Before I start this post proper, I’d like to thank everyone for the love and kind words following my previous post. It showed me that I’m not on my own and that I can keep going despite the things that try to get in the way. Thank you so much for your support.
This trip feels particularly vital to us this year. For me, it is a necessary reset; for us both, it is a much-needed escape from the chaos of our overcrowded home. I’ve always found a certain peace in rail travel, and part of the joy of this pilgrimage is that we are making the journey by train. As we head from the south of our county toward the north, the rhythmic hum of the carriage creates a perfect 'buffer'. By the time the industrial landscape gives way to the open breath of the Vale of York, the mental noise of my life starts to quieten, making room for the ancient atmosphere of Jórvík to take hold.
We stepped off the train at York Railway Station at twenty minutes past midday on Thursday. The journey was pleasant enough, though it was standing room only on the final leg from Doncaster. We wasted no time heading to the hotel to drop our bags; with check-in not until 3pm, we were eager to get straight into the city centre. The River Ouse was back within her banks following some flooding earlier in the month, a return to her usual majestic self.
Parliament Street was, as ever, home to the 'Viking Encampment.' Between the living history displays and the merchants, the air was thick with the scent of blacksmiths' fires and the primal thrum of a drumming troupe, which made the atmosphere feel truly immersive.
For dinner (I'm northern, dinner is the midday meal), we returned to The Fat Badger—as the saying goes, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. I’m not usually one to photograph my food, but this was a culinary work of art: a Yorkshire pudding filled with pulled pork and topped with a rich gravy. I don’t often do 'posh,' but it was bloody lovely.
After officially checking in and getting changed for the evening, we gravitated towards Valhalla on Patrick Pool. It’s our go-to spot; the music is great, the vibe is spot on, and it’s where the Vikings truly hang out. I even received a couple of compliments on my vest, with one lady asking for a photo of the back.
We ended the night with a wander down the Shambles, discovering a new pub called the King's Inn. It’s a bit touristy, but they served a good pint. A final stop at the chippy on the way back to the hotel closed out a perfect first day.
With the modern world finally starting to recede, we’ve settled into the heart of the city. The pilgrimage has officially begun, and I’m looking forward to seeing what else Jórvík has to show me this year. In my next post, I’ll be diving into more of the sights and sounds of the festival, and reflecting on the headspace I find among the hearths, histories, and heathens within the encampment.
While I’m off-grid and soaking up the atmosphere of the festival, the story in my webcomic, Northman, continues its journey through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.
You can read the latest chapter here:
Stay Connected for live updates from the city, behind-the-scenes glimpses of the encampment, and more from my pilgrimage North, you can find me on social media:
Way back in my youth in the early 1970s I spent a month with an English family in a village (Wadworth) near Doncaster. They also took me on a day trip to York. I mostly remember the cathedral, though.
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