It's a good job we don't mind a holiday where the weather turns out a bit adverse. We aren't sun seekers and don't throw a complete wobbly when it drizzles. For all bar a couple of days the majority of our week in Whitby and North Yorkshire was shrouded in fog, admittedly in varying degrees of density. Whether we travelled over hill, dale, moorland or skimmed the edge of the coast, our view ahead, behind, on either side was..... limited. So the dramatic landscape glories of the North Yorkshire Moors were never fully unveiled to us, being effectively concealed behind a curtain of atomised sea moisture. There were, however, other unexpected delights. The fog itself often created a unique and mysterious experience.
We'd kept holding out for a nice dry bright day before climbing the steep steps to the moist and muddy headland of Whitby Abbey. Such a day never did arrive, so by Friday we voluntarily gave money to English Heritage without knowing how much of this world heritage site we'd actually be able to see. Approaching from the headland car park, we could barely see a thing, other than the vaguest of vague suggestions of a fleeting shadow. As we drew closer, the ruins, partially submerged in mist, emerged, along with an atmosphere that was the very quintessence of gothic mystique. I have to admit at this point I became quite a lot more excited than perhaps Jnanasalin was. I madly snapped away whilst Abbess Hilda moaned in my ear about the trials and tribulations of running a unisex monastery on top of a cliff. Abbess Hilda was it would seem quite a far sighted venture capitalist on the quiet, as there's a sign on the way into town directing you to the Abbess Hilda Business Centre.
Whitby as a resort is surviving pretty well, probably due to its bi-yearly Goth festival weekends that draws thousands of bizzarely dressed individuals trying to banish their introversion but who also purchase chips, lager and Whitby Jet. There are empty shops but also new replacements, like a deli and trendy eateries. We drove through quite a few seaside resorts and Scarborough and Bridlington's shopping centres are way bigger than they can sustain, resembling a tramps mouth with several teeth missing. Fortunately these dreary encounters were usually lifted by something culinary or stately. Our visit to Bridlington being improved by a cafe called The Northman and a visit to a magnificent Elizabethan House called Burton Agnes Hall a few miles out of town, that had fabulously intricate plasterwork and wood carving.
On one particularly foggy day we drove over the moors to Malton. Like many market towns you enter into Malton through what looks like an arse end of run down dirty frontages, tatty takeaways, lurid nail salons, the ubiquitous Heron Food Supermarket and countless long abandoned retail projects. On first impressions we thought we'd made a very very bad mistake in coming there. But once we found The Malton Patisserie, ate overpriced cake in frilly paper wrappers, and gazed out the window at the Farrow & Ball sign in the shop opposite, we visibly relaxed, finally we were amongst 'our people.' Malton proudly self-declares itself as Yorkshire's Culinary Capital, and it is the sort of the place where there is an 'artisan' round every corner, and some of them do actually make the things they sell. Its also a great place for truly gorgeous home ware and furnishings, we'd fallen upon a middle class heaven.
Malton is close to Castle Howard a lavishly decorated house designed by Vanbrugh and Hawksmoor, which manages to be very grand whilst actually being quite small. I've always been a bit partial to a bit of extravagantly over the top 17th century interior decorating, so needless to say, I loved it.
They had an exhibition of a sculpture by Mat Collishaw called Centrifugal Soul of a 3D Zoetrope, which was quite mesmerising and beautiful. The video does its best to capture what is really a lived experience
There were culinary highlights too, with a number of revisits. To Whitby's finest cafes Sherlocks and Marie Antionette's with their magnificent range of cakes. We also discovered a new eatery Sanders Yard where they do fabulous platters and a great range of breakfasts. Six years ago when we were last in Whitby, we walked to Sandsend and had a cauliflower soup in a bistro that was literally jaw droppingly good. So a return to the Bridge Cottage Bistro was a must. This time we ate a twice baked souffle with delicately roasted carrots, petite turnips, stem broccoli and asparagus in a light cheeesy sauce. It was a meal beautifully balanced with even the slice of sourdough, butter and sea salt that preceded it playing a part. We enjoyed it so much we went back for brunch on our last morning and had Buck Rarebit ( Welsh Rarebit with an egg on top ) which though simple fare was immensely tasty,satisfying and filling nonetheless. If you're ever near Sandsend ring ahead to book a table.
The waitress in Bridge Cottage Bistro obviously judged us correctly when she recommended we visit Saltburn By The Sea. So feeling spontaneous we drove straight up the coast to Saltburn, a resort built by a Victorian Quaker, with a pier, funicular railway, plus a small town which these days has reinvented itself as foodie heaven with some pretty smart home ware stores filling out the rest. We have found a new favourite place to visit, and this was when it was deeply dipped in the midst of mist.
However, all holidays include the long journey home. To ease the 250 mile drive back we made a number of stop overs. One was to see my Dad in Scunthorpe. He seemed OK and in a more talkative mood than usual. He's lost quite a bit of weight, but I think the Care Home ensures he eats better and no longer exists largely on a diet of cake. The other stop was in Lincoln, which these days has developed its old centre around the Castle and Cathedral into a smart mix of medieval picturesque and contemporary, it was quite a delight to spend a few hours wandering around before continuing on our journey back to the cosy familiarity of the rolling landscape of Norfolk
Whitby as a resort is surviving pretty well, probably due to its bi-yearly Goth festival weekends that draws thousands of bizzarely dressed individuals trying to banish their introversion but who also purchase chips, lager and Whitby Jet. There are empty shops but also new replacements, like a deli and trendy eateries. We drove through quite a few seaside resorts and Scarborough and Bridlington's shopping centres are way bigger than they can sustain, resembling a tramps mouth with several teeth missing. Fortunately these dreary encounters were usually lifted by something culinary or stately. Our visit to Bridlington being improved by a cafe called The Northman and a visit to a magnificent Elizabethan House called Burton Agnes Hall a few miles out of town, that had fabulously intricate plasterwork and wood carving.
On one particularly foggy day we drove over the moors to Malton. Like many market towns you enter into Malton through what looks like an arse end of run down dirty frontages, tatty takeaways, lurid nail salons, the ubiquitous Heron Food Supermarket and countless long abandoned retail projects. On first impressions we thought we'd made a very very bad mistake in coming there. But once we found The Malton Patisserie, ate overpriced cake in frilly paper wrappers, and gazed out the window at the Farrow & Ball sign in the shop opposite, we visibly relaxed, finally we were amongst 'our people.' Malton proudly self-declares itself as Yorkshire's Culinary Capital, and it is the sort of the place where there is an 'artisan' round every corner, and some of them do actually make the things they sell. Its also a great place for truly gorgeous home ware and furnishings, we'd fallen upon a middle class heaven.
Malton is close to Castle Howard a lavishly decorated house designed by Vanbrugh and Hawksmoor, which manages to be very grand whilst actually being quite small. I've always been a bit partial to a bit of extravagantly over the top 17th century interior decorating, so needless to say, I loved it.
There were culinary highlights too, with a number of revisits. To Whitby's finest cafes Sherlocks and Marie Antionette's with their magnificent range of cakes. We also discovered a new eatery Sanders Yard where they do fabulous platters and a great range of breakfasts. Six years ago when we were last in Whitby, we walked to Sandsend and had a cauliflower soup in a bistro that was literally jaw droppingly good. So a return to the Bridge Cottage Bistro was a must. This time we ate a twice baked souffle with delicately roasted carrots, petite turnips, stem broccoli and asparagus in a light cheeesy sauce. It was a meal beautifully balanced with even the slice of sourdough, butter and sea salt that preceded it playing a part. We enjoyed it so much we went back for brunch on our last morning and had Buck Rarebit ( Welsh Rarebit with an egg on top ) which though simple fare was immensely tasty,satisfying and filling nonetheless. If you're ever near Sandsend ring ahead to book a table.
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| Hubby on Saltburn Pier |
The waitress in Bridge Cottage Bistro obviously judged us correctly when she recommended we visit Saltburn By The Sea. So feeling spontaneous we drove straight up the coast to Saltburn, a resort built by a Victorian Quaker, with a pier, funicular railway, plus a small town which these days has reinvented itself as foodie heaven with some pretty smart home ware stores filling out the rest. We have found a new favourite place to visit, and this was when it was deeply dipped in the midst of mist.
However, all holidays include the long journey home. To ease the 250 mile drive back we made a number of stop overs. One was to see my Dad in Scunthorpe. He seemed OK and in a more talkative mood than usual. He's lost quite a bit of weight, but I think the Care Home ensures he eats better and no longer exists largely on a diet of cake. The other stop was in Lincoln, which these days has developed its old centre around the Castle and Cathedral into a smart mix of medieval picturesque and contemporary, it was quite a delight to spend a few hours wandering around before continuing on our journey back to the cosy familiarity of the rolling landscape of Norfolk
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