The day before, whilst driving back from Whitby, I noticed road signs to Robin Hoods Bay. Robin Hoods Bay I had seen on a TV show; it's a stunningly beautiful village built in a narrow valley on the cliffs facing the North Sea. Jools had said it would be a good place to go to watch the sun rise one morning; and tentative plans were made to go the next morning. Whether it was th thought of that, or the riddiculouly thick duvet on the bed that made me not sleep; whichever it was, I was awake before 5 in the moring; and made the time pass with several cups of tea and the early morning news on the radio. I woke up Jools at six and after more hot drinks we headed out accross the moors to Whitby and then south to Robin Hoods Bay.
The Streets of the village are very narrow, and you are encouraged to park on the cliffs and walk in; which is what we did. The road down into the village is very stepp something like 1:3, and I am sure would have been fun in a car. Being so early, we had the village to oursleves and this made for great pictures. Once down at the slipway we were greeted of the sight of the sun just rising, and joined another photographer already waiting. Access to most houses was via narrow alleyways and paths, and being November 1st, there were a few scattered pumpkins which further added to my pictures. Once can oly imagine how crowded the marrow streets get in summer, and we felt really blessed in having the village to ourselves.
After a late breakfast we headed out in the car to York. York was about an hour away, and the trip was pleasant enough; plently more milky sunshine and the plentiful trees still having most of their golden leaves on, even this far north. It has to be said that some towns and cities are not meant for the 21st century; the 20th century even. And York is such a place; thankfully I knew of a place to park and so we made our way there, and after being shocked to discover that we were to be charged £8 for the pleasure or parking for the day: thats $17! We walked accross the river and headed for the main station and to the National Railways Museum which was our goal. Most of our industrial heritage is now just a museum, and so with the NRM: but it is a wonderful place to go, and packed full of railway related things; which I hasten to add that Jools wanted to go to as much as I did.
After a couple of hours we decided to head into York to see something of this fine city. We were hungry, and soon enough came accross a place called the Goumet Burger Co. Now, maybe we were seduced by the word gourmet, but what swung it for me is that they sold what is probably the best beer in the world, Warsteiner. So, we had two burgers, two portions of fries and three beers between us, and somehow this cost £27. I wish I could say the burgers we made from the flesh of corn fed Appis Bulls and encased in cold encrusted buns, the fries peeled by hummingbirds and carried to our table by cherubs. But no doubt the gurgers were fresh beef, they were ok, and fries are fries, or chips. Lessons to be learnt I feel. We wandered the narrow streets of York, looking for the narrowest shopping street in Britain, ht e Shambles, which we found after following the crowds as it was not marked on any torist signs. We went to the Minister, but as seems usual, it was something like£6 each to get in, and I'm guessing more to climb the tower for fine views. We made do with more pictures, a bag of hot chestnuts and a bottle of wine to take home. And as black clouds were thickening, we decided to head home while it was still light.
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