Thursday, 16 June, 2022
Thursday the heat began. Ouch. it was really REALLY hard going for me. But first – breakfast. This was the first time we’d booked a hotel that included breakfast and Krish wrinkled his nose at the prospect. It used to be a big deal to get a hotel breakfast but, since the pandemic, they have mostly regressed to nothing better than hospital cafeteria style – with steam tables full of questionable quality and predictable British favourites. Luckily for us, the Midland had a ‘nice’ breakfast with juices, fruit, some cheese, yogurts and various spreads, then a menu of cooked to order food. The first day I had haddock with a poached egg, and Krish had a kipper with his poached egg. This was the type of light breakfast I love. The dining room was large with only a couple of tables being used by guests and it was all presided over by Carol, the best hostess we have ever had. Carol was probably in her 60s, and had her grey-blonde hair up in a bun. She wore a loose fitting black dress with a slit at the bottom hem that revealed a white slip. She walked with a heavy limp but managed the walking back and forth quite well. The Queen of the dining room!
We had a plan and it included me taking buses if I needed to – I had a freebus pass after all – but it didn’t come to that.
We left the hotel and went through the nearby cathedral grounds. I popped into the quite lovely and very quiet and cool cathedral. The site of the cathedral has been used for Christian worship at least since 627AD. By 1327 there was a stone church here, some of the older masonry may have been used in the reconstruction of the Nave. The oldest parts of the present building, the nave arcades. were completed in 1458. The Tower was added to the West end and finished in 1508. The newest parts were completed in 1963. I thought the largest stained glass window quite spectacular but the light behind it created a rather disappointing photo (the third one).
When I came out I found Krish had left (ugh). He sent me a text that he’d left. not having heard that I was going into the cathedral, and was in Little Germany (German Quarter he said) which was next on our list. It’s right next to the cathedral so a very short walk. Little Germany was home to the German merchants, many Jewish, who came to Bradford in the late 1850s for the prosperous textile industry. Little Germany itself is also protected as a Conservation Area. Of the collection of 85 buildings constructed between 1855 and 1890, 55 are listed. Most of the buildings were constructed for the use of textile businesses, including imposing warehouses/
I started up the steep hill. There was a bunch of the area I didn’t see – just too much of a steep hike on a hot day. At first I was a bit disappointed by the area – I’d read so much – but after a while, started noticing all the architectural detail and then I enjoyed it.
Back near the intersection with the main road bordering little Germany is The Bradford Playhouse which seats 266 people and was founded back in 1929. It was called The Priestley for while, after Bradford son J. B. Priestley who was its president. He wrote of the theatre, “it is a genuine popular movement, not something fostered by a few rich cranks.” To bolster this sentiment of being independent and ordinary hardworking people, at the back is a mural that commemorates the centenary of the founding of the Independent Labour Party in Bradford in 1893.
Which once was a stark warehouse and business district is now a neat and impressive neighbourhood of imposing buildings, peppered with art. The most famous of these is a portrait of David Hockney (one of Bradford’s most famous sons) in nails. Yes, the kind you hammer. The sculpture is 16ft high, 12ft wide, and weighs almost three-quarters of a ton, consisting of 12 panels. The 250,000 nails that make up the artist’s portrait were hammered into a base of lacquered marine plywood and fixed onto the wall.
We left Little Germany in search of lunch. Just beyond lay a road considered to be a good source of local (probably curry) restaurants, but when we got there it was a major road with lots of traffic. It was after noon now and the sun felt relentless. It was getting harder to find shade and I decided to veto the journey when we figured out how far we’d have to walk to find a bus. Instead we turned about and walked towards the city centre. There was a street near the hotel called North Parade and we’d read that it had a good collection of independent cafes and bars. It was on our list, we were hungry and thirsty so off we went.
We went around the back way this time, passing the older entrance to the Kala Sangam (the South Asian community arts centre) which is in front of the cathedral. I rested in the cathedral grounds for a while. Then at the very back of the hotel was a large vaulted area leading along Forster Square Station. We hoped there was a way out from here and luckily there was.
North Parade was the first street in Bradford that had a cohesive look. On both sides at the ground level of some expectedly grand buildings were small cafes and boutiques. Many were closed but I found The Record Cafe , a combination charcuterie bar and record shop and went in alone while Krish explored a bit. I chose a large glass of ice water, and a snack of ‘black pudding pate’ which came with a mountain of toast. A few men arrived, each solo and each wanting just a pint of beer, which they drank out on the patio.
I met Krish outside and we wandered back to the hotel. We had a plan to go to Saltaire, which was a short train ride from Forster Square Station, but first some respite from walking and the heat was essential.
Back at the hotel we found the staff had left us a frosty bottle of water. So appreciated! Then rest we did but as the minutes went on, Saltaire started to recede. I thought we could go around 5 but wasn’t sure if the shops would be open. We did know that the restaurant we’d heard about would be, but Krish was exhaustively researching where we could eat instead. Suddenly, he thought it would be a shame after all to sun the famous Bradford curry scene (Bradford, Curry Capital of the UK) and switched his research to the best curry he could find in the city. I wanted to go to a place recommended by a foodie friend, but Krish found a place online that ticked all his boxes – lots of snacks and a solid reputation. So in the end his choice won and Saltaire was off the books. Instead we did more quick research into the bus system and, deciding this was a thirty-minute bus ride that would at the very least show us some of the ‘real’ life of Bradfordians off we set, Venturing out of the centre is something we love to do wherever we go, since we had long ago recognised that city centres rarely reveal anywhere near the whole picture of a place and a people.
At first we had the wrong bus stop so had to ask someone where to go. Then it was easy. Once on the bus with Krish having bought a return ticket, a kind soul at the front of the bus told him he would have been better off buying a day ticket which he could use as much as he wanted. I’ve always wondered why some bus drivers don’t come up with these useful recommendations…but the ticket was bought and we were on our way along the streets of suburban Bradford, which we entered almost immediately after leaving the centre. I took some photos along the way.
We went though one housing estate area where several people were sitting in their small front gardens together, all staring out towards the road in a row…babies on the laps of teenagers. Most weren’t talking to each other, although some were chatting across fences etc. ‘Low rent’ krish called it, and then ‘Yorkshire hillbillies.’ It seemed appropriate based on the hilly terrain we’d passed. I wish I’d taken a photo but it seemed indiscreet and we passed it too quickly. When we were getting off the bus a man started talking to us telling us where to get the bus back – ‘It looks like it’s going the wrong way, but it isn’t,’ he explained. so I asked him where the restaurant was. ‘I live three doors away’ he said, ‘I’ll take you through my garden, it’s a short cut.’ So we followed him. He lived in a small row of gated houses. He walked too quickly for me to take a photo but it was quite charming, although I saw that all the windows were barred. He saw us through the gate, pointed and said goodbye. Krish saw a chip shop (which they call Fisheries here) and said that he’d have some after our meal, especially if it was ‘rubbish.’
The restaurant, Kiplings, was very purple. Krish had almost rejected it just for that reason. And it was noisy. The warm welcome really helped us decide to stay and eat. We spent some time remembering our choices from their online menu and sat back to wait for the food to arrive. It was going to come all together as we asked, then regretted as time ticked on and we grew hungrier. Finally, our food started to arrive, bit by bit.
I’ll be honest. Curry Capital of the UK, Restaurant of the Year 2021 or not, this might have been the worst Indian food I’ve ever eaten. There was nothing worth eating let alone travelled half an hour for. Fish was like leather, *king* prawn were tiny and tough if you could find them amidst the fried onions, sauces were weird (one seemed to be made from cabbage) there was too much (overcooked) liver in *that* plate of onions, and my lassi had no mango flavour. The bindhi was mushy with lots of equally mushy chopped onion – I’d looked forward to that dish especially. The puri was mediocre, and the naan never arrived. We ate what we could and left. I arrived at the till to find Krish saying to the owner ‘Curry capital of the UK, I think not.’ (Oh dear.) I couldn’t help wondering if the one I’d heard about would have been just as bad or maybe much better. In any case, far better for him to screech about his choice having been rubbish, than mine! Adding insult to injury – the fish shop was closed. We found the bus home, didn’t go by the hillbilly place this time (aww). On the bus Krish checked the bill – we’d been overcharged for the lassi, they’d charged us for sauces we didn’t ask for (so thought they were complimentary) and also charged for an item we hadn’t ordered and didn’t receive. I emailed them that evening and have heard nothing back. So much for that!
We found the bus home, didn’t go by the hillbilly place this time (aww) and then back to the hotel and bed.
The hotel looks lovely and so do the scenic shots. You’d be quite ashamed of our travel standards—if they give us a hard roll and some Nutella, we’re just as delighted with breakfast as if it had been a hot spread. Krish would never travel with us! Loved this post.