The city of York is located approximately 150 miles north east of Norwich. An alarm set for 5:00, a four hour train ride, and I’m there. Sleepy, I slog along the river and check in at my hostel. My room is not yet available, so the inevitable nap that will be taken is delayed. Instead, I grab a quick tea and a scone and stroll into the city centre for a walking tour of York.
The two hour walk throughout York soon perked my interests and woke me up a bit as I traversed the city streets, steeped in history. York’s ties to both the Romans as well as Vikings colour the city in an odd shade of historical controllers. Being a northern city, all street names were in “gate” form (Bishopsgate, Bakergate, Candlestickmakergate), but also exhibited a healthy number of the Scandinavian Viking influenced road names. As a stroll on the diligently preserved city wall brought the tour to a close, the next stop was York Minster.
York Minster, or “the single largest gothic building (of any kind) west of the Alps,” offered a stunning view of the city from the top of the tower.
As the day drew to a close, and hostel beds were made available, a cheeky nap was in order. A short walk back to the hostel and 40 minutes of sleep, a superb Indian and I feel like a new man. It is time to hit the pubs.
The first: The Red Lion. A typical northern pub. Pool room, ales on tap. I was accompanied by my fellow Dickinson program mate, Mikey. (Who I mention and picture at his repeated insistence as well as narrative functionality). I get the first round, “Two pints of Wainwright, please” I ask the bar staff. This particular ale, a dark, lively ale, is named after Alfred Wainwright, the creator of the 200 mile coast-to-coast hike of England. Only sold in northern cities, Wainwright (the ale) was a beer that I remembered drinking quite frequently two summers ago while hiking in Yorkshire on Wainwright's trail. Its unique blend of hops and barley take me back to 20 mile days of hiking, followed by a quick shower and a lengthy pub session. Two refreshing ales drowned in nostalgia, Mikey and I push on the next pub.
The next one was Evil Eye, a blatant, unapologetic hipster bar. Norwich readers: imagine ‘Knowhere’ but more posh, with even more expensive drinks and a longer wait to get in. With this in mind, Mikey and I take advantage of England’s lenient open container laws and polish off bottles of Budweiser Budvar, a delicious dark Czech lager. Inside the Evil Eye, the drinks, two White Russians, were served for the bargain price of £5.00 a piece. Chatting to locals at the bar, Mikey experienced for the first time a noticeably thick northern accent. He later remarked, “What was she even saying? I couldn't understand her, I was just nodding the whole time." "Yeah, a Northern accent that thick can be a bit confusing at times" I laugh.
At the third pub, the night shifts in momentum a little bit. The Gull and the Swan, another standard pub, mutually agreed by Mikey and I after enduring the stiff prices at Evil Eye. Match of the day comes on the tele. A foreboding look comes on Mikey’s face, as he knows full well what lies ahead. It starts. I talk his head off about football, the Premier League, and each of the matches of that day. Liverpool’s highlights come on. More football conversation, Mikey’s head sinks lower. Then, from across the bar, a local football fan and I exchange banter, and instantly are locked in conversation. Mikey’s fate is sealed. For the remainder of our time in the Gull and the Swan (until it closed), nothing besides football was discussed. It was a two-way conversation between me and the local lad (I don’t hold being a Tottenham supporter against him), even his girlfriend was becoming upset with all the nonstop football talk. I apologize to Mikey on the walk back to the hostel.
Next morning, a long schlep to the Jorvik Center and a forty-five minute tour of York during Viking times and I am officially wiped, hungover and looking at train times with Mikey in a Pret A Manger. Mikey and I skip the York’s castle museum (a museum describing the York Castle, which has not been in existence for centuries). Two trains and I am back at Norwich, tired and hungry. I shower, shave and eat. A good trip to York, but I feel damn good to be home ... LW
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