Word pictures and snaps of our three trains + bus journey from Whitby to Seahouses.
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Pheasant families feeding in the mowed fields.
The moors: rolling meadows, mounds of trees, brownish-green hedgerows carving up the landscape (seen through murky train windows).
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After Middlesbrough we’re in the industrial north: smokestacks and steel, buildings of concrete and sheet metal.
Acres of garden allotments in the right of way between railway line and housing proper.
It’s a rowdy train past Middlesbrough, fueled by alcohol-bound football fans having a Very Good Time, bound for the Newcastle against Oxton match.
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Hartlepoole: Asta superstore with a three masted 18th century sailing ship moored next door. Flat-ended cargo ships aiming for the industrial harbor.
Rows of caravan holiday parks spread above the seashore.
Farmers harrowing fields, seagulls swarming behind to pick at the fresh-turned earth.
Many windmills, of the old and new variety, along this perpetually windy coast.
Durham Heritage Coast: open fields, deep cliffs, spiky vegetation and walkers.
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Quiet time on the train from Newcastle-upon-Tyne bound for Edinburgh. Language sounding less like the English we know the farther north we travel. The train conductor’s rolling burr lets us know we’re in the Borders.
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Potato-leeky soup and sandwich at the Castle Inn, up the hill from the Berwick-upon-Tweed rail station.
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Up top in the double decker bus, swaying our way down country lanes, bound for the tiny fishing (and tourist) village of Seahouses.
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We’ve traded seagulls for starlings.
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Our Seahouses home-from-home.
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