Travelling Companion and I have been visiting Sister in Dunbar, Scotland.
When we lived in Brussels I would go to Edinburgh, North Berwick or Dunbar on the Eurostar to London, then the day train or the night train north. Travelling Companion came this way again, because she had a couple of days’ business in London.
I tried a new route. On Thursday I left the research site and cycled with a colleague to have lunch at the beach café at the village of Petten. Then I left my bike – not my best one, but one I brought to the research site for this purpose – outside the Spar shop in the village and caught the bus to Alkmaar; the train to Beverwijk; and the bus to IJmuiden. From there I walked along the great IJ canal to the ferry terminal and caught the overnight ferry to “Newcastle”. On Friday morning I walked through North Shields, where the boat actually lands, to the metro station. Near the metro station I could at last buy a copy of the Times. Then, a metro train to Newcastle Central station just in time to catch my train to Dunbar to be met there by Sister.
The metro serves Wallsend station, “Where Rome’s great frontier begins” and signs are in England and Latin.
The whole thing took 24 hours more or less dead on, all pleasant except for a rush – which I now know how to avoid – between getting off the ship and getting the Dunbar train.
IJmuiden has great-looking infrastructure,
but was more run down than I expected.
North Shields was grander than I expected. Both looked good from the boat:
Ijmuiden
North Shields
– this is a pleasure of taking the ferry.
Sister says that getting on the ferry feels like the start of the holiday. I can see that particularly going in this direction: the euro is used on board, the time zone and the sockets are continental. I seemed to be the only single person on the boat.
Now, in Dunbar, London feels far away. Nicola Sturgeon is the politician that people mention most.
Our old walking friends R and B came down from Edinburgh. With Sister’s friend A, Sister’s noble greyhound, and A’s labrador we all walked beside the golf course, on the beach and in the town. In the distance we could see Torness nuclear power plant.
We came back to Sister’s for a barbecue of corn on the cob, prawns, halloumi, tuna and rhubarb syllabub from the garden. Greyhound took herself off to the sitting room on her own. It was about warm enough to sit out.
We asked ourselves whether there are children who are better than their parents in the same art. Rufus Wainwright, I asserted. Maybe Martin Amis, though on reflection I don’t think so – Lucky Jim is one of my favourite books. In any case, the others like neither the son nor the father.
Now it is quiet Sunday morning. Greyhound resents me sitting in her seat in the sun room. Later, Travelling Companion and I will set off to undo, step by step, my journey here.*
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* This makes me think about another of my favourite books, The woman in the car with the glasses and the gun by Sébastien Japrisot.
Paul Hodson 