On the map...

Almost everyone (it seems) with whom I have had a casual conversation has been to New Zealand! The lady in Marks and Spencers the other day; Glynis, who was the first of the group to arrive at The Yorkshire Terrier; the gentleman in the Merchant Taylors' Hall today (who had stayed with friends at Orari, part of my old tramping ground). I felt so sorry for the elderly clergyman in the Minster who was easing his back. I commiserated and he talked about the stone floors and standing around on duty in the cold. He was very regretful that he had not been to New Zealand - too far and, with the recent memory of yet another interminable flight, I agreed.

Speaking of which, I have been puzzling over this poster at the entrance to the Methodist Church I pass on the walk into town. Not a good photo (it's behind glass) but I haven't been able to work out the relationship between the picture and the instruction. I wondered if a key to the mystery might lie in the fact that the front garden of the church is planted in New Zealand natives!!

Just up the road...

This one's for John and Marion...

Floods...

Curious about the flooding, I googled the 2000 event. The first photo  I took today. The second I downloaded. Same buildings, different angle.

Residents' Weekend...

As an honorary York resident I joined the locals today, participating in attractions free of charge. I caught a YorkBoat at Lendel Bridge and braved the cold on top to to get a river view of the town. I hadn't realised, from previous visits, that York was a river town (though what town isn't?). In fact it boasts two rivers - the Ouse and the Floss. The Ouse, on whch we were travelling, was a trading river with a port and warehouses at York. Nor did I realise how badly the rivers can flood. In 2000 the Ouse rose over 17 feet above its usual summer level - which is a frightening volume of water.

Something that caught my fancy - the cat on the roof (see right). This is the builder's (or architect's) signature apparently!

Locals were out in force. The town was full. It reminded me of Easter Sunday in New York when all the local families gathered in Central Park for a fun day.

Walking home I saw a baby on his Dad's shoulder. The wee fellow's fingers were bright red with cold and he had no hat on (see my previous post about hats). I guess the breeding them tough starts early!! I have truly never been so cold in my whole life. 

Matters of moment...

Leading the BBC One News tonight, Tony Blair's interrogation at the Iraq Inquiry about his support for the  invasion. In a town cafe today, as I warmed myself with tomato soup, I overheard a conversation about this issue in which the woman described Blair as 'slimy'. Days ago, I was made aware, in conversation with Niki on the flight over, of how much more this issue touches the people here than it does us in New Zealand. She talked of the small town support for soldiers returning from Iraq - which interested me given what I understood to be the unpopularity of the war. And right now the TV news has turned to the repatriation of another soldier killed in Iraq, the distress of people in his home town and the presence of royalty (Charles and Camilla) to pay their respects. There is a lot of bitterness about the invasion and ongoing war in Afghanistan.

RIP...

Rather the way I felt after walking into town and spending a couple of hours in the Minster!  This is Matthew Hutton who was Archbishop of York from 1595 - 1606 which, if I remember my history correctly, would have him in that powerful position at the end of Elizabeth 1's reign and the beginning of James 1's.  He probably earned his rest!

Surprise of the day...

As most of you who are likely to be reading this will know, I am used to various forms of wildlife - but today was a first. A squirrel climbing up my leg, claws well embedded in my jeans!!  I was too slow to get a photo of him at thigh height and he wouldn't stay still long enough on the ground to get a decent shot either - so this is the best I could do.

His efforts weren't rewarded with food - which is what I guess he was after. At close quarters his teeth looked as though they could do with a good whitening!!

I have to say I was very tickled  :-)

Bootham Bar

When I walk into the city from Clifton, Bootham Bar is my point of entry. It intrigues and delights me that this nineteenth century view of the Bar and the Minster towers is almost exactly the view I see today. 

Bits and pieces...

A wee lull in activity as I nurse a full-blown Yorkshire head cold... Trying to concentrate on editing a PhD with 'TQM' and 'clinical engineering' in its title is a bit of a struggle!

However I did meet up with four of Sue's colleagues for lunch at The Yorkshire Terrier on Stonegate. Hot and tasty tomato soup and friendly, fun company.

Called in at Sainsbury's for whisky to medicate the cold and toast Elaine's birthday :-)

I'm interested on the supermarket food labels of origin. Much of the fruit and vegetable stock seems to come from Spain. (The sooner we get this sort of labelling in New Zealand the better). However I am intending to buy most of my meat, fruit, veges AND EGGS (grimace) locally on Clifton Green.

Like a playground jingle...

Gillygate 
Monkgate 
Stonegate
Goodramgate
Mickelgate
Coppergate
Collergate
Walmgate
Fossgate
Fishergate
Castlegate
Deangate
Bishopgate
Skeldergate
Saviourgate...

The great and the small...

It's easy to be seduced by size. The panoramic view, the majestic building... I sometimes watch children and envy their perspective, their focus on close-at-hand detail. So when I am in a new landscape I try and look for the small and unexpected as well as the large and anticipated. This quirky door knocker caught my eye on the walk to and from town.

A winter landscape...

The advantages of winter visiting - few tourists! The two figures centre picture are pruning a tree.

Where are the hats???

They're a hardy bunch these Yorkshire people! It's only a degree or two above zero and almost everyone in the streets is bareheaded. I go into a shop and my nose is running, my eyes are running and my glasses are fogged up. One lady in a shop on my way back home tonight (well, it was mid-afternoon, but felt like evening) said, "I can feel the cold coming off you".  For the first time in my life I can't do without a head cover and, while I'm still resisting my specially purchased NZ beanie, I have taken to wrapping a long warm scarf around my head and tucking the ends into my jacket collar.

I did see women in hats at the Minster service but I think that was a matter of convention rather than warmth.

I do like the way the cold encourages you to walk faster!!

Sunday in York...

As I walked towards town this morning I could hear the Minster bells ringing. A peal and then a deep, sonorous single note. It hadn't occurred to me that I might go to a service at the Minster, but here was an invitation. I thought about Sunday sounds in centuries past when church bells must have competed for air space, calling the people to prayer. Most of those at the service seemed to be local.

As on previous visits I found myself marvelling at the beauty and audacity of such a structure. I thought about the workmen piling huge slabs of stone high in the sky and the many deaths that must have occurred.   And I failed to reconcile the simple message of the man from Nazareth with the splendour of the edifice and the ceremony of the service. In a place like York Minster one is keenly aware of the political behind the spiritual. I thought of Wolsey, who was Archbishop of York, and then of Hilary Mantell's Wolf Hall - that wonderful account of the life of Thomas Cromwell, politician par excellence.

At the end of the service I spoke with the lady sitting next to me and she invited me into the glorious Chapter House for a cup of tea. In just three days I have met with such warmth and kindness and an unanticipated sense of community.

A Snickelway...

"Snicket" (nth Brit dialect) = a passageway between walls or fences
"Ginnel" (nth Eng dialect) = a narrow passageway between buildings
"Alleyway" = a narrow passage, alley

hence

"Snickelway" = a narrow passage or alleyway between walls, fences or buildings

Neighbours and protestors...

First day of a temporary new way of living. Sorted out internet connection, central heating, Tilly.... Was about to launch myself on the town when window cleaners arrived - which in turn led to my meeting neighbours - Trevor from one side and Maggie and Don from the other. Trevor (a gent of mature years) offered to walk me into town so we made our way down Clifton Road and Bootham, past Clifton Green, past St Peter's School (founded in the 7th century) and Bootham Park Hospital, past a Quaker school and the house where WH Auden was born to Bootham Bar and into the walled town. I had been here in 1980 and 1993 and remembered mostly the Minster and the wall, not much else.

We parted ways and I concentrated on finding basic food supplies (which I could also carry in my back pack). Kept losing my way in the maze of streets and alleys that comprise central York. The most striking image? - a group of Quakers standing in silent protest, in the bitter cold, to one side of the Minster (see photo). Their presence was all the more powerful for the silence and I found their fortitude moving. Appropriately the Minster towered over us all, an indescribable feat of faith and engineering stark in the winter landscape.

Later I walked back to Greencliffe Rd and was invited in for a coffee with Maggie and Don (who works at the National Railway Museum). Met William the Cat who bullies Tilly apparently. Lovely couple.

And on the ground...

Arrival mid-afternoon at Heathrow meant a) huge queues at immigration, b) a speedy luggage retrieval, c) a clothes makeover to cater for the temperature change and d) trekking miles to access the underground, carrying all my gear for three months. Underground to Kings Cross and more trekking to train station where I had a two hour wait in the chill. Not complaining, just stating - as I knew this part of the journey would be physically challenging. A brief bleeding nose was probably an indication of that.  Memories of arriving for the first time in London in April 1979 with luggage for an indefinate stay and, for complicated reasons, spending the entire day in a freezing Victoria Station. Was reminded then of TS Eliot's The Wasteland - "April is the cruelest month...".

Finally, departing at 7.30pm, a groggy two-hour train trip to York and arrival at Greencliffe Drive where I was met at the front door by Tilly the Cat. That put a smile on my face :-))

In the air...

Elaine and Claire at Christchurch airport.

Chance encounters with people are one of the things that make travel fascinating...

On the flight from Christchurch to Singapore I was sitting amongst a large party of Germans, wedged in a middle seat between two well built men who did not speak English (or felt uninclined to). Neither aknowledged my presence and I gave up trying to make any sort of conversation. One drank solidly the entire flight and I thought darkly about my precious $ subsidising his addiction!!

From Changi, Singapore to Heathrow I talked with Niki, an English lass who was returning from Sydney with her partner to an uncertain relationship, no job and the care of blond, curly-haired four year old Harper. Niki was downing valium to cope with her fear of flying and (I think) using me as the therapist she normally visited. I enjoyed her company.

Watched This is it (Michael Jackson), The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny (Kurt Weill opera) and In Bruges - the latter a strange mixture of genres and very violent. Loved the Weill and, as someone who has never followed Michael Jackson, found him unexpectedly fascinating and 'out of this world' (literally!).