Northumberland is an incredible part of the world, never mind the UK. We recently took a multi-day road trip to see some of the best of what it has to offer!
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Leaving the Peaks for the Kingdom of Castles
We set off from the Peak District before dawn, the kind of road trip where the mist hangs low and the boot’s filled with waterproofs, walking boots, and mild optimism. Northumberland has always sounded slightly mythical – a land of windswept castles, abbeys, and long, empty beaches – but this time we were determined to see if the stories held up. We’d also spent the last month watching “The Last Kingdom” on Netflix, worth a watch!
The plan was loosely strung together: Hexham first, then the coast through Warkworth and Bamburgh, ending on Holy Island for a couple of days, before looping inland to Hadrian’s Wall and then home.
The A1 might not be romantic in itself, but somewhere after Scotch Corner the landscape begins to shift. The hills soften, the skies widen, and the fields stretch right to the edge of the sea. By the time we rolled into Hexham, morning light was breaking through thin clouds.
Hexham: A Market Town with a Pulse
Hexham is a proper northern market town, not a manicured tourist hub. The Abbey, dating back to the 7th century, sits calmly in the middle of town – impressive without feeling showy. Inside, the carved stone arches glow in dusty sunlight; outside, the market square hums with everyday life. We grabbed coffee from a small café that seemed barely awake and wandered down into Sele Park, where dog walkers nodded in the universal northern “alreet” sort of way.
It’s the kind of place that reminds you that English towns can still feel lived-in rather than staged. But Elliot had been before – for a job interview (Bouchon Bistrot gets an honourable mention for great food) – and the coast was calling, so we pressed on.
Warkworth and the Curve of the River Coquet
The road east threads through rolling farmland until the ruins of Warkworth Castle suddenly appear above the River Coquet. The village itself could be a film set – one curved high street, stone cottages, and the castle keeping watch over everything. The Percy family ruled from here in the Middle Ages, and their fortress still feels alive: imposing battlements, gulls wheeling overhead.
We walked down to Warkworth Beach. It’s a stretch of pale sand so long and quiet that you can forget England is a crowded island. The only sound was the wind rattling the dunes and the tide sliding back in.
Bamburgh: Beauty, Cricket and Beer
Drive north to Bamburgh and the sight still makes your stomach drop in the best way. The castle sits high above the beach, impossibly cinematic – all towers and battlements against a bright blue sky. Beneath it, almost absurdly, lies one of the most beautiful cricket grounds in Britain, a perfect green square framed by castle walls on one side and dunes on the other.
We walked along the beach again afterwards, the sand stretching endlessly north, the surf fizzing around our ankles. To be clear, you cannot walk on too many beaches in Northumbria – they are wild and windy and wonderful, often you’re the only one there. The village itself is neat and friendly, with the smell of chips and beer drifting from open doors. We stopped at a pub for an early dinner – all local ales and chatter about the weather – before heading further up the coast.
Across the Causeway to Holy Island
The road to Lindisfarne (Holy Island) is a story in itself. You have to time your crossing to the tides; twice a day the sea covers the causeway, cutting the island off completely. This might sound a bit terrifying but is actually fantastic – the Island is so quiet once the tourists leave on the last crossing of the day. Anyway…
We arrived early, waiting at the edge with a small convoy of cautious cars, watching the tide fall away until the tarmac gleamed wet and empty. Driving across feels dreamlike – seabirds circling, pools of reflected sky either side, and that quiet, shared awe that seems to hush every engine.
We spent two nights staying right on Holy Island, in a small cottage overlooking the dunes. Each evening, the calls of a nearby seal colony drifted across the bay, an eerie and oddly beautiful soundtrack as the tide came in. One morning we walked the Pilgrim’s Way, following the wooden poles that mark the ancient route across the sand when the sea retreats. It’s a strange feeling, walking where the ocean usually sits – soft sand underfoot, seaweed tangling your boots, and distant escape huts raised on stilts in case you misjudge the tide. In point of fact, some of them probably need replacing and – we know this because Elliot climbed one – if you’re a little short, you might struggle to get up one anyway!
Holy Island: Priories, Pubs and Paintings
Holy Island itself is small and timeless. We spent a morning exploring Lindisfarne Priory, the heart of early English Christianity, where monks once created the illuminated Gospels that still bear the island’s name. The arches and columns rise like ribs against the sky; you can wander freely among them, imagining the rhythm of monastic bells and the smell of sea salt on robes.
In the afternoons, we drifted between the art galleries and local craft shops. One small art shop caught our eye – we left with a print of the posts marking the Pilgrim’s Way, now framed in our hallway back home. We ate twice on the island: one night in a cosy pub with low ceilings and open fires, another evening picking up local cheese and mead to eat back at the cottage, listening again to the seals in the dark.
There’s a serenity here that sneaks up on you – the rhythm of tides, the isolation, the sense that you’re just borrowing space from something much older. It was oddly hard to leave when the time came, but we had other ancient things to see.
Vindolanda, Hadrian’s Wall and the Echoes of Rome
After leaving Holy Island, we swung inland again towards Hadrian’s Wall. The scenery changes fast: from dunes and salt flats to high, wind-bent moorland and sharp, rocky ridges. We stopped at Vindolanda, one of the Wall’s best-preserved forts and one of the most fascinating archaeological sites in Britain. Built by the Romans almost 2,000 years ago, Vindolanda wasn’t just a fort – it was a community. The excavations there have revealed everything from leather sandals and wooden combs to letters written on thin slivers of wood, still legible after centuries underground.
Walking through the site, you can trace the outlines of barracks, the commandant’s house, and the tiny bathhouse. The museum beside it displays those delicate letters – everyday notes home from soldiers asking for socks, or inviting friends to a birthday party. It’s a strangely moving glimpse into how ordinary life persisted even on the edge of empire.
Standing there, the wind cutting (and it was cutting) across the hills, you realise that this line of stones once marked the northernmost reach of Rome – and now it’s just part of the quiet landscape, sheep grazing where centurions once marched.
Farewell to Northumberland
Our last view of Northumberland came somewhere south of Hexham, the light slanting across the fields as the road turned back towards the Peaks. We’d packed up the car with a couple of bottles of mead, a muddy pair of boots, and the painting from the island art shop wrapped in newspaper.
Northumberland doesn’t shout for attention. Its beauty is quieter – found in the rhythm of the tides, the stillness of Warkworth’s river loop, the clang of the church bell in Hexham, and the vast emptiness of the beaches. It’s a landscape that rewards time and curiosity. And even now, back home, the sound of those seals still sits somewhere in the memory – a reminder that, for a few days, we borrowed part of an older, more ancient, quieter time.
