At the end of November 2016 I went to the milonga weekend organized by El tango de mi corazón. Strangely, there is no mention of it on their website. The milongas were in Ramsbottom, a small market town on the northern boundary of Greater Manchester with Lancashire.
When in summer 2017 thoughts turn to autumn plans I hope I remember I swore in 2016 not to spend all of November in Scotland. I had felt entombed in Perth having been ill for most of a very cold month and was finally feeling better. What a relief to be setting out somewhere different. It was a wrench though, leaving the strong, insistent, "don't go" embraces of my children, even if for just a night.
At 0830 the morning light was beautiful upon the hills towards Crieff and on Ben Vorlich. The sky behind Stirling castle to the south was streaked the colour of honey. As it does so often from that rise to the north, the castle looked ethereal and mysterious. I had had too many self-inflicted late nights followed by early mornings. I could feel them catching up with me and, unusually, stopped for a fast brunch of coffee and good soup at over-commercialised Tebay. From the motorway I drove across moorland before dropping down into the village of Ramsbottom, nestled among hills. I had a sense of descending into the history of the industrial revolution. In Manchester the spirit of that time which created ‘Cottonopolis’ is everywhere - in the red brick buildings and in the great cultural legacies of that city. There was a similar feeling, on a different scale in this valley. Ramsbottom used to be a mill town for printing and textiles. A sense of the nineteenth century permeated the place. There is a summary about the town by their heritage society here.
On Saturday afternoon, Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon I went to the dances.
On Sunday morning I walked around the perimeter of Ramsbottom village. In Nuttall park I read about Nuttall Hall (no longer extant) which had been built and lived in by a pre-welfare state local textile entrepreneur and philanthropist, William Grant. As I walked on, now parts of Ramsbottom were shabby or frankly derelict.
Still, the town seemed quite wealthy with many smart, busy and apparently successful restaurants, including one vegan eatery which surprised me in a place not much more than a sizeable village. I heard from the locals I stayed with and others I met around town that the people who live here generally have good jobs, most working in Manchester some fifteen miles away. The town is I was told a foodie destination. A friend and I had eaten well on Saturday night in her good choice of the cosy Hungry Duck and the staff were very pleasant.
I walked on, thinking how times had changed since the nineteenth century sharing of private wealth on projects of “public benefit": libraries, concert halls, hospitals and public buildings. I could not see much of public benefit gong on in Ramsbottom. A little later however I heard from staff in another establishment that the Eagle and Child, a successful gastro pub was known in the area for “creating training and employment opportunities for young people who are not in education, employment or training”. The Eagle and Child seemed respected and well thought of - both for its business and for what it is doing for the community.
There are plenty of walks in the area. Here is just one and one following a sculpture trail: for example
The church looked better outside than in. There is a brass band - naturally, for this part of the world. The station was twee with coloured lights. It was also the cover photo for the advert for the milonga weekend. The station looked a bit fake to me but it does have real trains and you can do a real rail-walk tour of the area:
All of these things were about what you would expect for a village like this. Somehow I was not expecting:
Apparently the name means 'wild garlic' in Basque because one possible origin of Ramsbottom's name means...wild garlic. Baratxuri had the feeling of a foodie wine bar serving 'pintxos' (pinchos) and tapas. Levanter, the sister restaurant round the corner I was told is more of a place with tables and table service. It won neighbourhood restaurant of the year. In fact, I find it gets a great write up under 'Levanter Fine Foods' in the Guardian. But Baratxuri was both smart and informal with good seating for solos. I was pretty sure the food would be good. It was just what I was looking for.
The owner is apparently a nut for all things Spanish. He started with a paella pan on the street. Over a good brunch sherry I watched him standing behind the cook, checking everything, involved in everything, finger on the pulse. I was not surprised he was successful. In this landlocked place a little warily I had the octopus. It was memorably delicious. So good I was glad I had skipped breakfast because then I had the lobster croquettes and they were good too. I would definitely go back. Actually, I would go to Levanter, round the corner next time.
