I orginally took this trip from the 23rd to the 29th of June and wrote this up on the train home.
In honour of my late great-uncle, I’ve just completed a week of backpacking by train across the UK using a Rail Rover ticket. It’s been an interesting week that really helped me build confidence. The trip was last-minute—about a month’s notice from work that we all had to take a week off before a busy summer.
First off, thanks to my mum for helping plan much of this trip. I had very little idea what I was doing until the day before, and she swooped in and saved it. Lesson one for next time: have a better plan.
I started heading west across the country to Wales—after stopping for an hour in Blackpool to look around the station—ending in a B&B in Barmouth, getting battered by the wind and attacked by seagulls while trying to eat fish and chips.
I took a foot ferry across the estuary and then a small toy steam train to Fairbourne. My great-uncle was a big train enthusiast and often travelled solo later in life. We have fat folders of pictures of him on different steam trains. So if I seemed to end up on a lot of trains this week, it’s because whenever I was at a loss, I’d just do what he would have done.
Back on the “proper” trains to Liverpool, where I spent the night in a hostel. I had a good time here—the hostel (name here) had a cool vibe. I bet the place swings at the weekend, but it was pretty quiet on a Tuesday. I chatted with the guy behind the bar, enjoyed a craft beer, and played some Pac-Man. I should have Googled “What’s on in Liverpool tonight” and gone out for something, anything, to get a taste of the place. Lesson learned.
Next was a day in Blackpool and… ooh boy. Blackpool looms large in the British imagination as the seaside town. In reality, it’s more like “the seaside town that forgot to close down.” I did the Tower, the ballroom, the promenade, hopped on a tram—and decided I never need to come back.
Later that day I got stuck in Farington (or was it somewhere else?) for two hours due to a cancelled train. That might have been the lowest point of the week. I didn’t explore—it didn’t give me a great vibe.
Luckily, I went on to spend a night in a pub called The Queen in St Bees. I think I could have vanished into that village and no one would have found me. Lovely pub, good food, and a pretty location. Sleeping in a pub is a great idea for trips like this because the chat comes to you—though I could have put myself out there a bit more. Another lesson learned.
The next day I took another steam train, this time from Ravenglass. Absolutely gorgeous, even in the damp weather, and again—not really my thing! The route takes you up toward Scafell Pike and would be a brilliant start to an ascent. Then it was on to Glasgow via Carlisle. I actually Googled “things to do tonight” before arriving and ended up at a queer comedy night in a small bar—the complete opposite of what my uncle would have done, but there you go!
That was my only night in a dorm at a youth hostel. I know a lot of people recommend them for solo travel, but I’ve only had one truly positive experience (in York). Is the trick to pick the touristy ones?
Leaving Glasgow at the crack of dawn, I headed to Carlisle and then took the train to Leeds through some very pretty countryside. My eyes were glued to the window most of the way. I hopped off and back on in Settle (mum’s recommendation) and then went Leeds → York, with time to kill before a night in Newcastle.
I spent an hour in the railway museum (again—what would my uncle do?), but I’ve done York before and didn’t find much else to do, so I called mum for inspiration. She suggested Scarborough. Ice cream on the beach in Scarborough was a surprise highlight—mostly because it was a last-minute call and the place was terrific.
The night in Newcastle was about facing old demons (I went to uni there—wasn’t a great time), but instead I met up with an old friend. Didn’t stick around, as my new goal was: how far north can I go?
The answer: Dingwall (thanks to cancelled trains further up the line on Sunday). After a slightly “meh” couple of hours in Edinburgh (probably needed more of a plan) and a lovely brunch, I took a beautiful train ride to Inverness, had a quick look around, and then continued to Dingwall.
It’s pretty much the edge of the world up there. I went to a bar and talked to the bartender over a couple of pints. That’s small, but it’s huge for me—I’ve always been shy and happy to let others take the lead.
Another B&B, then a very kind lady paid for a taxi for both of us back to Inverness. And wow—the people of the Highlands can talk. Barely one sentence finished before someone else started. From there it was the long ride back to my home station somewhere in East Anglia.
