Hadrians Wall Country 8: Hexham, Slaley & Corbridge

I think the photos of Hexham speak for themselves. It was not our first trip there, but it was nice to re-acquaint ourselves with the town. We had a pint, watched the Olympic mens 100m dash and went for our next bus (NOT the AD 122 for a change).

We veered off course from the wall to spend the night at a pub near Slaley, south of Hexham. I was quite alarmed at the people queueing for the bus (hairy-legged grans and other types, no doubt all bound for Consett). Thankfully they remained on the bus when we alighted at the Travellers Rest country pub.

An old farmhouse long converted into a pub, the Travellers Rest sits adrift in fields and forests with no other sign of habitation in any direction. We were abandoned by our bus, the last one for the evening (and the last one for the weekend, more on that in a bit).

The barman did not ask for our names and I knew why soon enough. The pub only has two rooms upstairs and we were the guests for the night. I was surprised then when he asked if we wanted to book a table in the restaurant. We confirmed we would stay for dinner and quickly made ourselves at home.

The accommodation was nearly luxurious, especially compared to the night before, with an en-suite roll-top bath, a proper wardrobe, telly and elegant decor. All very clean and incredibly quiet to boot.

Downstairs we started the evening with a delicious pint of Wylam's Golden Tankard, a zesty ale. Within an hour the pub was full to bursting, with every seat taken by diners and the bar hidden by a herd of horsemen and local farmers (I could tell by the short, sensible, parted hair...and that was just the women).

The meal was almost a repeat of the previous evening, but only because many of the dishes featured fish or shellfish which I usually avoid. So again, I started with a tomato soup, but this one was made with sweet peppers as well (and too much salt, unfortunately). Christian had button mushrooms in a creamy tarragon sauce to start, while for his mains he had sliced pork loin wrapped in parma harm and topped with grilled mozzarella. It's the type of thing I've cooked before, but with chicken breast and pesto which gives it some moisture, and Christian said it was a bit of an odd combination.

My own main was chicken breast, with the same creamy tarragon sauce that had featured on the mushrooms. Vegetables on the side included steamed spuds, green beans, carrot and roast potatoes. I thought it a bit redundant to have two types of potato and I was disappointed the roasties were cooked from frozen.

My sweet was the same as the night before, a sticky toffee pudding which was the best part of my meal. The presentation throughout the meal was restaurant-quality, as you can tell by Christian's lime tart. It was made in an individual case and arrived with an assortment of fruits and cream all dusted with icing sugar.

Of course all these frou-frou extras don't come cheap. Including drinks our meal came to £45, which was quite a bit more expensive than the night before. Add in £50 for the room and the mid-August gloomy weather, is it any wonder the Brits flee these shores for cheap sea-n-sun-n-sand breaks in the Med?

All through our meal jumped-up electro tunes were playing on the sound system. Fortunately, we could not hear any of it in our room. It was pitch black outside and I had a wonderful night's sleep, aside from one spell when I got a bit warm and stuck my leg out from under the covers. I then wondered if that would prove too tempting for any resident ghosts and when one of my pillows fell onto the floor, it stayed there.

Sunday dawned cloudy and cool, but dry. 'Bright' as an English forecaster would say, though these clouds looked anything but.

For the first time I can ever recall on my travels, we were asked what we'd like for breakfast. What a concept. I knew we were the only guests and breakfast was included in the price, but I quelled my desire to call for champagne and strawberries. Instead, Christian had a huge pile of scrambled eggs (at least 4 or 5 went into them) while I had thick bacon, scrambled eggs, beans, tomatoes and toast.

Good thing we had a big breakfast, because we had another long walk ahead of us. There is no bus service through these parts on a Sunday and this meant hiking to the nearest bus stop, 5 miles away in Corbridge. This map gives you some idea of the route, except that instead of following the road we cut through Dipton Wood, the large forest in between.

Trudging along muddy tracks through a thick forest while beset by flies brought to mind the Blair Witch Project, stories about the Jersey Devil and other unpleasant things. So no, I did not take many photos as we hurried along, except this flowering heather did catch my eye.

I did not manage any photos of Corbridge because of the gloomy skies, which is a shame because it is a lovely town with an old church surrounded by pubs, tea shoppes and independent stores. All these bar the church were shut this time of day, but we didn't have long to wait for our bus. Next stop: Newcastle, the final stage of the journey!