Disclaimer: Our visit to Enchanted City Newcastle was a gifted family experience. All observations and opinions are my own.
The most memorable moment of our Christmas outing wasn’t a spectacular light installation or an enormous glowing sculpture. It was a strange-looking woman crouching beside Cyrus in the darkness, explaining why Sirius is called the Dog Star.
He listened intently, nodding as though he had just been entrusted with classified information from NASA. I stood nearby, freezing in my supposedly warm coat, wondering whether this might be the moment he remembers long after the Christmas presents have disappeared.
We were at Enchanted City Newcastle, an outdoor art experience at Northumbria University’s City Centre Campus. Our visit was gifted, but the evening left me thinking about something that has bothered me for years. When did giving children a magical Christmas become quite so much work?
Sometimes the moments children remember most are the ones nobody thought to organise.
December now arrives with an impressive list of parental obligations. There are illuminated trails, Santa experiences, pantomimes, Christmas markets and elves apparently determined to destroy the living room before breakfast. None of these activities is necessarily bad. Some are lovely, but somewhere along the way, Christmas seems to have become a competition to see who can provide the most memorable childhood.
Having Cyrus at 40 means I’m now at an age where I have neither the energy nor the inclination to compete. I love taking him places, but I don’t want every weekend to involve another expensive booking. I would rather he remembered one wonderful evening than six outings we barely had time to enjoy.
Enchanted City takes place outdoors, with light installations, projections, performance and artwork spread across the university campus. Rather than following a rigid route, visitors walk between installations, choosing what interests them. Cyrus took to this arrangement immediately, anything glowing in the distance needed investigation, preferably before his parents had finished looking at whatever was directly in front of them.
One installation, Ascendance, featured a life-size projection of an astronaut floating alone in space inside a church. Cyrus studied the figure for a moment. “Is he lonely?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. We stood quietly together, contemplating the astronaut’s predicament. I found myself thinking about isolation and human vulnerability, while Cyrus was probably just wondering whether astronauts ever get bored.
Another installation, Ladder to the Moon, featured an illuminated ladder reaching upwards into the darkness. Cyrus naturally wanted to climb it. I started thinking about ambition, ageing and everything I once imagined I would accomplish before mortgages and school runs entered the picture. Welcome to midlife, where even a decorative ladder can prompt an existential crisis.
Cyrus really loved Cluster, an installation featuring thousands of moving points of light that created the sensation of walking through a galaxy. He disappeared among them before returning for another look. I followed more slowly, watching the lights move around us and enjoying the unusual sensation of feeling insignificant without being remotely upset about it.
The fire garden offered another unexpected pleasure. Small flames flickered against the darkness while visitors gathered nearby. Adults edged closer for warmth, pretending they were simply appreciating the artwork. Cyrus stood watching the flames for ages. Nobody asked him to complete an activity, press a button or explain what he had learned. He was perfectly content observing something beautiful.
Then came the roaming performer who stopped beside Cyrus and began talking about the night sky. She explained that Sirius, known as the Dog Star, is the brightest star in Earth’s night sky. Cyrus listened with the seriousness usually reserved for discussions about Nintendo or whether we could have watermelon for breakfast.
There was no big performance to accompany the conversation. Just an adult taking the time to speak to a child about something interesting.
For families who enjoy art, science and exploring, Enchanted City offers something different from the usual Christmas attractions. The experience was step-free, wheelchair and pushchair friendly, with no strobe lighting. Staff and volunteers were friendly without hovering.
My main practical advice is to dress warmly. Newcastle in December has little sympathy for fashion, and several layers are considerably more useful than a photogenic winter outfit. I appreciated the freedom to explore without being hurried along. Cyrus could follow his curiosity, and I could enjoy his company without worrying about getting to the next scheduled attraction.
Northumbria University City Centre Campus. The entrance for our visit was at Northumberland Road and College Street, near the City Hall stage door.
An outdoor, after-dark art experience with installations and performances to explore at your own pace.
Our visit was described as step-free and suitable for wheelchairs and pushchairs, with no strobe lighting. Check arrangements for future events.
Families interested in art, space, light installations and exploring, as well as adults who appreciate something a little different.
Warm coats, gloves, scarves and sensible footwear. Dress for Newcastle in December rather than Instagram.
I doubt he’ll remember every installation in ten years. He definitely won’t remember whether we arrived on time or whether I remembered his gloves. But hopefully he’ll remember standing in Newcastle on a cold December evening, listening to a mysterious woman explain the stars. I hope he does.
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