Roseberry Topping

Last Saturday, I went on a hike with the a branch of the Ramblers club called Get Your Boots On. Basically, GYBO (Gi-boo) is Ramblers Lite. Well, not in the sense of easier hikes, but definitely the children's table of the Ramblers club. (And by 'children's table' I mean 20-30 somethings. We were the youngest there, I think.) We went to North Yorkshire, and the first accomplishment of the day was me successfully guiding my two companions through public transportation all the way up there. It took us about 2 1/2 hours to get there, and we took two trains and a bus. But by golly, I was rambling come hell or high water.

The hike was 11 miles, rated 'moderate', and led by a very nice woman named Louise. I'd like to spend a minute, dear internet, lamenting the term 'moderate'. This hike was many things: beautiful, breath taking, exciting, but not moderate. Turns out that the ratings are rather subjective, and each hike leader rates it themselves. By the end of the hike, Louise turned to me and said, "Well, now that I've done it again, I suppose it was really on the harder side of moderate."

No kidding. We started with a hike up the side of a hill, which brought us to the ridge we would be hiking across for most of the day. From that angle, Roseberry Topping (our ultimate goal) seemed quite imposing. Haha! little did I know that we had quite a round about route to go before we would tackle the topping from the other side. Instead, we skirted around the topping, across some pastures, and, down and up, over to Captain Cook's Monument, where we stopped and had lunch.

View from up on high

Lunch!

From there, we made our way across the moors. It was quite windy, and you could hear the wind sweeping through the heather, just like in The Secret Garden. Growing up, hearing stories set on the moors, I could never understand how a place full of plants and animals could be described so starkly, so lonely and cold. But walking up there, seeing nothing but heather for miles, seeing no one but our group of hikers, hearing nothing but the wind, it all made perfect sense.

I loved it.

A view across the moors

After a long walk across the moors, we suddenly (and quite unexpectedly) popped out on top of Highcliffe Nab, which had great views across to the North Sea.

Then we wandered down, through a forest, and up to Hanging Stone, a punishing climb up, and the back down. From Hanging Stone, we could see Roseberry Topping, seemingly miles away, looming ahead and taunting us. (In reality, I think it was about two miles away, if that.)

But we pressed on! I should pause and mention that Louise and the others were great to talk to and really good sports about letting us take our time up the steep bits. Some people were in really great condition and bounded along the moors like mountain goats. And some people walked a little more sedately, and took their time going up and down. So we always had company, or some one's heels to lock our eyes to when the ups seemed a little too daunting.

Roseberry topping (and much of the walk) was paved with what I can only describe as a cobblestone street that's barely survived an earthquake, then shaken out and tacked on the side of a mountain. Switch backs? The Brits don't need no stinkin' switchbacks! They just go straight up the sides of mountains, clambering over rocks specifically laid out in a pattern optimised to be as unhelpful as possible.

And then coming down, those rocks aren't wide enough to be stairs, so you feel like only mountain goats could get down without breaking an ankle.

We made it! (Becca, Beth and Brie. No, seriously. I am doomed to be in a trio of Bs)

And then I managed to finagle rides for us back to York, which was so appreciated. I think we could not have managed public transportation. Brie and I went with Louise, and in fact, I'll be driving with her on Sunday down to Roche Abbey for a second attempt at this Rambling thing.

I just absolutely love it. All the people are really nice (we had a GYBO pub night on Wednesday), and it's really fun to talk to people from across Yorkshire. I also just love walking and hiking, and the views are so extraordinary, I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I really am falling in love with Yorkshire, and I can't wait to show my parents when they come out in March!

I have several more pictures, so if you're interested in seeing them, let me know! I'll try to post them on Picasa or facebook, for all to see.

-b

York Minster and the City Walls

The thing about travel blogs is that it's hard to find a balance between doing all the cool stuff you want to blog about, and actually, well, blogging about it.

I guess that's my way of apologising for the lack of posts. But here we are.

For the last two weeks, I've been doing an awful lot to set up my life here in York. I got a cell phone (another sign that the Apocalypse is fast approaching), got a bank account, toured the main campus and library, and walked my feet off. Seriously. There were some days when we'd leave the house at 10 and walk and walk and walk until 4 or 5.

And then there are the pubs. So many pubs. I've been to at least nine that I can name (so far) and I'm assured by the locals that I could go to a different pub every night of the year. Not that I'll be able to do so after classes start on Tuesday, but at least the option is there, right?

I've also seen a lot of York. Last week, we went to York Minster and got a tour of the place. The Minster is a pretty amazing place, in large part due to the way they sort of...cobbled it together, piece by piece as they could afford to. It's been the sight of a building since at least the Romans, and was a Norman church for quite a while, until a later Archbishop decided that the Norman style of architecture wasn't quite doing it for him, wanting instead something a little airier. Rather than scrap the whole thing, he started replacing the Minster wall by wall, first constructing a Gothic wall several feet beyond the standing Norman walls, and then knocking the existing walls one by one.

Not exactly the best idea, because their measurements were often off by just a hair, so by the time they connected everything, the line of the walls was off by about a foot. Which I suppose is not bad, in an age without calculators and AutoCAD.

On the other hand, it allows buildings archaeologists (such as myself) the opportunity to study the evolution of the Gothic style over a century of practice. See, when they first started experimenting with the Gothic style (characterised by high, arching windows, and thin stone supports in between), they didn't really know how much of a load the supports could hold. So the first Gothic windows in the Minster are pretty small, with thick supports in between. But by the time they finished, the masons realised that very little stone support was needed to hold up huge, airy windows.

It's funny, I never imagined a cathedral could be so ... asymmetrical. And yet, you can see where they messed up, and had to switch up the window order, or where they realised the wall wouldn't be long enough to have three equally sized windows, so rather than making all three smaller, they just adjusted the size of the last one.

(On a related note, there's a pub just down the street called the Three legged Mare. It's called the Wonky Donkey by locals. Coincidence? I think not. This Minster is decidedly wonky.)

I've also walked the walls, which is supposed to only take about and hour and a half, but with several...informative detours, it took us three hours. But it was a nice day, and we found a lot of other stuff, so it was well worth it.

(Hey look, Ma! I'm alive!)

And yesterday I went on what can only be characterised as an Epic Hike.

I have a bunch of photos, so I'll be sure to post again soon!

York!

Well, here I am, safe and sound. It was quite an... interesting experience getting here. I flew into Manchester, and expected to take the train straight from the airport to York.
That was my first mistake.

Apparently, some where down the line, someone had stolen the cables from the track, so all the trains were running exceptionally late, if they ran at all. Sometimes, they were just randomly cancelled, but British Rail failed to actually tell anyone that, so not only did I not have a train to catch, but neither did the drivers (which, I confess, made me feel better about the whole experience). So I changed trains in central Manchester, and then was left without a train. I tried to board one, only to have it be cancelled in the time it took me to walk from the schedule board to the platform (about 100 feet. Seriously.).

To say that I was thoroughly confused is an understatement. To say that I was utterly exhausted, lugging more than my weight in luggage, and covered in sweat due to unseasonable heat, however, is entirely accurate.

I was not a pretty picture, but thankfully, the people of the North overlooked all that. I struck up conversation with a couple, recently returned from Las Vegas, who promised to get me to York come hell or high water. They kept an eye on me, making sure we all got to the right platform, making sure I got on the train in all the confusion, and just generally being really nice, and calling me ‘love’ a lot. Once on the train, I lost sight of them due to the mass number of people, but I got stuck in the first class luggage hold with four older women who were very nice to chat with.

And once I got to York, I called up the woman I was couch surfing with, and we made arrangements to met up in the city center. I left my luggage at the train station, and wandered around York for an hour. Holy cow, I love this city already, and I can’t wait to get to know it better. There is quite a bit of tourism here, and since it was unseasonably nice here all weekend, it was packed with daytrippers.
So I met my host, Carol, and we had a drink next to the river Ouse, and chatted about York, and then she offered to give me a tour of the city. We went past my house, and my program’s building, both of which are almost directly in the city center. We went to the Museum Gardens, which are absolutely stunning. There’s a ruined abbey just plopped down in the middle of the Gardens, for sun bathers and readers to lean casually against, or for small children to climb over, despite the fact that it dates back to at least the 12th century. Ain't no thang.


And then we took the bus back to her place, where I had the best potato soup in the world. So.Good. She had a Swiss exchange student staying with her, who was very nice. Carol was absolutely lovely, and so generous and kind. We had biscuits and tea, and watched tv, and I fell asleep. I also had shower that was like a religious experience after a day of hauling luggage in extreme humidity, and brushing my teeth, I may have had an epiphany. Carol’s a nurse, so I didn’t see her the next morning, but Angelica walked me to the bus stop, and I made my way back to King’s Manor for my keys.

(The view from my window)

(Half of my room)

(The other half. Yes, I have two desks. And a rather large room.)