At the suggestion of Mike Paradis I decided my next stop in merry-old-England would be a brief tour of the ancient city of York. I felt this appropriate for two reasons: (1) it was on the way to Newcastle and is known for its medieval walls; and (2) having lived in New York for over five years I felt it was my duty to compare my adopted city with the place that first bore its name. After spending a little over 24 hours in York I can firmly say that it in almost no way resembles the great city along the eastern seaboard of America that shares its name. It does, however, have a wonderful and unique charm and I would heartily recommend you add this destination to your England itinerary no matter how brief it may be.
The first thing you notice about York is how ancient the city seems. Even just stepping out of the train station the first thing in your line of sight is the 15 foot medieval wall that stretches around nearly the entire circumference of the Old Town. York was originally established as a Roman military garrison and part of the walls of the old Roman fortress still remain- incorporated into the larger medieval walls constructed around the expanding city.
Likely the most striking feature of the city though is the York Minster (cathedral). It is centuries old (like seemingly all cathedrals I've visited), but is apparently the largest of its particular style in Europe. Subsequent to alighting myself of my pack at the hostel I proceeded to the area of the cathedral to embark on a free tour led by a volunteer for the York historical preservation society. Unlike the Sandeman's free tours (of which I have taken numerous), this particular group does not ask for any tips or contributions. They are merely doing it out of their love for York and its history. Gotta respect that.
Our tour guide that morning was a curious little old fellow. The best way I could describe him is to say that he had the disposition of my grandfather and the countenance of one of Jeff Dunham's hand puppets. To most (if not all) of you, dear readers, that will make absolutely no sense. But due to the difficulty in elaborating plus my own general laziness, I'm afraid it will have to suffice. Moving along.
When you wander around the Old Town you'll likely notice a great number of the historic houses seem to expand as they rise from the ground. That is to say, the second floor juts out further than the first, the third further than the second, and so on. According to our historical oracle (I'm trademarking this term), this was due to the taxing scheme in the old days of York. Residents were taxed on the area of space the house took up on the ground. So to avoid taxes, you made the footprint as small as possible and then expanded as you went up. Clever. This isn't unique to England, however, as you'll see this across most of central Europe.
The first stop on our tour was to examine a portion of the ancient Roman wall, specifically the Eboracum Tower which stood at the western-most corner of the fortress. The original wall went up to where the arches begin, a feature added during the medieval period. The most interesting thing to me is the ring of red bricks in the middle of the wall. During the roman days the red brick was a decorative fixture and would be situated at knee-height all along the wall. So looking at this, you can tell where the ground level was for the original fort.
On the other side of the wall is a beautiful park- the remnants of the gardens of a former abbey that existed up until the monasteries were dissolved by Henry VIII. There was a really cool tradition that is still carried on in the gardens whereby in medieval days the people of the town would gather and each tradesman would enact a bible verse that pertained to his trade. So the bakers and fishers were involved with the fishes and loaves tale and so forth. Since most people couldn't read, this was the best way to convey the stories to everyone. Every few years they will still do this- constructing a stage in front of the remains of the abbey and hosting shows throughout the summer season.
But probably the most distinctive feature of the city of York are the gates placed strategically along the medieval wall. The first one we stopped to look at, and one of the more exquisite, was the Petergate Bar. As our guide said, "in York, a street is a gate, a gate is a bar, and a bar is a pub." Makes sense...? So Petergate Bar means Peter street gate. Ah ha! This gate was evidently the most hotly contested during medieval times as it was the defensive point against clans of marauding Scots or other foreign forces invading from the north. Personally, I just like the decoration and Robin Hood-esque feel of it all.
The greatest thing about the old walls of York is not that they have survived, but that they are and have long been maintained by the citizens of the city. And because they are so well maintained, you are allowed to walk along the walls the entire way around the city. And most places even have guard rails so you don't accidentally plummet to your death. How considerate!
Along the wall you not only get some nice views of the city, but also of the York Minster. Here is the obligatory photo of me in York. Which is important since this post has so much information it must seem like I just plucked it from Wikipedia... which I may or may not have done. (I didn't... mostly).
The next major stop on the walking tour was the Shambles, a street named after the type of window display used in the old days. Originally the street housed York's slaughterhouses and butcheries. Butchers would drop down their windows to create a ledge (shamble) to display their meat. Most of the shops are now cafes, souvenir shops, or restaurants, but you can still see the hooks and chains in the ceilings that were once used to hang carcases of pigs/cows/sheep/etc for butchery. I imagine the stench of the Shambles on a hot summer day must have been overwhelming. Perhaps that's where the term being in "shambles" comes from.
The tour ended in front of a famous old house that has stood for well over two hundred years. In the last 30 or so years, however, due to the constant foot and auto traffic along the street, the house has begun to sag in the middle as the vibrations are causing it to settle out at a rapid and uneven pace. The price you pay for progress I suppose. Interestingly, next to it is a pub called the Golden Fleece. I find this exceptionally interesting because outside the pub is a sheep being hoisted in a fashion that looks strikingly similar to the Brooks Brothers logo (also described as "golden fleece"). Here is a bit of the answer.
Traveling around in Wakefield and now York I noticed a rather peculiar feature: shops selling hand-carved meat sandwiches. If upon reading that the first thing that came to mind was Katz Deli: (1) I agree with you; and (2) you're probably living in NYC (or at least are a big fan of When Harry Met Sally or the Food Network). For those of you who didn't, you're the sane ones (but you're really missing out... mmm... pastrami). Passing by another one of these places and unable to resist again, I acquired a roast beef sandwich with mustard and horseradish sauce. Wow.
Looking for a place to devour this delight, I wandered into the garden of one of the oldest churches in York. Interestingly, the congregation of this church, when they died, were buried INSIDE the church itself- under the floor. Because so many layers of burials were done and done at different times, the floor inside the church is slanted and uneven. Additionally, it features something I had never seen before. Instead of pews facing the altar, there are boxes facing in unto themselves where families would go to sit, read, and pray as a unit.
For the rest of the afternoon I walked along the city wall, first coming to the Walmgate Bar which is the only gate that retains the original barbicon. This was used as a preliminary gate before the main gate so that if intruders broke through they would be corralled into a small courtyard where arrows, hot oil, tar, Katy Perry music, or whatever would rain down on them until they could break through the main gate or died or gave up. Which ever came first.
Near the southeastern portion of the wall you can also see the remnants of the castle keep that once protected the city: Clifford's Tower. It's actually not that impressive and even more unimpressively they charge you to go in it. Since I refused to pay to go inside I don't really know much about it, but it's fairly small so if you have 1.5-3 minutes to spare (depending on your walking speed) it might be worth walking around it.
Back along the wall and close to the train station (and coincidentally my hostel) lies maybe the most impressive of the gates: the Mickelgate bar. This particular gate is the one used whenever royalty or anyone of importance needs to be paraded through the city. Also it looks cool and maybe, like, has a coffee shop or something in it. I don't know, I was getting tired by this point.
The end of the wall eventually brought me back to where I started, and as you stroll down the last segments you are provided a lovely view of York Minster, the Lendall Bridge, and the Minster Quarter.
I've just realized that this post has an absurdly high amount of pictures. So I'll leave you with just two more. First, to kill some time before meeting up with my new Aussie friends/roommates at the hostel, I chilled out for a bit and then headed back up toward the northern part of the Old Town where I popped into the Cross Keys pub for a pint of real ale. I happened to glance at my glass and notice something which I thought funny.
"Pint 2043." The first thought in my head was "Wow, have I really had that many beers on this trip? Actually, that could be about right. But how the hell do they know that!?" After composing myself from the shock of barman's apparent clairvoyant sorcery, I happened to notice that I was watching Olympic basketball next to a priest. A father. A man of the cloth, if you will. And he, like me, was drinking ale and watching basketball. Wait, what?
Yes, he was drinking ale and watching basketball. I wasn't hallucinating. Curious, I struck up a conversation with him only to discover that he's originally from Charlotte, went to Duke for theology, and has been living in England for the past 10 years. It really is a small world after all. After a brief chat (back and forth Duke/UNC banter) and finishing his ale he excused himself as he had a bible study class to teach. Which, upon thinking about it, makes total sense why he was steadying his nerves with a pint or two, ha.
Back at the hostel we rounded up the crew and while everyone was preparing themselves for what would be a night of ale drinking, British karaoke watching, automatic cigarette rolling, Guatemalan heritage claiming, and piggyback racing, I had Michelle take this picture of me looking very regal in the lobby of our historic hostel.
As the last sentence hopefully conveyed, it was a fun night out in York and thankfully the pubs all shut down by 1am so that I felt relatively refreshed and rejuvenated when I awoke the next morning to catch my train to Newcastle. York- definitely worth a visit. And if you do go, see if you can get to the bottom of the one mystery which eluded me: the York peppermint patty.
The first thing you notice about York is how ancient the city seems. Even just stepping out of the train station the first thing in your line of sight is the 15 foot medieval wall that stretches around nearly the entire circumference of the Old Town. York was originally established as a Roman military garrison and part of the walls of the old Roman fortress still remain- incorporated into the larger medieval walls constructed around the expanding city.
Likely the most striking feature of the city though is the York Minster (cathedral). It is centuries old (like seemingly all cathedrals I've visited), but is apparently the largest of its particular style in Europe. Subsequent to alighting myself of my pack at the hostel I proceeded to the area of the cathedral to embark on a free tour led by a volunteer for the York historical preservation society. Unlike the Sandeman's free tours (of which I have taken numerous), this particular group does not ask for any tips or contributions. They are merely doing it out of their love for York and its history. Gotta respect that.
Our tour guide that morning was a curious little old fellow. The best way I could describe him is to say that he had the disposition of my grandfather and the countenance of one of Jeff Dunham's hand puppets. To most (if not all) of you, dear readers, that will make absolutely no sense. But due to the difficulty in elaborating plus my own general laziness, I'm afraid it will have to suffice. Moving along.
When you wander around the Old Town you'll likely notice a great number of the historic houses seem to expand as they rise from the ground. That is to say, the second floor juts out further than the first, the third further than the second, and so on. According to our historical oracle (I'm trademarking this term), this was due to the taxing scheme in the old days of York. Residents were taxed on the area of space the house took up on the ground. So to avoid taxes, you made the footprint as small as possible and then expanded as you went up. Clever. This isn't unique to England, however, as you'll see this across most of central Europe.
The first stop on our tour was to examine a portion of the ancient Roman wall, specifically the Eboracum Tower which stood at the western-most corner of the fortress. The original wall went up to where the arches begin, a feature added during the medieval period. The most interesting thing to me is the ring of red bricks in the middle of the wall. During the roman days the red brick was a decorative fixture and would be situated at knee-height all along the wall. So looking at this, you can tell where the ground level was for the original fort.
On the other side of the wall is a beautiful park- the remnants of the gardens of a former abbey that existed up until the monasteries were dissolved by Henry VIII. There was a really cool tradition that is still carried on in the gardens whereby in medieval days the people of the town would gather and each tradesman would enact a bible verse that pertained to his trade. So the bakers and fishers were involved with the fishes and loaves tale and so forth. Since most people couldn't read, this was the best way to convey the stories to everyone. Every few years they will still do this- constructing a stage in front of the remains of the abbey and hosting shows throughout the summer season.
But probably the most distinctive feature of the city of York are the gates placed strategically along the medieval wall. The first one we stopped to look at, and one of the more exquisite, was the Petergate Bar. As our guide said, "in York, a street is a gate, a gate is a bar, and a bar is a pub." Makes sense...? So Petergate Bar means Peter street gate. Ah ha! This gate was evidently the most hotly contested during medieval times as it was the defensive point against clans of marauding Scots or other foreign forces invading from the north. Personally, I just like the decoration and Robin Hood-esque feel of it all.
The greatest thing about the old walls of York is not that they have survived, but that they are and have long been maintained by the citizens of the city. And because they are so well maintained, you are allowed to walk along the walls the entire way around the city. And most places even have guard rails so you don't accidentally plummet to your death. How considerate!
Along the wall you not only get some nice views of the city, but also of the York Minster. Here is the obligatory photo of me in York. Which is important since this post has so much information it must seem like I just plucked it from Wikipedia... which I may or may not have done. (I didn't... mostly).
The next major stop on the walking tour was the Shambles, a street named after the type of window display used in the old days. Originally the street housed York's slaughterhouses and butcheries. Butchers would drop down their windows to create a ledge (shamble) to display their meat. Most of the shops are now cafes, souvenir shops, or restaurants, but you can still see the hooks and chains in the ceilings that were once used to hang carcases of pigs/cows/sheep/etc for butchery. I imagine the stench of the Shambles on a hot summer day must have been overwhelming. Perhaps that's where the term being in "shambles" comes from.
The tour ended in front of a famous old house that has stood for well over two hundred years. In the last 30 or so years, however, due to the constant foot and auto traffic along the street, the house has begun to sag in the middle as the vibrations are causing it to settle out at a rapid and uneven pace. The price you pay for progress I suppose. Interestingly, next to it is a pub called the Golden Fleece. I find this exceptionally interesting because outside the pub is a sheep being hoisted in a fashion that looks strikingly similar to the Brooks Brothers logo (also described as "golden fleece"). Here is a bit of the answer.
Traveling around in Wakefield and now York I noticed a rather peculiar feature: shops selling hand-carved meat sandwiches. If upon reading that the first thing that came to mind was Katz Deli: (1) I agree with you; and (2) you're probably living in NYC (or at least are a big fan of When Harry Met Sally or the Food Network). For those of you who didn't, you're the sane ones (but you're really missing out... mmm... pastrami). Passing by another one of these places and unable to resist again, I acquired a roast beef sandwich with mustard and horseradish sauce. Wow.
Looking for a place to devour this delight, I wandered into the garden of one of the oldest churches in York. Interestingly, the congregation of this church, when they died, were buried INSIDE the church itself- under the floor. Because so many layers of burials were done and done at different times, the floor inside the church is slanted and uneven. Additionally, it features something I had never seen before. Instead of pews facing the altar, there are boxes facing in unto themselves where families would go to sit, read, and pray as a unit.
For the rest of the afternoon I walked along the city wall, first coming to the Walmgate Bar which is the only gate that retains the original barbicon. This was used as a preliminary gate before the main gate so that if intruders broke through they would be corralled into a small courtyard where arrows, hot oil, tar, Katy Perry music, or whatever would rain down on them until they could break through the main gate or died or gave up. Which ever came first.
Near the southeastern portion of the wall you can also see the remnants of the castle keep that once protected the city: Clifford's Tower. It's actually not that impressive and even more unimpressively they charge you to go in it. Since I refused to pay to go inside I don't really know much about it, but it's fairly small so if you have 1.5-3 minutes to spare (depending on your walking speed) it might be worth walking around it.
Back along the wall and close to the train station (and coincidentally my hostel) lies maybe the most impressive of the gates: the Mickelgate bar. This particular gate is the one used whenever royalty or anyone of importance needs to be paraded through the city. Also it looks cool and maybe, like, has a coffee shop or something in it. I don't know, I was getting tired by this point.
The end of the wall eventually brought me back to where I started, and as you stroll down the last segments you are provided a lovely view of York Minster, the Lendall Bridge, and the Minster Quarter.
I've just realized that this post has an absurdly high amount of pictures. So I'll leave you with just two more. First, to kill some time before meeting up with my new Aussie friends/roommates at the hostel, I chilled out for a bit and then headed back up toward the northern part of the Old Town where I popped into the Cross Keys pub for a pint of real ale. I happened to glance at my glass and notice something which I thought funny.
"Pint 2043." The first thought in my head was "Wow, have I really had that many beers on this trip? Actually, that could be about right. But how the hell do they know that!?" After composing myself from the shock of barman's apparent clairvoyant sorcery, I happened to notice that I was watching Olympic basketball next to a priest. A father. A man of the cloth, if you will. And he, like me, was drinking ale and watching basketball. Wait, what?
Yes, he was drinking ale and watching basketball. I wasn't hallucinating. Curious, I struck up a conversation with him only to discover that he's originally from Charlotte, went to Duke for theology, and has been living in England for the past 10 years. It really is a small world after all. After a brief chat (back and forth Duke/UNC banter) and finishing his ale he excused himself as he had a bible study class to teach. Which, upon thinking about it, makes total sense why he was steadying his nerves with a pint or two, ha.
Back at the hostel we rounded up the crew and while everyone was preparing themselves for what would be a night of ale drinking, British karaoke watching, automatic cigarette rolling, Guatemalan heritage claiming, and piggyback racing, I had Michelle take this picture of me looking very regal in the lobby of our historic hostel.
As the last sentence hopefully conveyed, it was a fun night out in York and thankfully the pubs all shut down by 1am so that I felt relatively refreshed and rejuvenated when I awoke the next morning to catch my train to Newcastle. York- definitely worth a visit. And if you do go, see if you can get to the bottom of the one mystery which eluded me: the York peppermint patty.
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