The Map Of Many Colours

While I was on holiday I received several messages through various social medias along the lines of "Northern have released a new map with coloured lines - did you know?"  I'm strangely touched that I have become "that Northern map person"; it's certainly a better legacy than "local weirdo".  

Northern covers a massive portion of England, with some of the largest cities in the country, and its diagram has always struggled to reflect that.  The old map, which is still available on the website, puts everything in corporate purple and shows that yes, it is possible to get from point A to point B.  There's no attempt at showing quality of service or, for that matter, if there's a single train or more than one on a route.  You can use a finger to trace a single uninterrupted line from Liverpool to Lincoln without being aware that there is no such train.

The new map uses colour to break the network into lines, of sorts, which could be overwhelming for such a large region.  I think they've pulled it off.  They've used what I think of as the German style of map, where lozenges run across shared lines and dots indicate stops.  This style manages to wrestle the S- and U-Bahns together into some kind of logical shape and it makes sense to apply it to Northern. 

What's pleasing is how they've done it.  The map moves inwards, starting with groups of colours on the coast.  Trains through Tyneside and Teesside are blue, in various shades; through Humberside, they're pinks and purples.  Your eye bunches them together.

The west coast gets a similar treatment; blues and greens into Liverpool and the tips of Merseyrail, pinks and reds to Chester.

It means that when you get to Manchester, arguably the centre of the map (if not geographically) you can sort of work out where the lines are going from their colours alone.  That straight line Metrolink connection between Victoria and Piccadilly, by the way?  Absolute chef's kiss.  Beautifully done.

Manchester also shows how the extreme complexity of a station doesn't mean that it's confusing.  Piccadilly has twelve coloured dots inside its lozenge, three of which are through lines, but it's not complicated.  You feel reassured looking at this that though you'll have to change trains to get from Newton-le-Willows to Levenshulme, it'll be a simple manoeuvre, a shift from one platform to another.

Through lines in the middle of the map are also easy to follow; that swap of the greens via Brighouse is beautifully elegant.  I like that clear 90 degree of the grey line via Mirfield, and it does the best it can with the stations between Stalybridge and Huddersfield; it's absurd that a map covering the North implies there's some sort of service gap between Manchester and Leeds because that's a different franchise, but there you go.  

Leeds has a massive fourteen dots, so many they've had to create a gap so they can fit the station name in somewhere, which is a shame because it wrecks the flow.  They've also done the best they can with the pestilent Castleford loop, a weird lump of odd services and reversals in Yorkshire.

You can see the East Coast Main Line sweeping across the Goole line there in grey, providing a backbone to the right hand side of the map and stretching off to Scotland in the north and London to the south.

Interestingly ("interestingly") an attempt to do the same on the left hand side with the West Coast Main Line falls apart in the pathfinding.  Northern services share the line so the grey vanishes under some green at Wigan; this is because stations like Euxton Balshaw Lane are served by Northern but have fast intercities ploughing through.

The grey reappears north of Oxenholme Lake District but it emerges from a blue line; the green has headed off to Blackpool after Preston.  There should be a small bit of grey running under the lines outside Preston to show it's connected because right now they're two separate routes.  Is this nitpicking?  Absolutely.  Isn't that what you came here for though?  Be honest. 

There are a few other bits that irritate me.  I hate this line crossing outside Barnsley, though I totally understand why it's there.

Shipley is a hot mess:

And there's only one spot where the interchange happens between two lines at right angles, at Romiley, and it doesn't quite work.  The red is broken by the yellow.

They've called Headbolt Lane "Kirkby Headbolt Lane," which is incorrect, and this isn't their fault of course but the sheer number of "temporarily closed" stations is depressing. 

Also not their fault is this bit.

We're really going with "Bee Network Trams", are we Andy?  Even though Metrolink is a perfectly good brand already? 

 

This map is perhaps more angled at tourists than locals, or at least, getting people to move outside their homes.  They've highlighted the great estuaries and bays on the coasts, the national parks and areas of outstanding natural beauty, and, yes, they've included those damn heritage railways that drive me up the wall.  This includes the Keighly and Worth Valley Railway, which never used to be there, and has now given me an extra station to visit.

Speaking of extra stations I haven't been to, the Ashington Line is there in - I was going to say "all its glory" but it's very much a work in progress. 

Horden continues to haunt me below Sunderland, and for no apparent reason Newark Northgate has popped up.  I can only think the designers saw that big white gap in the bottom right hand corner and decided to fill it with something.  I'd have preferred a picture of a fire-breathing lizard and here be dragons because really, who wants to go to Newark?

The map is, in my opinion, a triumph.  It shows you want you want to know, it's bright and cheery, it doesn't have station names crossing the lines or any of those other bugbears.  It's simple to use.  It's brilliant.  (I will caveat that I'm speaking as a person with full colour vision; I don't know how it reads if you're colour blind).  There's a small renaissance going on in railway design at the moment - I've waxed about the wonderful posters Merseyrail is turning out before - and this is another victory.  I might have to get one for my wall.

Holiday Rock

I've been on holiday.  

I had a very relaxing week of doing nothing by the pool in a villa in Arborim, Portugal.  I'd show you the pictures but this blog is boring enough already; you don't need all my snaps as well.  I will share this one of me in Barcelos, however, because I have no idea what this statue is and its hideousness needs to be recorded.

However, I did do a little station spotting while I was out there.  I kept it to a minimum out of respect for the BF, though I should point out that when we were in Porto, he was the one who suggested we ride the trams.  He'll soon be one of us, I promise.

Tamel

This was the closest station to where we were staying and was an archetypal Portuguese station for a small town.

A whitewashed two-storey block with wings either side and tile work around the bottom.  (There was a sign on the building warning against stealing the tiles.  People are awful, aren't they?)  The ticket office seemed permanently closed, though it was early evening so I couldn't be sure.  It did have a working clock, which is always good to see.

The normally single track line here expands to two, with neat concrete shelters on each one and a barrow crossing.  This lead to the only example of multilingual signage on the platform:

The implication being that British people are too thick to know how to cross a railway track without someone giving them instructions.  Fair.  

Tamel also had another feature you don't often get on provincial stations in the UK: a working public toilet.

Admittedly it was little more than a row of urinals with no door or hand washing facilities (and I didn't poke around the ladies', for obvious reasons) but still, well done.

Barcelos

The local large town, Barcelos's station featured a whopping three platforms, and a pleasingly 1930s ambience which had been preserved and scrubbed up.  (Wait, who was in charge of Portugal in the thirties?... oh.)

Note, in particular, the little steam train on the weather vane.  Again, the ticket office was closed, though in this case it seemed to be because of the lateness of the hour rather than a permanent feature.  I peered through the glass and saw a neat little square of tiled floor with benches.  

There were no actual trains, mind; the service through Barcelos is erratic.  As I write this, the next trains are at 10:07, 10:36, 11:09 and 13:15; there seems to be no rhyme or reason to when they show up.

I had a wander round, snapping my pics, ignoring the man on the platform listening to music on his speakerphone.  He was in his sixties, at least, showing that antisocial behaviour crosses all boundaries and age gaps.

 An empty station is a lonely place. 

Nine

Those first two stations I didn't actually take a train to; the BF dropped me off in the car to indulge myself.  When we headed into Porto for a day trip, though, we decided to Park and Ride, and headed for the nearby town of Nine (which I believe is actually pronounced Ninny, but don't quote me on that).  

Nine gets a far better service into the city - you could change here for Barcelos and Tamel, but you might have a wait - so I bought our tickets from the office using my brilliant Portuguese ("Two to Sao Bento please", while holding up two fingers).

Nine also had a cafe, one which, unlike your average British station caff, looked like it served edible food and good coffee and seemed to be a place people came to even if they weren't getting a train.  Why do Europeans get this sort of thing and we have the odd Pumpkin churning out ready packed sandwiches made of grim?  Even their petrol stations have charming little cafes attached where you can get a hot meal, not a Costa machine and a Mars Bar.  (Although I have noticed that a lot of Portuguese people hang around these petrol station snack bars with a lit fag dangling out of their mouth, so while the Brits may be lacking on the culinary front, we win when it comes to health and safety).

There are five platforms at Nine, which sounds like the start of a riddle, and as such it gets a subway under the platforms with white tiles and electronic signs.  You probably don't care about that sort of thing so I won't put up a picture, so here's a picture of a Portuguese train instead.

I don't know what sort of train it is, obviously, but it was relatively ok inside.  There were plenty of seats, though the moquette was a little threadbare, and a couple of the windows had popped and were full of condensation. 

There was a nice map over the doors with the local commuter services though, and you know I love a map.

I confessed to the BF that there was a part of me that wanted to jump off at each station on that map.  He may have rolled his eyes.

Special mention to the accessibility doors which provide space for wheelchairs, prams and surfboards. 

The Porto Metro

We had a lovely wander round the city of Porto.  We'd been to Lisbon once, on a day trip about a decade ago, and didn't like it at all.  We've since agreed that we must've gone to the wrong bit of Lisbon, a sort of grimy area that wasn't its proper heart, because everyone else seems to think it's fantastic.  Certainly Porto was a delight - lots of beautiful streets, a wide river with boats on it, fascinating architecture, and very walkable if you don't mind the odd slog up a near horizontal road.

The Dom Luís I bridge is the city's icon, a two level metal structure opened in 1886.  The decks show just how great the height difference is between areas of the city, with the river Duoro running in a gorge.  The lower deck carries traffic and pedestrians between the quaysides, but the top deck was turned over to the Porto Metro in 2003.

We crossed the Dom Luís I on the lower deck then climbed a very steep hill to reach the top and the tram stop at Jardim do Morro.

Porto's Metro is technically a pre-metro; it's a tram network that runs in tunnels through the city centre but on the surface outside it.  

There's a long central tunnel that crosses the city, which is shared by most of the lines, while line D runs perpendicular to this in a different tunnel.  Jardim do Morro is on line D and so after crossing the high level bridge we descended underground; an interesting combination.

Trinidade is the hub of the network, the only station served by all six lines, and its design is typical for the underground stations.  The Metro was constructed in the 21st century (though a lot of the central tunnel is much older) and so there's a certain uniformity to its architecture; plain tiles, simple signage, escalators.

Small shops have been squeezed into the design, both at the platform level and on the extremely wide cross passage for interchange.  The station was clearly built with an eye to future crowds.

We changed to the purple line, E, which goes to the airport (its station is literally outside the terminal) and went a couple of stops to Casa de Musica.  

At the moment this is simply another stop on the common tunnel, but there is currently work underway to build a new line, Line G, also known as Linha Rosa because it'll be pink on the map.  You can't miss the works - the line goes from Casa de Musica to Sao Bento via the historic portion of the city, so every now and then you'll encounter a street closed off and marked with tatty signage.

Reading up on the Metro before I'd left I'd been irritated to learn that Linha Rosa was due to open in July 2025.  I was one month too early to visit!  As it turned out, I didn't miss out on much.  Judging by the works I could see through the Heras fencing, it'll be more like July 2026 at the earliest.

Can't see anyone nipping down there for a train in the next four weeks, can you?

I'd picked Casa de Musica as our destination station because I wanted to see the large rotunda nearby.  I'd not realised that metro works would make this impossible; virtually the whole thing was screened off.  In  addition to Line G, there's also a Line H under construction, in a fetching shade of burgundy.  Linha Rubi will connect Casa de Musica to the end of Line D at Santo Ovidio, relieving some of the pressure on the only north-south route across the city.  It's due to open next year but please see that picture above of the Linha Rosa station and adjust your expectations accordingly.  

We walked through a district that seemed to be nothing but hospitals, nearly getting run over by a Land Rover swinging into the military infirmary, and diverted to the next station along, Carolina Michaëlis.  (New drag name right there).

You have to climb some stairs to reach the subsurface platform, but it's been extensively landscaped with this elaborate flower bed.  There was a gardener tending to the plants when we arrived.  It was charming.

Below ground you can see why this is technically a pre-metro rather than the fully-fledged real thing.  The platforms are short and low, and it feels very much more like a tram stop with a roof than anything else.  

Officially, the jury's still out on whether Porto's Metro has been a success.  Ridership has been good but it still hasn't turned a profit.  The common tunnel doesn't really go into the heart of the city, the place where people want to actually go, and the Linha Rosa will only partially solve this: its original route had two more stations but it was cut down to make it more direct.

In my opinion though, it's a triumph.  This is the kind of thing every city of a million people or so should have, everywhere.  As I wandered around Porto, news broke of the UK Governments "massive" investment in regional transport, which will enable Merseyside to get three new railway stations and some posh buses.  It couldn't help but feel inadequate.  

Sao Bento

Our final stop on the Metro was Sao Bento, Porto's finest railway station.  Beneath ground it's much the same as the other D Line stations: some blueish tiles, thin san-serif typeface, plenty of space to move about. 

Its real triumph, however, is topside.  The railways first came to Porto in the late 19th century, with a station at Campanhã.  As at Crown Street in Liverpool, this stop on the edge of the city was immediately judged inadequate, and so plans were formulated for deep tunnels to be constructed under the city to a new terminus that was handy for the residents and businesses.

In a story that will be familiar to anyone with a passing interest in European history, this ran afoul of the Catholic Church.  The site picked for the new station was a run down convent which the Church suddenly decided was extremely important and shouldn't be demolished.  The city compromised, and decided to knock down only parts of the convent itself, including preserving the church at the site.

Works dragged on for decades.  Finally, a temporary station was opened at the site in 1896: it's worth noting that the first train of dignitaries was two minutes late because they were still laying tracks.  They then began to look at plans for a permanent station, with budget restrictions hanging over their head, and bosses in Lisbon cutting where they could.  By this point the demands of the railways had shifted, and the city realised they'd need more space for the station.  Enter the Catholic Church again, objecting to the destruction of the rest of the convent and the church next to it, so negotiations began once more.  A plan was formulated by 1904, the construction actually began, and the station was finally inaugurated.  In 1916.

Look, you can't do anything really good really quickly.  Sao Bento quickly established itself as an icon of the Portuguese railways and has been preserved for the nation.

The main reason for this is the tilework in the entrance hall.  Designed and installed by Jorge Colaço, they track the history of the north of Portugal, the history of transport, and the delights of rural life.

 

People come from all over the world to see the tiles, which was very irritating to me personally.  I'm used to visiting railway stations and being overawed by their magnificence while regular members of the public flit about in ignorance.  I shouldn't have to elbow my way for photos past school trips and gangs of random Iowans.  Don't they know who I am?

Perhaps this contributed to my lack of enthusiasm for the station.  It was very pretty, of course, but it didn't wow me.  I think it's perhaps down to the fact that the station's actual architecture was quite ordinary.  It was the tiles that made it, not the building.  I like to be wowed by a space and this didn't really do it for me.  This is the problem with hype.  If I'd known nothing about Sao Bento I might have been blown away but I walked in expecting "one of the world's most beautiful railway stations" and it wasn't that for me.

 

 

Obviously it's far more attractive than, say, Bootle New Strand, and I'm being a miserable sod.  That may be because I'm in England writing this instead of larking about in Europe again.  Take me back.