Making the most of Manchester.

“Life was very simple. My parents had come from the North of England, which is a fairly rugged, bleak, hard-working part of England, and so there was not the expectation of luxury.”

— Roger Bannister, British athlete

Manchester wasn’t exactly what I would call a “pretty” city.

I had mixed expectations about my visit this past weekend for the TBU Conference and what I would find waiting for me there–having a soccer fanatic for a brother meant I was obviously looking forward to entering the hallowed grounds of Man. U. and Man. City, and yet I was equally aware that going “up north” in England inevitably means a journey into more industrial (i.e. less attractive) landscapes.

Indeed, Manchester struck me from the start as a city that’s a bit rough around the edges (much like I found Toronto to be last September). While trying to find my way from the central coach station to my hostel late Friday night, I stopped a policeman not exactly because I was lost, but rather for a gentle nudge in the right direction.

“There’s no hostel on Corporation Street,” he said somewhat ominously. “That part of the city’s off our beat, too. Sure you wanna go there?”

What do you think, officer?

But as a budget traveller, did I have any choice? I made my way down a dubiously-lit street, past warehouse-like buildings that seemed to serve even more dubious purposes, until finally a sign for the Ashton House Hostel appeared. Hallelujah.

I felt underwhelmed the next morning as well, walking along a skyline dominated by gangly cranes and boxy high-rise offices that were hardly distinctive. A thick cloud cover hung over the city, and the streets and shops appeared to reflect this greyness, this general lack of life.

It was only on my way to lunch on the first day of the conference that a small label stuck to the peeling green paint of a streetlamp caught my attention. The label read ‘love.’ I paused and let the group go on while I got out my camera. Funny how that small moment got me thinking about Manchester.

Just like my time in the city of Sasseri on Sardinia, I found Manchester the kind of city that made me work for my money–if you know what I mean. Whether that meant searching out street art, staring hard at an image of a lioness on a wall, or crouching low to frame a stand of wind-blown daffodils against a glassy skyscraper, beauty didn’t come easy in Manchester.

But it was worth that much more when you found it.