A day in Manchester
I was lucky - no-one else showed up, and I had the whole six-bed dormitory to myself. The north end of Manchester seems to be a bit dodgy - the youth hostel has a security camera and buzzer at the front door - the internet cafe where I made my last post also had a security door, but half way up the stairs. The stairs leading up to the door had a very pungent aroma, suggesting that the patrons have serious continence issues.
I was seriously worried by the time I made my way home, but I actually slept reasonably well. There were a few passing drunks and a bit of loud music, but generally it was pretty quiet.
I am still on Aussie time - for the first time in years, I wake up at 5:30 without feeling ill. In fact, I feel pretty good. Problem - nothing opens here until about 10:00. I lie in bed for a while, then get up and go downstairs to the kitchen for toast and coffee. Back upstairs, it's only 6:00 am. I walk through my moves for Buxton, quietly - I knit - I read my Lonely Planet and try to plan my day. By 8:00, I'm over it and I want to get going.
I start out with the Manchester Cathedral. Luckily, the first service is at 7:45, so it is open and (by the time I get there) empty. On my way there, I notice that Manchester seems to have a fair population of the residentially challenged. In fact, there are so many blokes dossing on the lawn in front of the Cathedral that I'm embarrassed to walk passed - I wander back out of the grounds, pretend to look at the signs, then come around to the entrance through a side gate. I guess that explains the security at the hostel.
The Cathedral was bombed during the war, so there is a mix of lovely old features and interesting 50s add-ons. Quite a lot of the old stuff made it through intact. I spend a lot of time trying to work out dates written in Roman numerals. There seems to be quite a bit of stuff from the 17th century onwards, not so much stuff from earlier - or maybe I have my M's and C's confused. Oddly, that stretch of time is just enough to make me think how short life is - in Australia, we're either talking about 200-odd years of history (which isn't really that much) or we're talking about 400,000 years of history, which is too much to get my head around. Anyway, enough profound thoughts - I am obviously still jetlagged. See http://manchestercathedral.org/ for pictures and a short history.
My next stop is the Manchester Museum of Science and Industry (www.msim.org.uk). Anyone who's seen Te Papa - this is the UK equivalent. If you haven't, then all I can say is, I really enjoyed wandering around, there were lots of exhibits that the public were allowed to play with - I'm sure some of you will be intrigued to know that the museum has an exhibit devoted to sewers and toilets in Manchester throughout the ages. The Museum also includes the world's oldest railway station, some cheerful exhibits on the absolutely disgusting working conditions during the Industrial Revolution, and a lot of information about textiles. I spend about four hours there, I see pretty much everything and leave absolutely buggered.
I break for lunch at a pub called The Ox. The Ox has won a number of awards for its food. The food is certainly quite nice, but you can get just as good at the Southbank Food Court. I order a pint of cider, and learn that a pint is approximately twice as large as I thought it was. Luckily, my Thai Chicken sandwich is quite substantial and soaks up most of it. I chase it up with an espresso, Manchester doesn't seem to have discovered soy milk or lactose free products yet. Or maybe I'm just going to the wrong cafes.
On the way home, the heat wave breaks. I have two rain ponchos, they are both with my luggage back at the hostel. Luckily the TIC sells cheap rain ponchos (I contemplate buying a Manchester United umbrella, but refrain). I wait out the rain at the Manchester Art Gallery, which has an excellent collection of Victorian artworks - there is a modern collection, but I need to get to the station and have to leave before I can see it.
I head back to the hostel and wrestle my case down the stairs. The railway station is an easy walk away, except when you are trying to wrangle a giant suitcase through a bunch of leisurely pedestrians. My initial impression of England is that everyone walks painfully slowly, and that they seem to be largely oblivious to people who are trying to get past them, even when that person is audibly invoking the 'Goddess of Frustration' (by muttering "muthaf*a, muthaf*a, muthaf*a" to themselves over and over). Maybe people swearing under their breath is a common occurence around here, certainly the gentlemen whose respose I disturbed this morning seemed the type to mutter to themselves...
I make it to the station in time though, and catch the Buxton train. The Giant Luggage is a bit of a problem, but I manage to wrangle it onto the seat opposite. The trip from Manchester to Buxton is about an hour through very pretty countryside. It makes me realise just how stuffed up the Australian environment is though, I often can't tell the difference between the English vegetation and the sort of things that grow along the railway lines back home. The main difference seems to be loosestrife, which is a very common pink or purple weed that I don't recall seeing in Australia.
When I get to Buxton, I find a map that seems to indicate that my B&B is within walking distance. The map doesn't say anything about the gradient of the journey though, the Giant Luggage and I have to slog up and down some fairly substantial hills to get to my destination. I found this internet cafe when I stopped to ask for directions - I was 99% sure that I had managed to get lost, but it turned out that I was still about 15 minutes walk from my destination. I am going to come back from this holiday with leg muscles like Arnie Schwarzenegger! I have to do this walk twice a day to get to and from rehearsal. My knees want to go home, but I tell them to get over it.
The B&B is at 9 Green Lane, which is a very pretty little street in a quiet area. My room is extremely cute - the whole place is extremely cute! I want one!! I want one!! Unfortunately, buying property in the UK is even more unrealistic than buying property in Australia, the prices are similar, but in pounds not dollars so even a flat is about $500K. Anyway, it's 20:00 and I have to show up at rehearsal tomorrow, so I might end here - I have set up an account at the internet cafe, so I should be able to keep you all posted as I go.
I was seriously worried by the time I made my way home, but I actually slept reasonably well. There were a few passing drunks and a bit of loud music, but generally it was pretty quiet.
I am still on Aussie time - for the first time in years, I wake up at 5:30 without feeling ill. In fact, I feel pretty good. Problem - nothing opens here until about 10:00. I lie in bed for a while, then get up and go downstairs to the kitchen for toast and coffee. Back upstairs, it's only 6:00 am. I walk through my moves for Buxton, quietly - I knit - I read my Lonely Planet and try to plan my day. By 8:00, I'm over it and I want to get going.
I start out with the Manchester Cathedral. Luckily, the first service is at 7:45, so it is open and (by the time I get there) empty. On my way there, I notice that Manchester seems to have a fair population of the residentially challenged. In fact, there are so many blokes dossing on the lawn in front of the Cathedral that I'm embarrassed to walk passed - I wander back out of the grounds, pretend to look at the signs, then come around to the entrance through a side gate. I guess that explains the security at the hostel.
The Cathedral was bombed during the war, so there is a mix of lovely old features and interesting 50s add-ons. Quite a lot of the old stuff made it through intact. I spend a lot of time trying to work out dates written in Roman numerals. There seems to be quite a bit of stuff from the 17th century onwards, not so much stuff from earlier - or maybe I have my M's and C's confused. Oddly, that stretch of time is just enough to make me think how short life is - in Australia, we're either talking about 200-odd years of history (which isn't really that much) or we're talking about 400,000 years of history, which is too much to get my head around. Anyway, enough profound thoughts - I am obviously still jetlagged. See http://manchestercathedral.org/ for pictures and a short history.
My next stop is the Manchester Museum of Science and Industry (www.msim.org.uk). Anyone who's seen Te Papa - this is the UK equivalent. If you haven't, then all I can say is, I really enjoyed wandering around, there were lots of exhibits that the public were allowed to play with - I'm sure some of you will be intrigued to know that the museum has an exhibit devoted to sewers and toilets in Manchester throughout the ages. The Museum also includes the world's oldest railway station, some cheerful exhibits on the absolutely disgusting working conditions during the Industrial Revolution, and a lot of information about textiles. I spend about four hours there, I see pretty much everything and leave absolutely buggered.
I break for lunch at a pub called The Ox. The Ox has won a number of awards for its food. The food is certainly quite nice, but you can get just as good at the Southbank Food Court. I order a pint of cider, and learn that a pint is approximately twice as large as I thought it was. Luckily, my Thai Chicken sandwich is quite substantial and soaks up most of it. I chase it up with an espresso, Manchester doesn't seem to have discovered soy milk or lactose free products yet. Or maybe I'm just going to the wrong cafes.
On the way home, the heat wave breaks. I have two rain ponchos, they are both with my luggage back at the hostel. Luckily the TIC sells cheap rain ponchos (I contemplate buying a Manchester United umbrella, but refrain). I wait out the rain at the Manchester Art Gallery, which has an excellent collection of Victorian artworks - there is a modern collection, but I need to get to the station and have to leave before I can see it.
I head back to the hostel and wrestle my case down the stairs. The railway station is an easy walk away, except when you are trying to wrangle a giant suitcase through a bunch of leisurely pedestrians. My initial impression of England is that everyone walks painfully slowly, and that they seem to be largely oblivious to people who are trying to get past them, even when that person is audibly invoking the 'Goddess of Frustration' (by muttering "muthaf*a, muthaf*a, muthaf*a" to themselves over and over). Maybe people swearing under their breath is a common occurence around here, certainly the gentlemen whose respose I disturbed this morning seemed the type to mutter to themselves...
I make it to the station in time though, and catch the Buxton train. The Giant Luggage is a bit of a problem, but I manage to wrangle it onto the seat opposite. The trip from Manchester to Buxton is about an hour through very pretty countryside. It makes me realise just how stuffed up the Australian environment is though, I often can't tell the difference between the English vegetation and the sort of things that grow along the railway lines back home. The main difference seems to be loosestrife, which is a very common pink or purple weed that I don't recall seeing in Australia.
When I get to Buxton, I find a map that seems to indicate that my B&B is within walking distance. The map doesn't say anything about the gradient of the journey though, the Giant Luggage and I have to slog up and down some fairly substantial hills to get to my destination. I found this internet cafe when I stopped to ask for directions - I was 99% sure that I had managed to get lost, but it turned out that I was still about 15 minutes walk from my destination. I am going to come back from this holiday with leg muscles like Arnie Schwarzenegger! I have to do this walk twice a day to get to and from rehearsal. My knees want to go home, but I tell them to get over it.
The B&B is at 9 Green Lane, which is a very pretty little street in a quiet area. My room is extremely cute - the whole place is extremely cute! I want one!! I want one!! Unfortunately, buying property in the UK is even more unrealistic than buying property in Australia, the prices are similar, but in pounds not dollars so even a flat is about $500K. Anyway, it's 20:00 and I have to show up at rehearsal tomorrow, so I might end here - I have set up an account at the internet cafe, so I should be able to keep you all posted as I go.
posted by Andrea at
11:30 AM
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