DAY 10: The rows

Day off in Chester

I snuck out of the hotel early, hoping to get a coffee and a head start with my blogging. The streets were almost empty. The only noises were the roar and beep of a reversing rubbish truck. The lack of people gave me a chance to fully appreciate the wonder that is old Chester, a faithfully preserved 16th century market town that’s still in working order, though the waitress in one of the cafés I repaired to later on in the day told me that many of the seconds on the second story of ‘the rows’ are empty. No matter. From ground level, the place looked handsome and thriving.

I thought it was strange that no one had ever told me about Chester. Places like York and Bath have reputations that have spread far and wide and reach the ears of people who haven’t necessarily been to either city, or know anyone who has. But to my mind, Chester looked more impressive than either Bath or York. Why? Is it that Chester is in the wrong part of the country? Or that the locals speak with scally tinge? Or is it for the more general reason that the English don’t feel comfortable boasting about their own heritage?

God knows, but I was glad to be in Chester. I spent most of the day blogging at the The Storyhouse, a large and impressively appointed new cultural centre to the north of the old town, with cinemas, concert halls and library. Walking there I passed the old market halls, that are being restored. The front entrance is as impressive as anything you might find in Vienna or Toulouse.

Phil and Tim went on an open-topped bus tour and learned, amongst other things, that in medieval times, when an archer was captured, the tops of his middle and index fingers were cut off to prevent them ever firing an arrow again. And to taunt their enemies, archers who had yet to be captured would hold up their still intact middle and index fingers, thrusting them up into the air. The gesture has taken on a meaning that’s not so far removed from its original one. Some traditions die hard.

Back in March, when I was doing the initial planning for the trip, I had booked rooms for tonight at the Grosvenor Guest House. Six months later, I booked rooms at the Saddle Inn, where we’d been the night before. The two places were all of four metres away from each other, across that narrow cobbled alleyway. This coincidence made me happier and more amazed than was perhaps healthy. Transferring from one place to another was a doddle.

That night we ate in Thai restaurant, housed in one of Chester old 17th century houses. I ordered Pad Thai, because I always order Pad Thai in Thai restaurants It’s my way of comparing the quality of one Thai restaurant to another. And because I just love Pad Thai.

Andy Morgan