Something Inexplicably Bright

The gentleman, was from York.  His accent was Yorkshire and I couldn’t help but saying I’d done an archeological dig there in York, the Old York, when I was an undergraduate student.  That was my second time ever overseas.  I did two digs that summer and the one in York wasn’t especially memorable.  I remember quite well the subsequent one I’d gone to over in border country Wales, near Cheshire at Hen Domen.

But I absolutely remember the city of York.  And the pubs where, for a kid raised on Budweiser and Lowenbrau it was remarkable to have fresh pulled pints of bitter and sample things like “Theakston’s Old Peculiar” long before it was available in bottles at Stop N' Shop.  We piled into one old pub and one of my fellow archeologists in training accidentally knocked over a pint.  The glass smashed and I still recall a young woman leaping out into the back garden where we were ordering us all to leave if we were going to be fighting.  With a bit of work we were able to convince her that was merely a clumsy spill, and nothing more. 

But if someone mentions York, the most remarkable memory by far is standing in the nave of the York Minster Cathedral and staring up the towering grey, and green stained glass window.  I have revisited Chartres and taken my children to Florence and insisted the walk across Vienna to see any and every medieval cathedral possible, in part to try to recapture that moment once again.  I want them to catch their breath and stare in wonder, at something inexplicably bright from the supposed “dark” ages. 

It takes me all of three minutes to share some of these flashes with my host from York.  Later I find that I am not the only foreigner who will be translating during the meeting.  This gentleman speaks pu tong hua quite well.  And, to my ears with a decidedly Yorkshire accent.  It makes me wonder how I sound when I speak as well. 

Tuesday 6/05/18