Lost luggage

Well, it was a few weeks ago now but some of you are asking: how was Newcastle? And Singapore? Seems they got buried in the drama that was Dubai. Here’s the first of three belated roundups to enjoy over a glass of Cardonnay.

Newcastle – Day 1, Friday 19 April 2024

I finally arrive in Newcastle upon Tyne in the early hours, Friday 19 April 2024. It is a refreshingly tiny airport compared to the ridiculousness of Dubai. There are two policemen, at the carousel, assisting to remove the luggage. Quite certain it is not in their job description. This was to be the start of many pleasant exchanges with my new Geordie friends. I watch and wait. Hoping by some miracle my bag will lounge its way down the carousel. By the second, third dispatch, my hopes are fading. I join the baggage-assistance queue. At this stage, the queue is light. The staff are friendly, polite. I fill out the paperwork at 2:00am (thank you Nicola for the images of the case you sent via text a few weeks ago – who knew how valuable they would be?!) I had no worries, luggage gets separated from travelling passengers all the time. It will arrive in a day or two. By the time I have completed my paperwork, the queue is snaking past the carousel … oh dear.

Clear immigration, customs, walk out into the lonely arrival area and make my way to the taxi rank. A jovial driver peels away from his conversation to assist. Seems I need to go back into the terminal and pre-pay. Not a problem. After what I’ve been through, this is absolutely cool and fine by me. He taxis me to my Airbnb address. It’s dark. I sift through the emails to work out how to get into the property – key box, funny door handles(!) I am exhausted but relieved to be here. I explore, close the blinds then run a bath. With of course, no regard to the downstairs neighbours at 2:30am (if you ever read this, I apologise – I was desperate!)

Fall into bed. Not even sure if I’ve bothered with clothing/PJs, just happy to be warm, horizontal and safe. 

Morning = exciting! Time to get shit sorted. Starting with clean clothes. The Airbnb has a washing machine so I wash the meagre amount of clothes I have. I’m not too worried – my case will turn up on a flight later today – or tomorrow. Check-in with friends, explore the neighbourhood. I’m feeling sorry for myself after the Dubai debacle (and possibly a little jet-lagged and hangry). I ask the nearest, youngest, hippest-looking person if they are 1) a local; and 2) can recommend a coffee shop. I’m not talking Costa, Starbucks, I’m talking a real espresso. The kind chap (who probably thought I was looking for a handout for Jesus), suggests Etto on the Park. It did not disappoint. I hope, someday, someone from Etto will read this and know – you were EXACTLY what I needed that morning! You nailed the coffee – and the breakfast. Fortified, I take on the day with gusto.

One of my favourite things to do in different countries is to wander the aisles of their supermarkets. A peculiar pastime given I detest day-to-day supermarket shopping. The only way I can get through Majura Park Woollies is with my earbuds in, playing something loud and obnoxious. I have a list. I stick to it. I do not impulse buy. I am quite possibly, the worst supermarket customer ever. But … when I travel, I find it fascinating to peruse the local supermarkets! I’m keen to see what products are on-trend, on special. I’m interested in the packaging. I’m not sure what past-life I’m living but I feel like a consumer-anthropologist.

Things that take my attention: grapes packed in plastic containers ie. no choice to choose your weight. So. Much. Packaging. I sound like some woke Swedish chick. I’m always curious about the booze. When I lived in Hawaii, Yellow Tail was (embarrassingly) spruiked as the quintessential Aussie drop. Credit to the owners of Yellow Tail. The fact it tastes like horse’s-piss seems to have been lost on international buyers. 

And Fosters. Don’t get me started on Fosters. Another international marketing success! This is a beer 99.9% of Australians will not touch. Yet it sells pallet-loads in the UK. Fuck me.

Catch up with my Geordie Scrabble friend for dinner at a Lebanese restaurant followed by a few beverages at a Gosforth local. I’m enjoying the vibe. We pass a pub that Sting aka Gordon Sumner drinks at on occasion. I’m impressed to be within sniffing distance of such talent. Discover that more treasures – Neil Tennant (Pet Shop Boys), Mark Knofler (Dire Straits), Ross Noble (comedian) call Newcastle home. Also Alan Shearer who is apparently super-famous but I’ve never heard of him which essentially makes me a social pariah. Note to self: must read up on Alan Shearer.

Newcastle – Day 2, Saturday 20 April 2024

I enjoy travelling. I particularly enjoy travelling to weird spaces, places. I’m bold but I’m not stupid (… ok, maybe sometimes …) Everything interests me. Even purchasing a train ticket in another country excites me. I make my way into the ‘toon, find a coffee shop – Olive and Bean on Clayton Street. The Black Garter is open next door but even I will pass on a pint at 10:00am. Order a coffee, sit in the window, watching the (northern hemisphere) world go by. Bliss. When my coffee is delivered, I hear an accent … it’s Geordie but … something else. I ask, are you from NZ? Yes! Bay of Islands. The kiwi barista and I share a chat and a selfie. Yup. Your kin, your mob, your people – it matters. Especially when the All Blacks are playing.

Check out Grainger Market (disappointing – except for the bong shop). There is a long line of people waiting near the market, the queue is snaking around the corner. I have to find out what they’re waiting for (lost luggage perhaps?) My intel reveals they’re heading to the Reflex Record Shop for ‘Record Day UK’. The people in the queue are hoping to snaffle some special vinyl and CD releases that are made exclusively for the day. Nice bunch of people.

Find some text written on the steps “… ye shud only see us gannin …” Need more info (and a translater). Google tells me it is a line from Blaydon Races, a Geordie folk song of 1862. A few more clicks and I discover Blaydon Races is often used a chant by supporters of the Newcastle United Football Club and, was adopted as a march by soldiers of the British Army's Fifth Foot infantry regiment (The Royal Northumberland Fusiliers). Happy with my newfound knowledge, I make my way to the cathedral then Newcastle Castle. This is cool. Even cooler is a couple of folks dressed up in period costume. The ‘peasant’ woman tells me it is for a reenactment/play for St George’s Day, 23 April. I am fascinated by the history of the castle – from the Romans building a bridge to cross the River Tyne to the Norman King, William 1 to the use of the castle keep as a prison during the 16th – 18th centuries. I just love old shit (PS. dogs are welcome).

Using a worryingly ‘weak bridge’, I cross the Tyne and take in the view. Promise myself a visit to the quayside to partake in a few refreshing beverages before I leave this groovy city.

Newcastle – Day 3, Sunday 21 April 2024

Irritation starts to creep in. Still waiting for my bag. I am either the unluckiest mofo alive or, I did something really bad in a previous life. Despite channelling my inner zen, I’ve decided Emirates are a bunch of c*nts. Complete bullshitters. I rang them this morning to inquire as to where my bag was – given they confirmed it was on the inbound flight yesterday. 40 minutes on hold. Another 40 minutes talking to a weary, disinterested chap. He confirmed the bag was in Newcastle, he would put a request in for it to be couriered to me in South Gosforth asap.

Have been watching the press – Emirates CEO of Dubai International Airport apologises for the inconvenience/delay in getting both passengers – and their luggage – repatriated. It does not go unnoticed he is broadcasting from some ‘comfortable’ space eg. the back seat of his parked Bentley. Pretty certain he wouldn’t be doing 24 hours on the tarmac ... I strip down, sling a pashmina around me sarong-style, put another load of (the same) washing on. No worries, my clothes will arrive today, tomorrow at latest.

Realise the travel drama + the lost luggage has been all-consuming. It is out of my control. Buggered if I’m going to sit around waiting for shit to happen. I rent a car. On the way to the airport to collect the car, the Uber driver gives me some tips on where to go. I write them down, am grateful. Max, on the SIXT counter is a legend. The admin is efficient, seamless. He also offers some recommendations on the area I am planning to visit. I went to all the recommendations of both the Uber driver and Max on the SIXT counter. Random encounters with good people. Sometimes I wish I could put a big neon sign up and say: “this person is a fucking legend, give them a pay rise”.

After The Best fish and chip meal I have ever had in my life at the Joiners Arms, I check out ye olde fishing village at Low Newton-by-the-Sea (Newton Seahouses). Pub is teeny tiny, couldn’t swing a cat. The cottages are cute, the weather is balmy. Discover a curiously large number of wheelbarrows stashed behind the toilets(???) I can see the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle in the distance – must get down there for a look. I start the walk, trapsing through puddles, bird hides, marshes. As the track gets messier, the mud deeper, I realise I am wearing low-cut, white sneakers – my only pair of shoes. A bunch of women pass me dressed in sensible walking gear including boots/wellies. I cut my losses and turn back. Head over the dunes to the beach. Again, lots of dogs! Playing, hanging out. None of the no-go zones like we have back home – they’re well socialised, part of the family, no bother.

Jump in the Little Green Badger and head to Bamburgh Castle. This one is a beauty. Being the cheapskate I am, I like to just look at it – from a distance – from the outside in (sounds slightly creepy when I put it like that …) I drink it in then head to the next stop, Alnwick Castle (apparently the “l” and the “w” are silent … as usual, I make a dick of myself and pronounce all the consonants and vowels). This one is a bit showier having been used as a set for Robin Hood, Harry Potter, Downtown Abbey, Blackadder and surprisingly, Transformers. The castle is owned by Percy, 12th Duke of Northumberland who is super-rich so I don’t bother paying £19.50 to look through – I figure he doesn’t need the money. I take an obligatory snap of the entrance then roam through the town. Being a Sunday, the shops are closed (except of course, the pubs). This brings me great joy as it means I can wander the streets, check out the history, monuments without being molested by the welcoming open doors of the many natty shops.

The day is drawing to a close so I start the trek back to Newcastle. A few miles along, I see something looming, hit the brakes, do a u-turn. Discover the ruins of Edlingham Castle (was actually more of a manor house, built around 1300). More rich people building big things, fortifying them against the damn dirty Scots. I’m not sure why I’m so interested in a pile of rubble, but it is free (my favourite price), so I shuffle on down for gander.