In which I visit York, stare at buildings, and attract catastrophe.
Monday
Have managed to injure both hands, which is an impediment to doing anything well, never mind “going on holiday”.
Furiously typing my thoughts over the past week has triggered RSI in my left hand, so I spend the early hours searching for a wrist support I’m fairly sure I own.
I then manage to jam something under the thumb on the other hand which is exponentially more painful, yet much harder to treat. I panic and slather on Tiger Balm which, as it seeps under the nail, I realise is a horrific miscalculation.
Injuries exacerbated, we pack the car for the 2.5-hour drive to York, water the plants … and we’re off.
On the road
We weave through Cumbria while it’s hushed and shrouded in grey mist. It’s quite beautiful and, because I’ve seen the forecast for York, very gratifying.
As the weather lifts I text my sister to say we’re on our way. Is it misty and cold where you are, she asks. No, I say, and send her a photo of the Sun. This is the kind of holiday small talk usually conducted across continents, yet here we are conversing in the same county.
My job presently is to mind the Google Sat Nav, which makes me a literal back-seat driver, though in a useful way. In between, I eat jelly sweets and read Cannery Row. Having never revisited the author since school, now I’m convinced Steinbeck, like youth, is wasted on the young: “The Word is a symbol and a delight which sucks up men and scenes …”.
By the time we reach York, late summer is in raucous bloom: 18, 19 degrees with bright, clear sky overhead. We eat our packed lunches by the racecourse and, once the crumbs are crumbed, park the car and hit the tourist trail.
I’ve been to York several times, but by now my memories are just another mist-laden city. What hits me this time is how intoxicating the views are. Medieval and Tudor architecture jam up against Georgian terraces. The river dips between stone bridges. Cobbled streets trundle between jutting upper stories with their bricked-up windows (to avoid the “daylight robbery” of the window tax).
… and then we meet the tour touts.
On the buses
I’m really surprised by the on-street ticket selling and blustery persuasion in York, which is of a level I haven’t encountered anywhere else in the UK. The spiel is wasted on me, though, as I’m the kind of person who makes travel itinerary spreadsheets.
There are two hop-on, hop-off bus tours in York, but I’ve already picked which one works for us. Confirming bus access in advance has been a bit of a quest, however: the City Sightseeing website’s “live” chat facility isn’t live when I try, and it takes a few days and attempts to get answers. They’re similarly responsive on social media, which is to say: not at all in my case.
With access eventually confirmed, I follow the website’s advice to wait and buy a bus & boat combo ticket on the day: it’s cheaper than buying them separately, but only available in person. On the day, however, a vague “technical issue” means they’ll only sell us the bus tour. We also pay slightly more than advertised online. This may be because I ask for a Blue Light discount on one ticket rather than the senior concession, but the receipt doesn’t spell it out either way.
Our full-price fares cost in the region of £16pp. They allow unlimited travel until the same time the following day, though the buses themselves run every 15-30 mins during office hours.
York is easily navigable on-foot or by local transport, but the tour is a good way to get bearings and a historical overview. At first, the commentary is pre-recorded, but there are live speakers later on. They’re friendly, knowledgeable and seem to love their city, often infectiously so.
Highlights: Viking, Roman and Norman history and architecture in plentiful supply. York’s chocolate history (home of the chocolate orange and Yorkie bar). The city walls, with their towering “gates” still intact.
On the river
The one-way bus route takes an hour, and we do the full loop and a half. This gets us to Clifford Tower, though we don’t go in. The walk-up fare is around £10pp but while discounts are available, it’s not accessible with mobility issues. This is unsurprising given it’s a medieval castle built on a mound but, either way, there are many steps.
We’re accosted by another tour seller outside who claims to have discounted river cruise tickets, but my bluster meter is on, so I decline. I later learn the “discount” seems to be the same as the walk-up fare direct from the operator (around £14pp before concessions).
Once again, I’ve already scoped out mobility access for the City Cruises in advance. The website says they confirm which boat is accessible the day before, but the first time I phone, no one knows. Eventually, we pin down the details and arrive at the pier on time. It is indeed step-free onto the boat, though our vessel still has one or two small steps to navigate to reach better seats, even on the lower deck.
The cruise itself is very pleasant on a summer’s day, and perked up by some easy-listening commentary from the skipper along the way.
However, the boat unexpectedly returns to a different pier, which means navigating either steps or a steep ramp back to street level. We manage it, but this seems a pattern across York attractions generally. Staff are keen to help and be inclusive, but there are instances where info is lacking or provisions aren’t completely practical.
And so to bed
The tour bus runs close by our holiday accommodation, so it’s only a short walk back to our flat and dinner. The rest of the family catches up on the soaps, while I prep for tomorrow’s sightseeing. I admire my spreadsheet, then slap on some under-eye gel patches and depart for Cannery Row.
Tuesday
Our tour bus ticket ferries us to the big one: York Minster. This beautiful Gothic-looking cathedral dominates the city skyline and is simply enormous … with an entrance fee to match.
The Minster currently comes in at £18pp, with only student concessions on offer. Guidebooks and tower visits cost extra, and you’ll get prompts for donations on top (which you’re free to ignore). You can attend services for free, but the reason for the ask is: running costs.
Their website states: “It costs £30,000 a day to run York Minster” but, because of the similarity of fees across the city, whenever we pay for tickets at other attractions the phrase inevitably comes to mind, often to ridiculous ends.
Regardless, York Minster is beautiful inside and out (and very accessible on the whole). The underground sections contain some of the most striking exhibits, including remains of ancient buildings that stood here before the present church. Above ground, are intricate stained glass windows and ceilings that seem to float away. It’s quite breathtaking.
Carnage
We finish the Minster just in time to board our tour bus before the tickets expire, like Cinderella’s ballgown, at 12. We ride all the way back to the flat, where lunch is supermarket sandwiches and a big sit down.
After checking online, I see tomorrow’s timed slots for Jorvik Viking Centre are almost sold out, so I book us onto the 12 o’clock tour.
For the rest of today, we decide to hit the National Railway Museum. Because of mobility needs, we plan to go by car – only now, the car won’t start. Like, at all: it’s completely dead.
We’re pretty unnerved as we troop back inside the flat. While we can manage without a car in York we have no clue what this means for going home in a couple of days.
We call our breakdown and recovery service who, 90 nerve-wracking minutes later, send over one of their local technicians. Unfortunately, local guy jump starts the car and leaves, seemingly unable to even hint at what the trouble might be. The car won’t start after he leaves. The breakdown company send a text telling us if we call them out again for the same issue within 28 days, they’ll charge us.
Dinner is KFC and stony silence. I know we’re all mentally running through options, some of which we say out loud, but it feels like we’re going round in circles. Some time around midnight I concede that imagining the worst doesn’t help matters. I worry about my teeth for a while instead, and then whether someone might break into the flat and, if so, how they might kill us. With hindsight, Fassbender gorefest The Snowman wasn’t the best Netflix download to bring on holiday.
Thoughts of the day
Your mileage may vary, but my observation is that York has become eye-streamingly expensive. Many attractions also price themselves within similar bands (around £14-18pp), leaving little room to shop around if you’re on a budget. Personally, I’d say not everything delivers value for money, i.e., in line with the high cost of entry.
Pain points: Some of York’s big tourist attractions must be pre-booked, typically online, in timed slots. Many of these tickets include repeat entry for 12 months – not that useful if you’ve travelled from overseas, but worth knowing if you miss your slot and want to try again while you’re still here.
Price busting: A Visit York Pass can save money on entrance fees, although it is itself is rather expensive, in line with the high cost of attractions. We decided against it as a slower pace suits our access needs. It could be a bargain for other travellers, however.
Eye-opening: We stumble across a twenty-year old guidebook which advises that York Minster and other tourist attractions charge “£5 or more”. I laugh a little too bitterly.
Wednesday
We’re still weighing car options in the morning. Do we assume it’s a battery problem and buy a new one? Can we even get a battery the same day?
Our underlying concern is that it’s not the battery at all, but something much bigger, in which case we’re back to: how do we get home, and then how do we get the car home? Needless to say, we’ve given up on the breakdown service entirely at this point.
We’ve also given up on making our Jorvik slot, as we have to sort the car first. I phone the venue, hoping to get a refund or reschedule but “all agents are busy”. We write off the cost as unavoidable carnage.
It strikes me how sunk we’d be without internet access during this trip. From car trouble to tourist plans, most services don’t have phone numbers (or don’t answer them). We’re often directed to apps or web chat, but the latter, too often, is a poor experience.
At 10am we grab a taxi to Halfords and gamble on a new battery. I wince when the sales person wants an email address “for the warranty”. Even if we weren’t paying a taxi to wait, I’d resent this extra faff and intrusion. It’s also one more unnerving aspect of the internetification of real life.
Amazingly, once we have the battery, we’re cooking with gasoline. M is a mechanic in a former life, and fits the battery with a stray spanner and the luck of the gods. It works. One test drive later, we realise we have time to make Jorvik after all.
Viking village
The morning has been such a thrill ride that when we arrive at Jorvik, we’re 20 minutes too early for our slot. I feel like I’ve already lived two lives since breakfast, and can’t quite get my head around it.
Despite the timed slots, there’s a bit of a wait to get into the centre. The tour then starts a couple of floors below ground level (there’s a lift for those who need it).
A costumed guide unravels the history of one of Britain’s most exciting archaeological finds, as we peer through a glass floor at Viking and Roman ruins. (This bit involves a bit of standing around, but staff supply a folding chair when we ask.) Meanwhile, the smell of the past – Jorvik’s famous recreated Viking village – is already curling past the doors, fetid and strangely intoxicating.
The main part of the tour takes place in what looks like a roller coaster carriage (ours involves navigating a small step). This takes us, very sedately, through Jorvik, i.e., York as it once was. The exhibition uses animatronics, plus authentic sounds and smells to carry us into the past. Even the homes and faces on display are based on real archaeological remains from the area. It’s both impressive and enjoyably creepy, like an educational ghost train ride.
I’ve been to Jorvik a few times and, after all these years, I’ve probably outgrown the animatronic characters; even Viking man using a toilet isn’t quite as cool as I remember it. Regardless, this dank, underground village brings the past to life in fascinating, immersive, and memorably stinky manner.
Pasty Dutchy
Lunch is a long walk and a pasty from Greggs. We pass endless road works, which seems to be Britain’s collective hymn these days.
We also pass The Shambles, once a medieval butchers’ alley frozen in time but now more like a Harry Potter theme park crammed with wand shops. It’s so crowded with other tourists that we’re relieved not to explore further – but disappointment isn’t done with us just yet.
We had been really excited to learn Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience would be in York while we were. We haven’t booked in advance – because car – but it looks like there’s plenty of availability. I check mobility access on the door and, on learning there are just a few optional steps, we cough up around £15pp (concessions available) and go in.
Perhaps because they charge similar prices, I had expected the Van Gogh experience to be like the Jorvik experience, i.e., beguilingly immersive but, for me, it just isn’t. The music and images are nice, and I can see how the deck chair vibe could be quite trippy, but despite the atmospheric setting (a rather small medieval church), it’s not so much like being in a painting as being in a PowerPoint presentation – and I say this as someone who enjoys a good spreadsheet.
The exhibition continues upstairs, but rather than the five or six steps mentioned, it’s two or three small flights. The miscommunication is irritating, though not as much as discovering part of the exhibition, involving VR, is an extra charge. Briefly wonder what a PowerPoint presentation might look like if it cost £30,000 a day to run. We hurry past the last few information boards, and don’t dally in the gift shop.
Pursuit of happiness
Taxi back to the flat, by which time we have a hankering for Chinese takeaway. Unfortunately, it’s a Wednesday, and all the takeaways we find online appear not to open on Wednesdays.
Eventually we find one in Osbaldwick, which is a couple of miles away on Google maps but, after factoring in rush hour, may as well be in another dimension. On the plus side, it’s a good opportunity to test drive the car again: thankfully, there are no problems this time. We take our trusty insulated bags with us, and the food is still piping hot when we make it back.
Tonight’s meal is almost victorious after yesterday’s gloom. I eat far too much in a kind of relief-induced gluttony. Afterwards, I guilt the others into playing the flat’s antique edition of Trivial Pursuits. This dates from a time in which West Germany and Queen Elizabeth II are in the present tense, and in which Burt Reynolds is still a hot movie property (always, Burt – always).
I sneak a look at some of the other cards and find a question that refers to a famous sportsman as “a black”. The past is a different time, they say, by which we surely mean: wanting in all sorts of ways.
We stop playing when Eastenders comes on, but technically I win, four slices to three.
Thursday
We’d initially planned to break the return journey with a magical mystery detour but, after car trouble on top of holiday exhaustion, we’re ready to go home.
The car is loaded by 10. We grab supermarket sandwiches for lunch as we head off, but I get drawn into Cannery Row and scoff mine at about 10.30.
Later I commit the cardinal sin of playing my music over my phone speakers in the back, though only because I don’t realise the noise carries, crystal clear, to the front seats as well. Also in my defence: Heartbeat was a classic pop song long before it became the theme tune to a badly aged TV programme.
It’s a relief to be going home, though part of me would love to live in York. Not for its recreated, rather commercialised sense of history, but the living, breathing immersive history of its architecture. It’s a beautiful city, and I intend to come again … though not by car.
The weather is still bright and unbroken overhead as we go. It’s good to carry the sun with us.
This trip to York took place in September 2024. For up-to-date details about prices, access or other needs, always check with services and venues directly.
Photo credit and copyright: Ruth Bushi