The Songs We Sing

The train pulled into the station at York at 16:00 Friday evening. This left me precisely enough time to check into my hostel, drop my bags, get lost in the city and end up in front of York Minster at 17:00. As luck or chance would have it this happens to be the time that the somewhat steep entrance fee to the cathedral is waived and visitors and worshipers alike are invited to attend evensong. I have been to my fair share of the great cathedrals of Christianity and I can honestly say that I did not believe that I could get that hair-stand-up-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling from cathedrals any more. Greeting your first steps into the Cathedral you hear the echo of perfect voices being pitched about a great expanse. You are ushered into the choir area of the cathedral and sit in the seats that royalty would have used. It seems that in a day of praise music that seems more like pop we easily forget how this olden and traditional form without the aid of any instruments and fanfare can transcend the earthly and truly become a religious experience.

Stepping out of the church and my reverie I understood why York is considered among some of the travellers I have met a city of buskers. I will fully admit that I have a soft spot when it comes to buskers. The first time I travelled in Europe a British girl was explaining the place they have in British culture to me and due to her accent I, until this trip, operated under the belief they were called Baskas. A Busker is not a person sitting on the road with their hand held out, but a piece of the place they choose to perform. I have heard Bob Marley in the metro, an appropriate choice as the somewhat grim nine to fivers scurry back and forth. I have heard classical in the streets of Vienna by the Opera House. The ones in York were playing British tunes in the busy center and the performers by the Cathedral used archaic instruments to set an appropriate mood. There are signs around town addressing and acknowledging this group's presence. In London a while back there were signs asking commuters on the tube to vote for their favorite. Coming from America where anyone asking for money for an unrequested service is threatening or "a bum" I find it heartening and humanizing that Buskers are an accepted and maybe even appreciated part of the culture in many centers of the UK. I watched a mother encourage her 3 year old son to go drop the coin in a particularly talented performers guitar case. After completing his task the boy stood grinning up at the man captured not only by the magnificent setting of York but the added effect that only this particular performer could give the location at the time. Sitting and talking to a York native the next day one of the first things they noticed was the lack of buskers and it was said with an air of disappointment.

York seemed to be a city filled with songs, however varied they might be. This seems to be the case of the city itself. Inside the walls alone several different styles of architecture can be observed, from parts of the original Roman wall, to modern architecture built to house the city's relics. It is this almost eclectic feel that made York to me, a unique personality.