We get out to Europe whenever we can, but Teriann and I had yet to explore our own backyard. Sure, we had been to Brighton, Cambridge, and Bath, but there's so much more to see on this little island, and we hadn't gotten to it yet. Louie and Suzanne wanted to see some English countryside, and we couldn't have agreed more. Our plan was to start in Yorkshire to visit their friends Kitty and Richard, then head over to the Lake District and come back through the Cotswolds.
On our way up, we stopped in York briefly to visit the Minster. York Minster is roughly the same size (massive) and age (ancient) as most other major cathedrals in Europe. What makes it stand out, however, is the amount of work that has been done on it just within the past few decades.
To get there, we walked along the fun (and somewhat precarious) city wall. "Look Ma, no railing!"
From the front, it looks pretty standard,
but then we walked around it to get a sense of its size — and came across these.
I haven't seen anything like that since Gaudi's unfinished cathedral in Barcelona. And it carries on inside. When you step in, look up and you see this:
Brand new. The guide told us that when the original medallions were blackened by a massive fire in 1984, rather than try to restore them, the artists simply designed and made new ones. There have been several fires and other incidents (at one point a bell fell from the tower) and in the 1960s a major engineering effort had to be made just to keep the poor thing standing. All of this makes for an interesting story, but what was really fascinating was in the basement.
During the engineering works of the 1960s, they dug out most of the cathedral's foundations, letting archaeologists find what had stood on that spot before. Their findings are very well displayed in what would otherwise be a crypt. It shows how a Roman-era building on the site fell into ruin and was replaced by a Norman-era church, which itself was replaced by the current, even larger Gothic building. It's more interesting then I'm making it sound.
York itself turned out to be a pleasant little town. It's the sort of place I could live: big enough to get what I need or go to the movies, but small enough to feel like a town. One of my favorite things was this building:
Probably from the 16th century or so, it now is used to sell cell phones. Oh how I wish I could try to explain to the people who built this building what would be sold from it centuries in the future.
But it was getting late — time to finish the drive up to Kitty and Richard's.
Louie and Suzanne met Kitty on a rafting trip some years ago, and when she married Richard (the week after Teriann and I got married, incidentally), he turned out to fit their adventurous group perfectly. They are fantastic people — hospitable, generous, and kind, yes, but also funny, interesting and well-traveled. They live in Yorkshire, near Pickering, and we started our week in the countryside with a weekend at their home.
What a home it is:
This was the view from our guest bedroom:
The four of us were so well looked after: Kitty is an outstanding cook and between her cooking and Richard constantly topping up our wine glasses, we must have gained a few pounds in those two days!
On Saturday, we went to Levisham train station to watch the steam trains go through,
then walked up the moors to see Skelton Tower. Well, we just set out to have a walk, really, and happened to come across it.
The scandal goes that Skelton Tower is where, as a local at the train station informed us, "the Reverend used to take his bit of nookie."
From there, we could see the train coming back through the valley.
I don't know if the photos do that landscape justice: it was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been; all the more beautiful because of its strangeness. The moors aren't exactly pleasant, frolicking grounds. Especially in April, they are scratchy, harsh, and barren. With the vista and the forests in the background, though, it was stunning.
Sunday was spent at Go Ape, a kind of rope adventure course through the trees of Dalby Forest, betting on the Grand National (an English pastime), and of course, more wine.
It was reluctantly that we set out on Monday morning. We were headed for the Lakes, but our route took us by Whitby, a pleasant little coastal town where, in Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula arrives in England. We had a stroll on the beach and had the best fish and chips I've ever had anywhere.
Donkeys on the beach?
Our drive took us through the dreary and grim industrial North (Middlesbrough has to be the poster child for such things — it's even worse than Birmingham), but ended up in a spectacular place: the Newlands Valley just outside Keswick. I never thought I'd see scenery this dramatic in England.
That first evening, we took my favorite walk of our trip, around Lake Buttermere,
and ate a fantastic pub dinner in the Bridge, one (the better one, if you ask me) of Buttermere's two pubs. I can't recommend the walk around Lake Buttermere highly enough: completely level and non-stop views.
The whole area, really, was scenery overload. Our B & B looked out over this:
It was a working farm, so there were plenty of sheep around. There were loads of sheep everywhere, in fact, and it was the height of lambing season. Our hike the next morning took us up a mountain and around a waterfall... none of which was too steep for our woolly companions.
Our afternoon was spent in the neighboring town of Cockermouth, where we took the Jennings Brewery Tour. Teriann and I have been on a few such tours (Guinness and Jameson) but this was our favorite. It's a real working brewery, not a tourist show. We tasted the different flavors of malt grains. We smelled hops. And we happened to be on the very first tour since the floods that devastated the town last November. Had we come in the day before, we would have been turned away.
When we got back to Keswick, we figured we had a couple of hours before dinner, and that we should go on a short walk. So we went to Castlerigg, a stone circle a mile or so from town (Stonehenge is the most famous and elaborate stone circle, but there are thousands of others in Britain). It was okay — not great — so we planned to take a different route back to town, a route that would bring us along the edge of Derwent Water, one of the largest lakes in the region.
This didn't work out so well.
To cut a very long story (that is, hike) short, by the time we made it to the lake's edge, we had taken more than a few wrong turns, we were hungry, and twilight was falling.
It made for beautiful photos — we barely got into town by dark — but it was exhausting.
This is getting pretty lengthy, so my next post will pick up the following morning as we headed towards Liverpool and the Cotswolds.