing things I saw then, again – I think I see them quite differently now. I remember marvelling at the history, but now I feel a real sense of wonder and awe. This wall, this pile of stones, was constructed with the bare hands of hundreds of people, and now I’m standing on them. I wonder if, as a kid, I stood on the wall and could instantly see history. Thousands of people milling around, bare-footed kids with grubby faces, men with beards and matted hair, pregnant women carrying wicker baskets of fruit and bread. The romantic vision of Roman times, I know, but still I’m sure as an early teen I felt no struggle to close my eyes and suddenly be breathing in the rich smell of dirt, horses, sewerage, stews, ale. This time, as I stood on Hadrians Wall, I pushed myself to imagine it stretching into infinity, 30m high, Scots on one side, English on the other, a huge estate of stone buildings spread over the hill side. It’s hard to imagine now. Maybe I’m just become more jaded about the unreality of history. Why imagine something impossible to imagine? All my thoughts would be influenced by filmic depictions of medieval times, anyway. All the peasants would look like Sean Connery.

So, after this profound moment, we pranced down the hills and met Uncle Peter back at the car. We drove to a pub for a yummy dinner, then went home to relax and get an early night. We were in bed by about 9:30, after a very late night on the Friday. Despite this early night, we slept in late on Sunday, and got out at about 10am to go admire the Angel of the North.

What a stunning statue. It’s very rare that a large sculpture can take my breath away, but there’s something so awesome about the Angel. The rich texture of the statue coupled with the vulnerable but protective stance (wings spread in a pose that is both defenceless but confident, saying ‘I protect, but I do not attack’). You can sit on the Angel’s feet, and immediately you feel that you’re sheltered somehow, a child again, staring up at the authoritative form of a parent or guardian, looming over you but tender and caring at the same time. Such a beautiful piece of art!

After seeing the Angel, we went to see Newcastle’s castle (I know! I thought it was just a fancy name!). The only remain is a brilliantly in tact castle keep, as the rest was knocked down by the Victorians to make way for a railway. Typical Victorian destruction! It’s always progress, progress, progress with them! The keep was a real labyrinth. There were doors and stairs everywhere, and everything looked the same, which got a little disorientating at times. It was all so well kept, though, and it was the first real castle we’d seen since arriving in Britain. There’s something so magical about castles – you think of all the fairy tales you’ve read, and you try to place that decadence and romance into the cold, hard reality of a castle keep, and you wonder whether people who lived in castles read fairy tales, and then dreamed of living in a castle, not realising that their castle was it. Reality. Everyone needs to dream. So. We explored as much of the Keep as we could. Highlights include the ‘stairs to nowhere’ which just end at a wall! Apparently an addition was planned, but never done. Or they just liked confusing people. Or they thought the stairs would look prettier than a blank wall.

Lunch was in a nice Italian place close to the river, which is where James met Doris, John, Fiona and Stephen. Afterwards we wandered along the Millennium Bridge (for how solid it looks, it’s peculiar to feel it sway slightly under your feet!). We wandered into a giant marshmallow house that was an art installation for the modern art museum (inside was a screen, with the big marshmallow house talking about, I think, the relationship between art and object). It was very surreal. Then we walked to the caterpillar – oh, sorry, I mean concert hall, which was very impressively modern. Dinner consisted of sandwiches and salad, provided by Uncle Peter, and we stayed up until about 10pm chatting and playing Scrabble.

The next day we went for a walk through the park before catching the train home. The park (the name of which escapes me) was lovely and peaceful, and we wandered to every corner, admiring statues and bright flowers and ducks and squirrels (James angered a man in a wheelchair, who was feeding a squirrel, and then James tried to take a photo of the squirrel and scared it away. The man glared at James in disgust).

We left amidst promises that we’d visit again. We will. But time is like liquid here. It drains away.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 31st, 2006 at 5:16 am and is filed under Journal, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.