|
Here are some things I forgot to mention earlier:
It seemed to me that every noteworthy historical event that happened in Scotland's history had to do with either defeating the English or being defeated by them. The English are decidedly the bad guys of this culture. I just thought that was interesting. BT (British Telecom or whatever) has much cooler pay phones than we do. To use them normally, one must deposit some coins, at least 10p, but it will take 20p, 50p, and £1 coins, too. Each call "unit" costs 10p. There is an LCD display that counts down how much credit you have remaining. When you hang up, any unused coins are returned (but no change is made). You can also hit the "Next Call" button to keep going on existing credit. The phones also take major credit cards, BT credit cards, and the extra cool BT phone cards. I bought a card for £5 at a newsstand in London and used it extensively. It has a little exposed chip on it. When you insert it into the phone, your remaining credit shows up on the display, just as if you had inserted that many 10p coins. When you complete your call and remove it, it is updated to reflect how much time you have remaining. When it is used up, you just buy another. It is basically a convenient substitute for a pocket full of change. The cards are available in several denominations. I also got a £2 one. My only complaint is that the card was printed with an ad for the Gap. They get ad revenue while the customer gets nothing. Wednesday morning I popped downstairs at 8, had my second Traditional English Breakfast, ran upstairs and got my STUFF, and checked out. Julie made the reservation for me, so maybe that's why. I never signed anything. I never told them my name. I paid in cash, and I was on my way. I had some thoughts of maybe going somewhere other than York, but the train was scheduled to roll in three minutes after my arrival at the station, so I went to the platform and hopped on when it arrived. Whoever does the PA announcements on the train made a big deal over our crossing the border between Scotland and England, warning us in advance so that we wouldn't miss the sign and saying "welcome to England!" when we passed it. I arrived in York and went immediately to the tourist information centre (when traveling in the UK, always look for an italic lower case "i"). There I booked a room at a hotel (a bed and breakfast with eight or so rooms) and got a map of the city with my route marked. Since this was going to be a substantial walk, for the first time this trip I zipped my small backpack onto my large bag, then deployed the bags shoulder straps and hip belt, turning both bags into one functional if geeky framed backpack. Yes, it bothered me that I looked like a nerdy college student on holiday, but it really was more comfortable this way. The first thing I saw after leaving the station was the city wall. It's hard to miss. It looks just as you'd expect a medieval wall to look: stone grey, winding, with those cute notches along the top. I followed the wall south and kept following it past the place I was supposed to turn. When I realized this, though, it was a simple matter to check my map and cut through some residential areas, past a school, to my hotel. I didn't get too many odd looks on the way. I checked into my hotel without trouble and ignored my host's directions completely as I headed (with just the small bag) a bit west to enter the city from the south. I passed a laundry that I'd seen listed in the Berkeley Guide, finally figured out how to cross the street at that intersection, and walked across a bridge into the city. I saw some museum or other and Clifford's Tower, but my first stop was something I'd also seen in the Berkeley Guide, the Museum of Automata. This is a collection of mechanical simulations of life-like movement. There are many gorgeous 19th century French pieces, including wonderful tiny metal birds that move and sing. Almost all of the antiques here are powered by a coiled clock springs. Many are, in fact, parts of clocks. The old ones aren't actually running, but there are video tapes continuously running next to them that show what they do. There are many hands-on displays that allow the visitor to see how mechanical movement is created. Most of these are electric. OK, maybe it's an anorak place, but I had a great time. After the Museum of Automata, I moved into the famous and intensely touristy center of town. The Shambles is a tiny alley packed with shops and tourists. Stonegate is a bit wider and also densely packed. The architecture is ancient and lovely, but the intense marketing is a bit overpowering. Why, for example, would I need to visit a Scottish store in York to find my tartan? I made them play the toy souvenir bagpipes, anyway. The next thing you know I turned a corner and found myself staring up at York Minster. This gothic cathedral is stunning, even with one of the towers encased in scaffolding. Here are some URLs to pictures of it:
I won't waste much time talking about the Minster, other than to say the stained glass is breathtaking and seems to go on forever. It was well past lunch time, so I wandered back through Stonegate looking for a place to eat. I saw a sign advertising the Olde Starre Inne, York's Oldest Pub (and the one with the most extra Es), and decided to have a look. It is a long walk through a winding path off the street, past its own little courtyard. And it is a trendy place. Lots of Bud, lots of students, a young staff, and a cappuccino/espresso/hot chocolate/tea machine. Just put a cup under the spout and press a button. Yuck. The menu also looked fairly upscale and unappealing. However, Real Ale is very trendy in Britain, thank goodness, so I had a pint of a couple of Yorkshire beers. I chatted with a couple of members of the staff, and one of them came around and had a pint with me when he was finished. They directed me to my next pub, one with a large selection of guest beers. They insisted that I have the Theakston Old Peculiar. They also suggested that I just keep going from pub to pub if I really wanted to experience York. My next stop, through more winding alleys (I loved this part of York) was the Golden Lion. I ordered a pint of the Old Peculiar, but I should have known something was up when the bartender said, "a pint?" before pouring it. Maybe a half would have been a better idea. This pub, too, was trendy, with pretty displays of imported beers filling shelves behind the bar. Most seemed to be Belgian flavoured lambics (Timmermann's cherry, peach, and raspberry), Bavarian Weiss, etc. An older grey-haired gentleman also at the bar (where he'd apparently been for several hours) was watching a bartender arrange the bottle displays. At one point the bartender made the mistake of asking his opinion of the aesthetics of a certain shelf. For the next fifteen minutes the two bartenders, the old man, and I debated bottle placement, symmetry, and lighting. I honestly can't tell you all that we talked about, but it had something to do with politics, differences in culture, and buying each other pints. An hour or two later (I really have no idea), I decided to move along. It was about six o'clock, I hadn't eaten since dinner, and I may have had a pint or two more than was prudent. However, I decided that what I really needed at this moment was a Yorkshire pudding. So I walked until I hit another pub, the Golden Fleece, which had what they called large puddings with different fillings. I was still unclear at this point exactly what a Yorkshire pudding was, but this didn't stop me from ordering one with roast beef and chips. It probably came with peas, too. Everything in England does. I ordered a Courage Director (yes, a beer) and picked out a table. (If you've been to the UK or you live there, ignore this part: when one eats in a pub, one orders drinks and food at the bar and pays for them (no tip). Then one sits down and waits for someone to bring you your food. Want another beer or some crisps? Go back to the bar.) I had seen some pubs that had foreign bills stuck on the wall behind the bar, but this one actually had coins behind a piece of glass (or Plexiglas) behind the bar! I checked, and sure enough, out of over 100 coins, there was no Susan B. So I gave them one. If you are ever in York, go to the Golden Fleece and seek out the coin I gave them. It was dark and not quite eight when I decided it was time to head back to the hotel. I intended to go to sleep, but the National Television Awards show was on. I watch David Duwhatever from the X Files and Rikki Lake win awards, and the Duchess of York tell a joke and give one away. It was thrilling. That's it for Wednesday. P.S. Potato crisps, what we call potato chips (and what Dan Quayle calls potatoe chips), come in interesting flavours in England: Roast Beef & Mustard, Smoked Ham & Pickle, and Lamb & Mint. No, I am not making this up. |
