Venice of the North?

We approached the outskirts of Birmingham in grey overcast weather adding to the rather uninteresting and slightly depressing outlook this stretch of the Worcester and Birmingham canal portrays to the visiting narrow boater. Our Nicholson guide had recommended we reach the centre of the city rather than linger in the university district as here we would find good and safe moorings. This meant we didn't have time to visit Cadbury World at Bournville whose dedicated station and visitor entrance we passed on our port side with Ros staring wistfully at the chocolate factory and reminiscing about the joys of the cheap mis-shapes purchased from the factory shop in her youth and a missed opportunity for a quick stock up.

Birmingham city marketing has made much play of the  city having more canals than Venice and in the centre the city has embraced these watery arteries far better than any other visited so far. Not able to compete with the glory that is the Grand Canal and in the absence of the beauties of its classical architecture captured in those wonderful Canaletto paintings, redevelopment has focused on regenerating the Georgian and Victorian industrial warehouses, canal stations and bridges and redeveloping the area around the main canal basin with grand modern public buildings and up-market office developments at Brindley Place.

Finding the canals still very empty for this time of year we moored easily if a little trickily (thanks to the howling winds funnelled between the tall buildings) just before the much photographed Gas Basin in front of the smart Mailbox centre, new home to chic clothing brand stores and Harvey Nichols. A short walk away down the now very trendy towpath littered with bar and restaurant chain outlets and we were alongside the International Conference Centre and the National Indoor Arena. St Mark's Square it wasn't but a modern demonstration of civic ambition by the city fathers determined to put Birmingham on the map and attract world class events and tourists. Here the canals were very much the main feature with open vistas and the busyness of the junction of the Birmingham Main Line and Birmingham and Fazeley Canals. The presence of numerous tourist and restaurant boats plying their trade confirmed the success of the regeneration of these stretches of water.

We had done our homework and although there were no theatre productions or Birmingham Symphony concerts on either of our two nights we discovered we could enjoy a free concert at the  Birmingham Conservatoire located a short ten minute walk from our mooring. And so we joined a full house of music lovers for performances by extremely talented students who soloed in the tuba (a first for me and very enjoyable once I'd dispatched my childhood memories of Tubby the Tuba conjured up by the rather rotund Lancastrian wielding his instrument), a Romanian alto and a remarkable 22 year old Chinese woman who quite stole the show with her magical playing. 

Having explored much of the city on foot which is so easy when you are moored at its very heart we left bright and early in sunshine to head out down the 13 locks of the Farmers Bridge flight.  Joggers, dog walkers and foot bound commuters were much in evidence all offering a friendly greeting as we descended the locks now often beneath overhanging modern buildings and past the foot of the Post Office Tower. As we moved through from the regenerated city centre and water facing apartments and offices we entered that parallel world that is the forgotten canal where the water is full of disgusting debris and litter, every surface is covered with mundane graffiti, and the towpaths seem populated with dubious characters lurking under bridges or at locks failing to respond to a cheery hello or smile or worse, with a scowl or grimace. As we navigated through Aston and beneath the mayhem that is spaghetti junction we turned right on the Birmingham and Fazeley desperate to quickly pass Erdington and Tyburn.  

Relief. We were again in open countryside and headed to Bodymoor Heath where an overnight stop beside the Dog and Doublet pub beckoned. Mooring was witnessed by a friendly young brownie in the garden of the farmhouse the towpath backed onto who proudly introduced us to her chickens assuring us we would not be woken at the crack of dawn by the cockerel. 

And indeed we weren't. He was a late riser and didn't start crowing till gone 8 o'clock. Clearly a chilled narrow boat bird.