I See London, I See France.... (Pt. 3)

I See London, I See France.... (Pt. 3), Lead Me to Leeds

Hello friends!

It's once again time for some pretentious, self-indulgent reminiscing about Europe that may, or may not, be worthy of the written word.

We left off with my random, but all-together pleasant transit around London in the middle of the night. After arriving back at my room around 3:30am, I slept for the few fitful hours that one can after the city's pulse has infected one's bloodstream, and then got up to go catch a train at King's Cross Station; which, by the way, was the station I had spent three hours getting back from several hours before. Ahhhh, the irony.

Apparently, I had not gotten enough sleep during the night to really get myself lost again, so the trip to King's Cross Station went off without a hitch.

Random Sidebar: Interestingly, Bouddica, a queen of indigenous peoples who led a revolt against the Roman occupiers of England, is rumored to be buried beneath Platform 10 at King's Cross Station. However, I know for a fact that this is completely wrong. Bouddica is buried beneath Platform 9. Jimmy Hoffa is buried beneath Platform 10.

So, I boarded the train, my mind dripping with nostalgia for those days in our own country when I could have donned a pair of knickers, and boarded a steam engine for a weekend in the big city. Absent-minded visions like this are probably the reason why so many of us Americans get our luggage stolen on trains.

After an enjoyable train ride through the countryside, I arrived at Leeds in the late morning. Fortunately, Olly caught me at the train station before I could randomly wander off into the city asking where the Eiffel Tower is (grin).

Olly, for anyone who doesn't know, is one of the interns who I tore up the town with while I was in DC; and by "tore up the town", I mean, we plundered every free event available in the city, and dined at places where you buy dinner by the pound.

So, the first thing Olly and I did was look for a place to eat. Knowing my penchant for all things old and crusty, Olly directed us to the oldest pub in Leeds, and I proudly had my picture taken in front of the sign declaring its agedness. 387 old things down, 500,345,657,376,756,456,436 to go.

Anyway, the fish and chips I had were the best I ever tasted. Apparently, Leeds makes fish and chips in a different way than the rest of England.

After stuffing ourselves at the pub, we went for walk around the city, and guess what we saw? A Salvation Army Band! Perhaps I am the only one who has never seen a genuine Salvation Army Band, but I had wanted to see one from the moment I first heard "Life In a Northern Town". Apparently, as Olly explained to me, playing music is the primary thing the Salvation Army does in England. Interesting.

We took the bus back towards Olly's house, which is a little ways outside the city, and then walked down a country lane to get there.

A few words should be said of this country lane; it's bordered by trees and bushes on one side, and a scenic pasture on the other; the bushes yield a harvest of ripe berries, and there's even a stone fence that runs along it. In other words, it is ideal pastoral scene that Americans want to see when they go to rural England, and Olly could make a fortune off the place if he would be willing to put up with buses full of American tourists.

The next day we took the train to York, and checked out the cathedral there, which happens to be the biggest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe. The stained glass windows were of particular interest, because several of them were paid for by store owners and artisans who were able to fit a bit of advertising into the glass.

For example, a window containing a scene from the Garden of Gethsemane also had a note in the lower right hand corner saying, "Arty's Roast Mutton is Delicious". And a window portraying the great flood also advertised, "Quincy's Big and Tall Armour Shack".

After the cathedral, we went downtown and visited The Shambles, a group of medieval buildings that are gradually collapsing in towards each other across the street, so much so, that two people standing in the windows of the houses facing each other could easily shake hands.

The sight of these charming, albeit collapsing edifices, led me to the conclusion that crumbling English towns tend to look much more charming than your average American Midwestern town when it's crumbling; not to say that I haven't been to some rust-belt locales with charm.

That night we headed back to Leeds, and I packed up to leave for Normandy the next day.

Many thanks to Olly and his family for such a warm welcome!

Next up: Part 4, "Buck Naked on the Beach".

Peter