The Newness of York

The 2-hour train-ride from London to York was comfortable and uneventful, and at York's train station I stepped into a damp grayness that reminded me of Oregon. As with my experience at Victoria Station, I was disoriented (or unoriented, maybe?), so I strolled through the gift shop and bought a city map. I had a reservation at the Clifton Bridge Guesthouse, though even with the map I was not sure of in which direction I should travel. I found my way to the city center, sitting at a table outside the Jorvik Center and drinking an overpriced cup of coffee purchased from a kiosk.

Still disoriented, however, I returned to the train station, then used it and the Jorvik Center as dual locations from which to figure out how to orient both the map and myself. (Could I have done this from my table outside the kiosk? Yes. And that approach makes complete sense now.) I also remembered something from the Guesthouse's website: a person could reach it by walking along the river, which turns out to be the Ouse, which lay between the train station and the Jorvik Center and which I'd already crossed twice.

At The Clifton Bridge, about a mile outside of the city center, Tony knew my name when I stepped in and said I had a room reserved--and he called me "mister." I liked that. He was friendly, told me a different way to get back to the City Center, let me know what time breakfast would be served, and told me to make sure I didn't leave without returning the room key. I assured him I would not.

After depositing my backpack, I headed toward the city not along the river but through "modern" York: and discovered W.H. Auden's birthplace along the way--didn't expect that. Also didn't expect to find an entrance to the City Center--an entrance as is passing through the city wall that surrounds the city. Here's what I found:



A city wall--one more thing that reinforced my belief that the joy of every journey is found as much in the unplanned and unexpected than in the outlined itinerary. So, I climbed the stone steps to the top of the stone wall, where at some point (there must have been a marker of some kind) I wrote in my notebook:

"In one section I find an even older remnant of a different wall constructed in about AD71, and the Romans left York around AD410."

I stood there for a long time wondering at the age of things, at how stone steps along the wall had been worn to smoothness by centuries of footsteps. And I remember the light mist that seemed so perfect.... I also found a gift shop (still on the wall) that I browsed until a group of loud Americans stomped up a stretch of wooden steps, with one man of the group telling the telling the shop-worker that "Your weather sucks here."

Wonderful....

The wall looks like this:



York itself was crowded with tourists, and I wrote that "the City Center itself is no more than an outdoor mall." True--but it was still England and not, oh, The Mall of America. And what, after all, should a city center be but the center of commerce? I found, of all things, a Starbucks, and I enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cookie there (more Starbucks in future posts), sitting down for the first time in nearly 7 hours. Through the front door I could see York Cathedral, which I admired from the outside because I refused to pay the entrance fee. (Note to readers: Some people admire my frugality; others are annoyed because I am cheap.)

The outside (free) part of the cathedral:



During my wanderings, I turned down a narrow walkway (I found that I discovered many things whenever I did this) and found an old church, which I greatly enjoyed and in which I lingered. Then, heading back to my B&B, I turned left down a quaint street and found the remnants of an old Norse Church--which I had passed by but not noticed in my trek from train station to B&B. In the dark, I sat in the park and watched some skateboarders, and again wondered at the age of things. Here's part of the Norse Church...


And another part:


And an old church (outside and inside) I stumbled upon by turning down a dark sidewalk....






After breakfast the next morning, I packed, checked out of my room, and walked back to the station to catch a train to Edinburgh, Scotland. The walk was perhaps half an hour, and I timed things to arrive at the station about 20 minutes before my train was scheduled to leave. Half way there, my backpack rubbing against my shoulders and pulling against my neck, I put my hand in my pocket and found.... my room key. Which left me with a choice: run back to the Clifton Bridge and turn in the key but possibly miss my train, or keep moving forward and mail the key back when I could.