York - March 2000

4 March 2000

Vasee and Chris at breakfast. Yum.

Saturday morning we decided to visit York's impressive Normal cathedral, the Minster. We walked through York's charming town center (I don't like using the work "charming", but it's the best one I could find) and found ourselves standing in front of the clean stone walls of the south side of the church.

The guidebook called it one of Europe's most impressive buildings, and I'd have to agree. The zoom lenses of my and Christopher's cameras were unable to take the whole of the south side in a single shot. I had to stand there and try to take it all in.

By walking around to the West side of the church (smaller cross-section) and by backing up a hundred yards or so, I was finally able to get a photo of the whole of the cathedral, but of course the greater part of it was hidden from view.

The front of Yorkminster. It's frickin' HUGE.

Inside was a gigantic Protestant cathedral interior, a bit of a redundant description perhaps, but my point is that other than sheer scale, it was not terribly different from other picturesque cathedrals we've seen. They wanted three pounds each to walk around the crypt, which looked interesting but I needed the three pounds to buy batteries for my camera, which started misbehaving at that point.

After poking around York Minster, we hiked back to the hotel, and changed into our suits for the wedding.

The ceremony itself was held in Ledsham, a sleepy little village around 30 miles west of York. We arrived early, and so decided to have a quick pint at the pub just down the road from the church. I confused the barmaid by leaving a tip, she picked up the pound coin and asked surprisingly "Is this yours?"

She apparently felt obliged to talk to us, so she stopped and asked us about the wedding. She asked us where were were staying, and I told her we were at a hotel in "Yorkshire." Vasee exploded into laugher at that point. (It's a bit like saying you're staying at a hotel in Washington State).

The church itself was a lovely old stone ...um ...church. THe interior was laid out a bit awkwardly for a service. The pastor kept moving Tom + SJ around, and had to shout at us from around pillars at several points. People kept walking in looking rather sheepish as the service progressed. apperently a few trains from London had been delayed.

The ceremony finished, and we gathered to chat in the brisk air of the afternoon, on the front lawn of the church, surrounded by flowers and tombstones.

Tom drives a very sexy black Lotus Elan, which was decked out in ribbons for the drive back to York for the reception.

The reception was held in the Merchant Adventurer's Hall, a medieval guild hall built in the center of York in the late 14th century. It was a very cool building, thick wood beams supporting the whole structure, which over time had shifted and sagged so that now there's not a single right angle in the place.

We stood and gawked at the hall while gulping down glasses of champagne which the Hall's young staff continually replenished. The bubbles and the alcohol went to our heads fairly quickly, especially since we hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Eventually it was time to be seated. In what must have been a monumental exercise of creativity and diplomacy, Tom + SJ had arranged assigned seating for all 100 of their guests. They had alternated men + women (couples wound up sitting across from each other), so I found myself flanked by three charming British belles whose names, true to form, I forgot immediately. Vasee and Chris sat further up the table from me, Bruce and Steve were at a different table completely.

A very grainy shot of the cake being cut. My camera was unhappy with the light in the Merchant Hall.

Dinner was good (I'm remembering it fondly because I'm starving right now), after which the speeches began.

I'm used to speeches at weddings in America. The best man usually speaks for a few minutes to toast the bride and groom, and occasionally the groom and a few other family members will speak as well. In England (apparently, although this is the only English wedding I've been to) the wedding speeches are much more of a tradition.

The bride's father spoke first (actually it was the bride's brother for this wedding), then the groom, and finally the best man. The length and quality of the speeches were the subject of much of the dinner conversation, and Vasee started a betting pool for people to guess the total length of the speeches. 33 minutes ended up being the winning total time.

After the speeches, we went to the basement where they had dancing, more food, and most importantly, beer. We stood around drinking pint after pint of bitter until we found standing difficult, at which point we said goodbye to Tom + SJ, and stumbled back to our hotel.

5 March 2000

[Written 5 Mar 00]

This morning the sun woke me up at 8, and I fell out of bed and made my way to the hotel's lounch, where I wrote most of this entry waiting for Vasee and Chris to arrive. A few minutes before the breakfast service was to close I moved into the serving room and grabbed a table. Vasee stumbled in just under the deadline, and Chris didn't show until we were almost finished.

We checked out of our room, booked tonight's room in Edinburgh, then walked downtown. We stopped off at a coffeeshop along the way, since by now Chris was completely ravenous. As we sat there watching Chris eat, Bruce walked by on the street outside. He happened to see us and came in briefly, warning us against the Jorvik Viking Center. But we ignored the warnings.

We visited the Jorvik Center, which we suspected was a waste of time but actually it failed to meet even those modest expectations.

After the Jorvik fiasco, we wandered back to Yorkminster, as Vasee had just realized that all of the pictures he'd taken the day before had been with a camera with no film. So he bought some film and took a few photos. Next to the tourist shop with the film was a sleepy old bookstore, in which we spent a lot of time before moving to the Starbuck's next door.

On the old town wall in York.

Vasee and Chris taking photos.

Then we hopped in Vasee's car to explore Castle Howard, a stately manor situated 15 miles northeast of York. The guidebook described it as being so incredible that it hit you like a physical blow. Sadly, the excursion to the Jorvik Center had cost us more time than we had to give, and so the gates to the Castle ground were closing as we drove up. Even so, the views from the parking lot and the road were impressive (and tantalizing). The castle was built early in the 18th century, designed by an architect who had studied under Christopher Wren.

One of my favorite spots was a monument built at the edge of the grounds, where no other structures were visible. Among the fields and trees of the countryside a large blackened pillar had been erected, the top worn away by wind, rain, and time. Four stone knights stood guard at the base, each watching their assigned compass point. Sitting as it was in the uninhabited countryside, the abandoned monument had a very noble and lonely air. When I returned to the car Vasee made the analogy to Shelley's Ozymandius.

Castle Howard's own Ozymandias. I suspect the real Ozymandias was a good deal less phallic.

Then we drove back to York. Vasee dropped us off at the train station, and we agreed to try to meet up on Thursday or Friday before we leave.

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