July 7

York!

Sorry, that's not fair. We're still in London at this point in the story. At least for the morning. Don't worry, we'll be in York by the end of the day... maybe.

The story really begins back in the golden age of the Internet when options were plentiful, founders wealthy, and the need for QA at an all time low. It was then a site called TravelNow went live.

What story?

Months before we boarded a plane to cross continents and oceans we booked a rental car in London through a site called TravelNow. Why isn't that hyperlinked? I don't think I want you going there and I expect you won't either by the time this is all laid out.

We arrived at Heathrow early in order to get a jump on the day. The plan was to drive from London to Cambridge for lunch and a brief visit before ending the day in York. We began looking for the "New Fronti" rental agency only to find nobody had heard of it. Not good to say the least.

We used a kiosk to go back to TravelNow and found that New Fronti was short for New Frontier which was a tiny agency with a maple leaf in their logo. Sounds mighty Canadian, huh? Turns out they were based on Toronto. Isn't there a town called London near Toronto? Oh crap.

Somewhere in North America was a car waiting for us to pick it up. Since it was a bit out of the way we scoured the agencies that actually operated in Great Britain. We found that although nobody had anything available that day, Europcar had a car available in two days in York for only about four times as much as we were supposed to pay. Oh well.

Of course now we had to actually get to York. The bus wouldn't be too expensive, but didn't get in until 2am. We decided to start our train experience a little bit early. We jumped back in the Tube and arrived at the train station just in time to catch a nearly non-stop to York.

Without a car we had to hoof it from the station into town. We walked from the station into York's walls to find it had tiny streets with hardly an American chain to be seen. Our B&B was outside the walls so we exited the city for the short walk. This was our first time really walking with our packs on and they were surprisingly easy to carry.

We rang the bell and were greeted by a nice man from next door who knew our names. It seemed our trip was back on track, but then he said there was a problem with our room. We stared blankly for a moment wondering how he knew it would be funny to say that after our experiences that morning.

Turns out he didn't know anything about our morning. Unfortunately, it turns out the previous night's guests had come for the nightlife and enjoyed it so much they had wet the bed so badly it had dripped through the mattress and on to the floor.

He pointed up the road to a nearby B&B where he had made reservations for us and gave us an additional eight pounds to cover the difference. We were stunned, but the new place was ok and not too far away. We settled in a bit and headed back into town for a coffee and some general meandering.

We joined up with a walk that was supposed to be about ghost stories, but focused more on history which was fine with me. The walk was led by an older guy who said he started believing when his grandmother saw a ghost in one of the buildings some 50 years earlier.

After the walk we found an Italian restaurant chain for dinner. With an empty stomach it took only half a glass of wine to warm me up and another half glass of cider to turn me into "the John I know" according to Amy. She resolved to get me liquored and keep me that way so I'd be more fun.

Amy guided me back to the room and I think that's about when I slipped into the sweet, sweet blackness. As I write all this it certainly seems as though I've become quite the lush. Oh well. Wait until later and you'll see this is nothing.

July 8

We woke to a colder, blustery day. Our breakfast was a traditional English one which means it consisted of an enormous amount of fat in a variety of different forms. British people outside the hospitality business confided to us that only tourists eat English breakfasts. It's sort of a big joke, I think.

York is surrounded by a Norman wall built on a Roman wall. Most of the Vikings' wall still stands and is open to tourists like us to walk around. Standing atop the wall you can feel the security that it afforded the residents and how daunting it would have seemed to an attacker.

Today it seems the wall's main job is to shield the old city from the sounds of the motorway that runs just outside and to provide a backdrop to private gardens. From the top of the wall you can see what I suppose must be called "modern" York complete with tiny streets and rows and rows of houses.

The wall ends about half way around the city at Clifford's Tower and the Castle Museum. The museum promised to show us how the people of York lived in times past and did a pretty good job of it. Although the museum seemed to be more a random collection of things than an ordered tour through the ages I liked it.

(When I was writing about the museum in the journal that afternoon at York's second Starbucks a couple were enjoying coffee while they were breaking up. It seemed like the two had hooked up when he came to town, but he was leaving and apparently took the opportunity to tell his York girlfriend that there was another girlfriend somewhere else. Although I didn't hear it all (I had to at least pretend to write, didn't I?) it sounded as though he wanted to keep her on as his York lady, but still be free to be social, as it were. She didn't buy it. Good for her.)

For lunch we had Cornish Pasties which stared off tasty, but actually got worse the more we ate. Go figure. On the upside, we sat just outside the York Minster, a great cathedral that is still under construction... sort of. It turns out the Anglicans had taken the Minster from the Catholics with the promise that it would be returned when the construction was finished. Not being foolish, the Minster has never been completed.

York Minster dominates the city within the walls. Sunday services began at 10am which meant the bells began piercing the morning around 9:30am. People streamed into the building in their Sunday finest making us feel like outsiders in our shorts and backpacks.

Unlike Westminster Abbey or Notre Dame there is no large square in front of York's Minster. It opens with a few steps right onto the street with buildings all around. Since it's so much taller than the rest of the buildings in town you can catch glimpses of it as you wander.

The inside was much like Westminster, but much less cluttered. It's obvious this is a layperson's day-to-day church rather than one used by royalty. To prove they'd let anyone in we went to an Evensong service at 4pm which featured the Minster choir in a short service.

It's easy to see why religion is losing popularity with new, uninspiring houses of worship that try to take the place of cathedrals like this. The sound we heard ricocheted around the church's vaulted ceilings returning as though from the lips of the heavenly choir itself. The organ bellowed and whispered throughout giving the illusion it was a living creature celebrating God in its own way. I left feeling at peace and refreshed after three days in chaotic London.

Tomorrow we leave early for Edinburgh. I'll try my best to avoid phrases like "aye," "arrgh," and "if it's not Scottish it's crap!" lest I find myself bloody and face down in a ditch.

Ready? Click here to head north.