Beauty & brutality: what a week in York reminded me about being human

As a full-time traveller, I don’t travel like most people. 

I don’t rush around, trying to tick off every major sight.

(Although I used to – back when I worked a 9 to 5 and only had a few precious weeks of annual leave each year.)

But these days, I travel differently.

I take my time. I feel into the soul of a place.

I travel mindfully – letting my senses lead the way, taking in the sounds, smells, and sights at a slower, more intentional pace.

This way of travelling (and honestly, of living) always tends to lead to interesting observations, deep contemplations and unexpected discoveries.

And my recent trip to the beautiful, historic York in Northern England was no exception.

What I thought would be a quiet week staying in a cosy home on the outskirts of town (side note: if you want to know my secret for travelling the world for FREE, here’s a post where I break it all down – opens in a new tab so you won’t lose this post), turned into a week of cobblestones, crooked houses, gothic masterpieces… and some pretty existential realisations.

A living city with 2,000 years of stories

Now, unless you’re a fellow history nerd like me, chances are you’ve never been to York – it’s not exactly a bucket list destination.

However, if you are fascinated by the times gone by and love places with a lot of character and historic charm, I’d definitely recommend adding it to your list.

But in case you have not been, let me just give you a quick snapshot of the place to set the scene for my discoveries.

Being one of the oldest and most beautifully preserved cities in England, York was originally founded by the Romans in 71 AD. Over the centuries, it became a key political and religious hub – once even considered the capital of the North. 

Its long and layered history is still so tangible today. The medieval city walls still wrap around its heart, cobbled lanes like the iconic Shambles twist through cute, crooked timber-framed buildings from the Tudor era, and the magnificent York Minster – widely regarded as one of the finest and most impressive examples of Gothic architecture in Europe – towers above it all. Construction of the cathedral began in 1220 and took over 250 (!!) years to complete, finally finishing in 1472. Today it stands as one of the largest Gothic cathedrals in Northern Europe – a masterpiece of sacred design and architectural ambition.

Somehow, the old town has managed to hold onto its historical charm without feeling like a museum; it’s alive, soulful, and full of character, like time never quite moved on. It’s a place where you feel you can touch the past (in fact, you literally can!). And for that reason, it’s a place I instantly fell in love with.

A Gothic masterpiece that stopped me in my tracks

As I was aimlessly strolling the streets (which is my preferred mode of discovery these days) and walking around like a little girl in a candy store, stopping at every old cute building and taking in a million photos, eventually, I found myself at the very impressive cathedral – and what a sight it was.

Over the years, I’ve seen many impressive cathedrals across Europe… but York Minster literally took my breath away.

Not only is it massive… the intricate, detailed facade is awe-inspiring and absolutely stunning.

There’s something about Gothic architecture has always fascinated me.

At first glance, Gothic churches seem to carry a shadowy, mysterious, almost enchanted energy. Look closely, and you’ll find grotesque gargoyles (those wierd-looking creatures) perched on the edges, twisting their faces into strange expressions – meant ot be protectors, warding off evil, or maybe just mischief-makers from a forgotten world. 

Meanwhile, the towering spires and pointed arches feel both majestic and a little intimidating, like they’re reaching toward heaven but also guarding secrets.

However, from what I‘ve learned about the origins of the Gothic style, the design is actually supposed to be about celebration of light – soaring vaulted ceilings, enormous stained glass windows that flood the interior with kaleidoscopes of colour, and those delicate flying buttresses that somehow make the whole structure seem to defy gravity. 

Middle Ages – an era full of contradictions

The whole idea with these impressive, grand designs is to invite the mortal, small humans to lift their eyes and their spirit, to something higher and divine. It’s a kind of architecture meant to inspire awe, hope, and connection to the sacred. 

And while these religious buildings were very much treated as means of oppression and control of the masses of the mere mortals (which is a whole other topic for another post), there’s no denying a cathedral like York Minster demonstrates just how incredibly capable humans were back then.

And so, the more I stood there, scanning all the intricate details and taking in the vastness of the entire complex, the more I realised how much of a contradiction Gothic cathedrals really are, and with that – us, humans, are too.

On one hand, the craftsmanship is out of this world, and the fact that humans had the skills and the know-how to build something so elaborate, so high up in the sky in the 1300 and 1400s is nothing sort of mind-bending.

And yet… we also know that the Middle Ages were such dark times. 

There was immense suffering – from plagues to poverty, violent wars, persecution, and power-hungry institutions that used fear as a tool of control.

Life for the average person was often brutal, short, and marked by scarcity and living conditions below anything we’d even begin to tolerate today. Women had little to no rights. Heretics were burned. Entire villages wiped out by disease. It wasn’t exactly the most enlightened era of our history.

The paradox of human existence

And that’s exactly what hit me like a ton of bricks standing outside York Minster.

How is it that some of the most architecturally ambitious buildings in the world were constructed during one of the darkest chapters of our human story?

It’s this paradox – this wild contradiction – that I found myself contemplating all week in York.

Because if you really stop to think about it… how could a time of such suffering and ignorance also produce such beauty, such genius, such awe-inspiring design?

It’s like humans have always contained both the shadow and the light.

Even in times of oppression and chaos, there were artists, architects, craftspeople, visionaries – people who dreamed beyond their circumstances. People who chiselled tiny, perfect angels into stone high up where no one would even see them, simply because they could.

People who laboured for decades, even centuries, on a single structure they knew they’d never see completed, simply for the love of creating something sacred… or maybe, to escape the brutalities of everyday life?

The same paradox lives on today

That to me is both tragic and breathtaking.

Because it proves how deeply wired we are to create meaning and leave our mark. To reach for something bigger than ourselves. To leave behind beauty, to express the divine, even when life is anything… but.

It’s a beautiful reminder that even when the world feels uncertain and full of darkness, we are still capable of wonder. And that the human spirit can be both terrifying and transcendent – sometimes all at once.

And that very much also applies to the time we’re living in at the moment. 

With so much evil, oppression, control and deception seemingly dominating the world, it’s easy to forget how much light is shining, too – quietly but powerfully – from all corners of the globe.

Every day, more and more people are waking up of the deep slumber we have been in for centuries. They’re realising the old ways of living and being no longer work. They’re healing themselves. Taking their power back. Focusing on what really matters – internal growth, evolution, and carving out a path that feels true and authentic to them.

And so, while darkness may dominate the headlines in the news, light is rising in the hearts and souls of those choosing the path of awakening.

And with that, the two continue to co-exist the way they have since the dawn of humanity.

The only thing for you to worry about then is this: which path will you choose? For yourself, and for those who depend on you?

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