Cambridge: A Day Out Where My Life Began

Cambridge: A Day Out Where My Life Began

Punting seemed so easy when I was young, this trip disproved it!

Cambridge River Cam Punting. Photo by MyriadPhoto. © 2026.

My art teacher used to say, “Never go back. Things will have changed without you being a part of it.”

Arriving in Cambridge, the city where I grew up, I understood exactly what he meant.

Cambridge North railway station opened in 2017, just down the road from my childhood home. I can’t remember travelling by train until I was in my teens. We either walked, cycled or went everywhere by car.

The original Cambridge station is on the south-east side of the city, so arriving at Cambridge North felt a little strange.

It is fascinating to see so much change, but it also gives your heart a little tug.

Hercules Meets Galatea Statue at Cambridge North Station. Photo by MyriadPhoto. © 2026.

One sight I was pleased to discover was the statue Hercules Meets Galatea, shown above. It stands outside the station as a welcoming landmark and reflects Cambridge’s long academic heritage.

Cambridge North station is around a mile from the Science Park. The Science Park now occupies the area I knew simply as the “old army camp”. As children, we treated it as one enormous playground, with wide open spaces, concrete roads and an old railway track once used for military transport.

We played with bows and arrows in the rough scrubland and scrambled over barbed wire fences without giving it a second thought. I vividly remember ripping a brand-new pair of bright blue trousers climbing one of those fences and dreading what my mum would say when I got home.

It took me a little while to get my bearings and find the path along the River Cam.

My childhood home was only about a mile away, and I loved walking or cycling along this towpath.

The towpath beside the River Cam was a favourite walk during my childhood, and little has changed since then. Photo by MyriadPhoto. © 2026.

In 1999, this humble towpath that I am so fond of became part of the European Long Distance Path E2.

You can see barges moored on the opposite bank. More of those later.

We followed the path, with a brief diversion inland, passing the site of the long-gone Pike and Eel, a pub my dad liked to frequent. Another reminder of how much had changed.

In its place stand attractive Dutch-style houses. They are lovely in their own way, although I couldn’t help wishing the old pub was still there, if only so I could once again enjoy a bottle of Coca-Cola and a packet of peanuts as I did when a child.

Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Rowing is an integral part of university life in Cambridge. We passed many boathouses along the river, each proudly displaying its college crest.

The owner of the barge above had obviously grown weary of repainting it.

I was hoping to see a rowing eight out practising for the upcoming Bumps races. Cambridge has its own famous Bumps races, while Oxford’s equivalent events are known as the Torpids and Summer Eights.

Before long, we were lucky enough to spot a crew in action.

Rowing Eight on the River Cam. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

According to countryside folklore, cows lying down mean rain is on the way.

But folklore can be hit and miss. Thankfully, no rain came.

Cows lying down at Stourbridge Common. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Seeing all the colourful barges, decorated with pots of flowers, reminded me how I once dreamed of living on a boat. It all looks wonderfully idyllic in summer, although I suspect winter paints a rather different picture.

Colourful barge with floral display. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Barge with solar panels. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

There is always something quirky to spot on the barges, like this grassy green dog.

Grassy green dog. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

I was fortunate enough to have an idyllic childhood in Cambridge. If you have never visited before, the upcoming scenery will give you an idea of just how beautiful it is, with its historic architecture, green open spaces and the meandering River Cam.

The world-famous King’s College Chapel. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

I used to sit on the grassy bank above to feed the ducks.

View towards Clare College Cambridge. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Trinity Lane, Cambridge. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

In **Some Things Never Change **I revisited Newnham, Cambridge, the outdoor pool where I spent many happy summer days learning to swim.

My teenage years were punctuated by watery pub crawls with friends, often travelling between them by punt – a long, flat-bottomed wooden boat propelled with a pole.

The Granta Pub. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

If you look to the left of the photo above, you can see a man holding a pole. You can punt right up to The Granta pub.

Below is another of the many pubs we loved to visit, The Fort St George. Dating back to the 16th century, it is Cambridge’s oldest pub and was originally built on an island.

Fort St George Pub Sign. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Fort St George. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026

Inside the Fort St George. Note the rowing pictures. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

We stopped for that traditional British classic – fish and chips. And it was delicious!

James, my boyfriend, has always preferred being on the river rather than simply beside it. An accomplished sailor, he loves boats of almost every description.

Having listened to my stories about punting as a teenager, he was determined to have a go himself.

I remembered punting as being surprisingly easy. Back then, I’d go with a group of old school friends and we’d all take turns. What I hadn’t quite remembered was that we’d usually enjoyed a few drinks beforehand, so our confidence was perhaps a little higher than it would normally have been.

I no longer drink alcohol, and age has made me realise it wasn’t the wisest idea. That said, we were never drunk, always looked after one another and mostly managed not to fall in.

Standing on one of the bridges, watching the punters below, my own confidence began to evaporate.

Punters near Trinity College Bridge. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

“Perhaps we should take a guided punt tour?” I suggested.

James, however, was determined to do it himself.

We arrived at the Mill Pond with James full of bravado and me becoming increasingly nervous. A punt hire tout – there certainly wasn’t such a thing when I was a teenager, when one of my friends hired punts from the college where he worked for 50p each – looked at me as though I was completely mad when I told him we were planning to hire a punt and take it out on our own.

The Mill Pond, Cambridge. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

In pole position. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

James opted to stand inside the punt rather than at the very end. Suddenly, he wasn’t quite so confident once he saw what he kept describing as the “carnage” unfolding on the river.

James paddling the punt. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Thank goodness for the paddle!

I’d like to say James has a tendency to exaggerate (he does), but a brisk breeze was pushing punts all over the place. Like us, many visitors had decided to have a go themselves, and it wasn’t ending particularly well for any of them.

I didn’t photograph any of it because my phone, inside its waterproof case, started to overheat and I had to switch it off. I wasn’t about to take it out of the case because my phone has ended up in a river before!

The professional tour guide punters, meanwhile, effortlessly weaved their way between the chaos as though nothing unusual was happening.

By now, I had completely lost confidence in my own punting abilities. I kept imagining myself banging my head on a bridge or, worse still, ending up swimming in the River Cam.

James’s decision to sit down and use the paddle instead worked remarkably well. But oh, the humiliation! I could just imagine my teenage friends laughing and accusing us of “chickening out”. Back then, we would never have admitted defeat.

Youthful confidence told us it was a case of do or die. Now, I glanced at the other punters, wondering what they made of our rather unglamorous approach.

One group of Japanese tourists pointed and giggled. Others, desperately clinging to plants trailing from ancient stone walls while their punts drifted aimlessly, shouted that they wished they had been given a paddle too. They declared James to be the sensible one.

I then watched another punt crash into the Pimm’s boat – a floating bar serving the traditional British summer drink – the very same one we’d managed to collide with earlier.

Cambridge is even more beautiful from the river, although on this occasion my breath was being taken away for entirely different reasons. I sat frozen as punt after punt either bumped into us, scraped along the ancient walls or drifted helplessly with the current.

Looking back, it was hilarious.

At the time, it really wasn’t.

James later confessed that all he could hear in his head was me insisting how easy punting was.

To be fair, it probably would have been much easier on a quieter river, which is how I remember it all those years ago. The steady breeze and strong current certainly weren’t helping anyone.

Well… anyone except the tour guides, who perform this balancing act every day.

Let’s face it, there is always someone more relaxed than you.

Time to chill. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

As we handed back our punt, I smiled with relief. My memories hadn’t been quite as reliable as I’d imagined, and punting was certainly a lot harder than my teenage self had led me to believe. But perhaps that’s part of returning to the places that shaped your early years.

Memories have a habit of becoming slightly exaggerated over time…

We ended our day with ice creams from Fitzbillies, a café famous for its Chelsea buns. The warm temperatures demanded this in the form of ice cream.

And of course, I can never resist a scoop of chocolate. Delicious!

Fitzbillies Chelsea bun and chocolate ice cream. Photo by MyriadPhoto © 2026.

Cambridge remains one of the most beautiful places I know. Whether you’re strolling beside the River Cam, enjoying fish and chips in a centuries-old pub or laughing (or cringing) your way through a rather chaotic punting adventure, it’s a city well worth spending a day getting to know.

Just don’t believe anyone who tells you punting is easy!

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