I can't actually remember why, but we had decided to stop in at Warwick Castle for a day. We wanted to see a castle, Warwick was supposed to be a fine specimen, and it was on the way to York. It turned out to be rather a disappointment, though we did get some good photos for posterity. It was very much a tourist destination and we happened to be there during a term break so the place was absolutely mobbed! Long lines, crowds of people, few of whom shared our American perspective on personal space, and a very dismal, grey, overcast sky (one of only two the entire trip) went a long way in dampening our enthusiasm for the place. Still, we made the best of it.
Our first evening in York marked the low point of our trip. We got predictably lost, it rained buckets practically from the moment we left the Castle, and we had foolishly decided to find lodging upon our arrival instead of booking something beforehand. We had heard it to be quite an adventure to blow into a new city and see where the winds of fate may take you. It was very nearly a disaster. There was, of course, some kind of railroad convention in town and every place was full. The only place we could find was a third-floor walk-up with, as the kindly Scot helping us put it, "a wonky bathroom door" that wouldn't shut all the way. But as it was only the door between the bedroom and the bath, we didn't care.
The next problem was actually finding the place. The Viking refused to spend money on yet another taxi and insisted we could find our way ourselves and walk there easily. With all our luggage. In the rain. In a city mysteriously missing most of its street signs. By the time we got to our room, I was actually blubbering like a child. But the discovery of a curry shop on the corner and a nice, deep, soaking tub in the bath did wonders for my presence of mind and we wound up passing the night rather pleasantly, sitting on the bed bundled up in cosy terry-cloth bathrobes, munching samosas and watching the telly.
The next day dawned bright and clear and turned out to be as spectacular as the day before had been disappointing. We took a day trip to the small village of Pickering in order to ride a steam engine into the train station used as Hogsmeade Station in the Harry Potter movies. Yes, another HP reference. Just a few more, I promise!
It was in the station at Pickering that we struck up a conversation with an Australian woman who was heading back to York as well and offered to save us untold amounts of time and money by driving us back in her car. I was immediately wary of her offer, convinced she was planning to rob and bludgeon us, but The Viking sized her up and felt he could take her so he agreed. He sat watchfully in the back seat while I nervously played navigator in the front. She proved all my suspicions false and turned out to be merely a nice woman who enjoyed being kind to people. She wouldn't take any money for gas either, asking only that we pass the favor on to someone else in their time of need. It was much later that I realized she was probably more at risk in that situation than we were, a single woman giving a strange couple a lift. I was amazed at how trusting and kind she was and felt suitably ashamed of myself for suspecting her of having sinister intentions.
Obviously, we made it safely back to York, with all our belongings intact, and were able to begin our exploration of the city. But, alas, I think those stories are going to have to wait until next time. One more post should do it, I think.
So, tune in next time when we'll revisit our favorite city, York, travel north for a day in Durham, then head back down for the obligatory tour of our final destination, London!