York, Pt 1

We made it into York, catching a tantalizing glimpse of the ancient city wall as we navigated our way to the Lady Anne Middleton Hotel, an attractive scattering of 18^th and 19^th century buildings on a very narrow (no surprise) street just across the River Ouse from the city center. 

The hotel was facing Skeldergate Rd, but you had to drive around the block to access the crimped two-tiered parking lot behind the hotel itself, so exhaling from the nerve rattling drive had to wait a little longer. Parking in these ancient cities is an exercise in spatial and geometric contortionism, whether on the street or at a hotel, an early and frequently confirmed admonition that room to move and park your car is a junk-food commodity in the States, and a rare delicacy in England. 

  

The room was attractive and spacious, we hurriedly plugged in our various device chargers (a routine we adopted early and followed every night, the lamentable consequence of bringing  a lot of electronics with us), and pinched the hotel receptionist for a restaurant recommendation. She pointed us to Plunket’s, a little pub-bistro near the middle of the town center, a fifteen minute walk up to Station Rd and into York proper. We were more or less the only people there by the time we arrived, the chatty Australian-bred waitress fed us a decent if unmemorable meal, and we finally got a chance to use some of the pound sterling we brought over with us. I never did figure out the money – Sharon was put in the charge of that early, and we divided our meal and hotel charges between the plastic and British cash. We came home with about 80 pounds – I’ve been studying it. Still perplexed.

The city was bright and bustling, surprisingly so for a Monday night. Glimpses of the Roman wall, some of the late-medieval architecture and, of course, a blocks-away view of the famous 12^th century Minster, lit grandly against the night sky, teased us for a good wander around.

For the life of me, I can’t remember exactly why I insisted, at the very outset of planning this trip, that we needed to see York. In hindsight, many months later, I’d have to admit to surrendering the snipe hunt of searching my memory why we made it such a requirement. Must see York. Must.

Perhaps it was something a little mystical; these indulgences are risky when it comes to travel, since the places you crave to see in person are frequently diminished by their reality, in some small or great measure, and for me, getting to this city – halfway between London and Edinburgh – was no small feat.

But we were finally there. And on Monday night, we were just too wiped out to explore. There was time yet.