Let me tell you about Whitby. There are places and then there are places. Whitby is definitely one of the latter. I’ve trekked across continents, sampled street food in bustling markets. Sipped fine wines in Michelin-starred joints, but there’s something about this ancient fishing town on the North Yorkshire coast that just gets under your skin. But what’s different about Whitby? Whitby does it with atmosphere, history, and a coastline that’ll steal your breath faster than the North Sea wind.
I rolled into Whitby feeling the usual pre-adventure buzz. The sun was doing its best to shine. I could hear the gulls that were already squawking like a pub full of regulars on a Friday night. That unmistakable tang of salt and something ancient hit me square in the face. The beautiful, brutal, mesmerising North Sea. It’s the lifeblood of this town, and you can feel it in every creaking boat, every weathered stone, every fresh-caught bite.
The Abbey
First order of business, after ditching the bags, was to go and see the sights. And in Whitby, that means one thing – the Abbey. Perched majestically on the East Cliff, those haunting ruins are the postcard shot. It’s the historical heavyweight, and frankly, a damn good workout for those calves. You’ve got to tackle the 199 steps to get up there (or if you’re lazy like me you can park at the top). And let me tell you, after a hearty breakfast, those steps feel like 199 personal trainers shouting at you.
But the view from the top? Worth every single gasp. You look out over the red rooftops, the bustling harbour, and that vast, glittering expanse of the North Sea. It’s humbling. You can almost hear the echoes of Vikings, saints, and maybe even a certain bloodsucking count looking for a good shipping route.
The town
Back down at sea level, the town itself is a maze of narrow, cobbled streets. This is where the real charm kicks in. Independent shops selling everything from genuine Whitby jet jewellery to quirky souvenirs. There are ghost walks, pubs and Captain Cook museums. You’ll also find the beautiful St. Mary’s Church, nestled right by the Abbey steps, with its leaning gravestones that tell a thousand stories of lives lived and lost to the sea. Take your time, wander, get gloriously lost. That’s half the fun. These are the tiny alleyways that snake off the main streets, ancient passages with names like ‘Arguments Yard’ and ‘Loggerheads Yard’. You can just imagine the stories these stones could tell. Smugglers, sailors, and probably a fair few spirited disagreements over a lost bet. It’s pure atmosphere. Fishing boats jostle with pleasure craft, and the ebb and flow of the tide dictates the rhythm of life.
When in Whitby …
Then, I hopped on the boat. Not a fancy yacht, but one of the local tour boats that takes you out of the harbour for a quick trip along the coast. It’s the best way to see the town from the sea’s perspective. You chug past the piers, get a stunning view of the cliffs, and see Whitby Abbey looming over it all like a magnificent, gothic guardian. The skipper, a fella whose face was a roadmap of sea-faring years, pointed out coves where smugglers used to land their contraband. It was 30 minutes of pure, unadulterated salty joy.
My mother and father always loved Whitby so I then took a walk to the end of Tate Hill Pier where we ‘d previously scattered their ashes. I spent a few minutes in silence taking in the sounds and remembering the many amazing days we’d spent there together both when I was younger and after I’d flown the nest.
I continued my day with a proper bracing walk along the pier, right out to the lighthouse. The wind was doing its thing. That energetic, salty slap in the face that wakes you up better than a double espresso. Watching the waves crash against the sea defences, feeling the spray on your face. You get this profound sense of respect for the power of the water and for the generations of folk who’ve made their living from it.
The food. Oh my god, the food!
Now, let’s talk about the important stuff: the food. Whitby, being a proper working port, means one thing above all else: seafood. And holy moly, do they do it right. Forget your fancy Michelin-star places for a minute. We’re talking about proper, honest-to-goodness fish and chips. The kind where the batter is impossibly crisp, the fish flakes apart like a dream, and the chips are thick-cut perfection. There are countless chippies vying for your attention, and frankly, I tried a few over the years when I lived nearby. Purely for research, you understand. My advice? Follow your nose, or just pick one with a queue out the door. You won’t be disappointed. Find a bench overlooking the harbour, ward off the audacious gulls, and experience true culinary bliss.
But it’s not just fish and chips, though that could easily sustain me for a week. There are fantastic seafood restaurants serving up fresh crab, lobster, mussels, and whatever else the boats brought in that morning. On this visit I went to Trenchers near the railway station on the new quay. This frequently features on the shortlist for the national Fish and Chip Awards. I had the freshest and tastiest crab that I’ve had in a long time. With Whitby scampi to follow and paired with a crisp white wine I was laughing.
For those who prefer their sustenance from the land, fear not. There are plenty of pubs doing cracking Sunday roasts and hearty pub grub. And let’s not forget the local breweries because what’s good food without a good pint to wash it down? I sampled a few local ales that were as robust and characterful as the town itself.
Whitby at dusk
As evening rolled in, I found myself, as always, drawn back to the West Cliff, near the whalebone arch. The sky was turning that incredible shade of bruised purple and fiery orange. The lights of the old town started to twinkle across the harbour. I grabbed a lemon-top ice cream (soft-serve ice cream with a dollop of lemon sorbet) and just stared. I watched the fishing boats heading out or returning silhouetted against the ever-changing sky. As the sea darkened, I listened to the gulls settling down for the night, and felt that perfect, contended travel buzz. It’s a timeless scene, a testament to the enduring relationship between this town and the vast ocean it calls home.
To finish I crossed the harbour bridge back over to the other side of Whitby. The streetlights were glowing, casting long shadows on the cobbles. The pubs were starting to fill with laughter and the clinking of glasses. There’s a certain atmospheric eeriness too, especially if you delve into the town’s connections with Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Standing near the Abbey at dusk, with the wind whistling through the ruins and the waves crashing far below, it’s easy to imagine a dark ship arriving in the harbour.
So, would I recommend Whitby? Absolutely, unequivocally yes. I’ve visited many times and I always return. It’s got history, stunning scenery, and that incredible, ever-present sea. There’s enough good food and drink to keep any self-respecting traveller (and their belly) incredibly happy. It’s a place that captures your imagination and leaves you yearning to return. Just make sure you pack your walking shoes, an empty stomach, and a thirst for adventure. And maybe a stout umbrella, just in case the North Sea decides to show off.