On last Friday, the first day of the new year, I woke up with a thought of going somewhere to spend the next few days, as I have no weekend and holiday duties. I searched for nearby places of interest, and came across descriptions of the Peak District National Park in Derbyshire. This region of the UK is located south-east of Manchester, and includes many locations such as Buxton, Ashford-in-the-water, etc. One of its attractions is a trail known by the name Monsal Trail. It is the route of an old railway line that ran from Manchester to London and was used by commuters and cargo trains from 1860 up until 1968. Once modern railway lines were built, the route fell into disuse and was refurbished over the last several decades into a woods walk, some 10 miles long, from Wyedale on the west end to Bakewell into the south-east ... the trail passes through some very picturesque woodlands, from Wyedale to Cheedale, Millers' Dale, Litton, etc, till it reaches Bakewell in the south. For nearly 60-70% of its distance, it follows by the side of the meandering Wye river.
More famous for visiting during the spring and the summer, the Monsal trail can be accessed throughout the year. To reach there, one has to either start at Wyedale, join it at Miller's Dale, or start from the Bakewell end. I chose to pick up the trail from Miller's Dale, a place that can be reached by a 15-minute bus ride from Buxton. As I was travelling alone, I decided to only do the trail from my starting point to its western end at Wyedale.
Armed with this information, I booked a hotel room on Friday morning. It would be a single room at Hotel Portland in Buxton (£ 40 per night for B & B). I informed the gentleman that I would reach there by evening. I began my journey by taking a train from the Blackpool North station. I had booked the journey online, so I had to just go to a ticket self-serving machine, insert my debit card for verification, and print out my tickets (£ 26.40 return). I took a York train, got off at Preston, then changed to a Manchester Piccadilly train, and at the latter station, changed to a Buxton train. The entire journey took about three hours, including the two changes. I arrived at Buxton a little before 5 p.m. It was a cold and windy evening, and I had almost no difficulty finding the hotel I was to stay in. It was located on the main road ahead of the Palace Hotel, the Buxton college and a few private residences. The owner, a Mr. Robert ___. recognised me from the phone call I had made earlier. He and I chatted for a while on various issues concerning India and my life in it earlier. I really enjoyed his company. He is around 60, with a wife, two daughters and two grandchildren. He manages the hotel all by himself through the entire day, sleeps in there all the six nights from Monday until Saturday, and only goes home on Sundays, when a friend of his turns up at the hotel to manage it for a day. I guess he gets a helping hand on each morning when he serves a full breakfast for all his guests. I met with the lady who helps him out the next morning.
I went to my room - No. 31 on the second floor. It was a small but clean room with a double bed, a table, two chairs, a cupboard in the wall, a well-appointed bathroom with a toilet, two side tables and a lamp, and a large window with a view of the town below.
I could hardly see anything, as it was already dark. I watched the ITV channel for an hour before I decided to go out for dinner (the hotel does not serve lunch or dinner). There were several restaurants that I looked at before settling for the "Indian Palace" Restaurant on the main market road.
This was a busy place, and I was quickly led to the upper floor, where I was allotted a table to myself. The waiter, one Mr. Husain, a bearded guy who told me this was a Bangladeshi restaurant in reality (and that he, himself, was a Bangladeshi). Around me were other guests - a six-member party of three Caucasian couples and a three-member Asian party of a couple with their young daughter who spoke to each other in either Hindi or Urdu. I settled in to order. My order was tandoori salmon tikka and chicken vindaloo with chapatis.
After dinner, I returned to the hotel and watched some more TV before turning out the lights at midnight. I was looking forward to my outing the next morning ... please click here to go to the next day's description.
More famous for visiting during the spring and the summer, the Monsal trail can be accessed throughout the year. To reach there, one has to either start at Wyedale, join it at Miller's Dale, or start from the Bakewell end. I chose to pick up the trail from Miller's Dale, a place that can be reached by a 15-minute bus ride from Buxton. As I was travelling alone, I decided to only do the trail from my starting point to its western end at Wyedale.
Armed with this information, I booked a hotel room on Friday morning. It would be a single room at Hotel Portland in Buxton (£ 40 per night for B & B). I informed the gentleman that I would reach there by evening. I began my journey by taking a train from the Blackpool North station. I had booked the journey online, so I had to just go to a ticket self-serving machine, insert my debit card for verification, and print out my tickets (£ 26.40 return). I took a York train, got off at Preston, then changed to a Manchester Piccadilly train, and at the latter station, changed to a Buxton train. The entire journey took about three hours, including the two changes. I arrived at Buxton a little before 5 p.m. It was a cold and windy evening, and I had almost no difficulty finding the hotel I was to stay in. It was located on the main road ahead of the Palace Hotel, the Buxton college and a few private residences. The owner, a Mr. Robert ___. recognised me from the phone call I had made earlier. He and I chatted for a while on various issues concerning India and my life in it earlier. I really enjoyed his company. He is around 60, with a wife, two daughters and two grandchildren. He manages the hotel all by himself through the entire day, sleeps in there all the six nights from Monday until Saturday, and only goes home on Sundays, when a friend of his turns up at the hotel to manage it for a day. I guess he gets a helping hand on each morning when he serves a full breakfast for all his guests. I met with the lady who helps him out the next morning.
I went to my room - No. 31 on the second floor. It was a small but clean room with a double bed, a table, two chairs, a cupboard in the wall, a well-appointed bathroom with a toilet, two side tables and a lamp, and a large window with a view of the town below.
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| Portland Hotel |
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| My room |
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| Another view of the room with the table, the TV and the cupboard (white in colour with two knobs) |
This was a busy place, and I was quickly led to the upper floor, where I was allotted a table to myself. The waiter, one Mr. Husain, a bearded guy who told me this was a Bangladeshi restaurant in reality (and that he, himself, was a Bangladeshi). Around me were other guests - a six-member party of three Caucasian couples and a three-member Asian party of a couple with their young daughter who spoke to each other in either Hindi or Urdu. I settled in to order. My order was tandoori salmon tikka and chicken vindaloo with chapatis.
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| Indian Restaurant, Buxton |
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| Upper floor |
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| Salmon fish tikka |
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| Chicken vindaloo with chappati and papad |
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