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The natural beauty that is Wales


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The natural beauty that is Wales

by Nori And Scott Brixen

 

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It wasn’t a long drive from tiny Shrewley, England to St. Davids, Wales – a smidgen over 200 miles – but the fastest route (via Bristol, Cardiff and Swansea) didn’t appeal to me. Instead, we left the M5 near Worcester and cut Southwest through the heart of Wales along pleasant, uncrowded rural roads. We saw signs advertising speed shearing contests, pick-your-own fruit orchards, cattle ranches and farm shops. You could really smell Wales’ dairy air. Wales is the West Virginia of the UK, the butt of a thousand sheep jokes, a mountainous land of somewhat odd people speaking a strange tongue. Though Wales has been part of the British Empire since Edward I conquered it in 1282, Wales’ uniqueness has always made it seem more remote than it actually is. Like the Scots, the Welsh do not like being called British, which they associate with Englishness. The Prince of Wales, by the way, is just a title for the heir apparent to the crown. Pasty Prince Charles is not the least bit Welsh.

 

Perhaps it was only my imagination, but the scenery seemed to become more gorgeous as soon as we crossed the unmarked border. The countryside was greener, the hills higher and the sheep fluffier. We had nearly missed the humble sign welcoming us to Cymru – which is both Welsh for Wales and the perfect introduction to the language’s un pronounceability. When we encountered traffic, it was usually caused by giant, lumbering tractors or trucks pulling huge loads of hay that showered the road with golden streamers. Speaking of hay, we passed near Hay-on-Wye, the little town that has become internationally famous (among bibliophiles like me, at least) for its ever-expanding Literature and Arts Festival. Previous guest speakers included Arthur Miller, Salman Rushdie, John Updike, Stephen Hawking and Maya Angelou, though I think my kids would have been far more interested in the 2019 programme, featuring Julia Donaldson of “Gruffalo” fame.

 

Soon, we could see the unmistakable and oddly inorganic shapes of the Brecon Beacons rising above the farms and villages. Treeless and trapezoidal, the Beacons looked as if they had been airlifted from Iceland. I made a silent promise to myself to return and walk those magnificent ridges another time. And then the road began diving and twisting through emerald tunnels of the lushest, most magical forest. Even the English say it rains a lot in Wales. We hit the coast, the fog and the rain at Newgale – a wide, sandy beach with a humped embankment of round stones between it and the highway. I assumed that the barrier had been constructed to protect the highway and the hamlet from storm surge. In fact, the stones had been deposited there by a freakish storm in 1859. The water looked ice-cold, but a few madmen had braved the churning waves to kite surf.

 

This was the famously rugged and beautiful Pembrokeshire Coast. If Wales is shaped like a pig’s head, then the Pembrokeshire Coast is the tip of its snout. And what a fine snout it is! Wending from Amroth Castle to St. Dogmaels around wide St. Brides Bay, the 186 mile Pembrokeshire Coast Path (“which covers almost every kind of maritime landscape” according to the official website) is one of the finest walks in Britain. Just beyond Newgale we passed above the pretty harbour town of Solva, its fog-blurred fishing boats stranded by the tide. And then we were in St. Davids, famous both for being the UK’s smallest parish and for its location at the Westernmost point of Wales, just 50 miles from the Irish coast. Popular with tourists for its history, nearby trails and wildlife tours, St. Davids’ population surged in the summer, which people confidently informed me was now. Noah and Akela were waiting for us at the entrance to their street, Ffynnon Wen. Tai rolled down the window and shouted “Noah! Noah!” Suddenly, our car was electric with excited boys. I parked the car and they rushed out, hugged Noah, and followed him inside, chattering. Noah’s home was small and cosy, one of a half-dozen row houses in a small community at the southern edge of St. Davids.

 

We had met Jess, her son Noah and daughter Akela at Coconut Beach on the island of Koh Rong, Cambodia in 2016. Noah had been overjoyed to have other boys to play with, and I didn’t mind including another boy in our adventurous play. Together the boys chased crabs in the tide pools, jumped off the pier into the sea, waded out to see bioluminescent plankton at night, built sandcastles on the shore and extensive domino tracks across the wooden floorboards of our resort. It was just about paradise for boys. They became fast friends. We knew that Jess and her family would be flying home from Bangkok, so Nori invited them to stay with us. They arrived a few weeks later – weary, sunburned and speckled with insect bites. When they stepped out of the elevator into our over-the-top 64th-floor apartment, Noah exclaimed “Mom! This is the nicest hotel we’ve ever stayed in!”  To reciprocate, Jess had offered to put us up if we made it to Wales. So of course we did. Naturally, all the boys wanted to sleep together in the same room. So Jess generously gave Nori and I her bedroom upstairs while she and Akela slept together downstairs. Travel karma is wonderful.

 

But it took a long time for the kids to wind down. They had been having so much fun together, six kids shrieking as they dodged four balls that bounced randomly about the trampoline. To calm them, I did a very long storytelling session: true stories from Nori and my journey to Antarctica and a funny one about my summer working on a Christmas tree farm. Jess had baked a beautiful shepherd’s pie. The house was filled with the comforting aromas of stewed vegetables. We sat and talked until midnight – about life in Wales, her struggles as a single mom, our trip so far, and our concerns about returning home to the USA. As every source told me, St. David’s is the smallest parish in the UK. But I failed to understand the importance of this fact until I stumbled upon the cathedral. Located in a grassy hollow, its imposing square bell tower wasn’t even visible from the town square or Jess’ home, both of which were less than 200 metres away.

 

Full Story: https://expatlifeinthailand.com/travel-and-leisure/the-natural-beauty-that-is-wales/

 

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-- © Copyright Expat Life in Thailand
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The beaches on the Gower, are absolutely lovely, & on a sunny warm day: superb!

 

Tenby is a wonderful place to visit, great shops, pubs with decent beer, & again, a fantastic beach.

 

However, the bloody water's too damn cold!

 

Merthyr Tydfil, is not a place to visit.

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29 minutes ago, sandrabbit said:

A lot of it was filmed in Port Talbot and being from this area the continuity of the film would throw you, 1 minute they would be in PT then it would jump to Swansea.

 

Bob Monkhouse once said of Port Talbot that it was the only place he knew where it had rainbows in black & white.

 

 

 

I know Swansea very well also. Changed a lot over the last 15 years. Ever go to Barons???

 

The Kingsway is being completely redeveloped, well the Walter Road end is.

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1 hour ago, faraday said:

I know Swansea very well also. Changed a lot over the last 15 years. Ever go to Barons???

Yes in the late 70's early 80's but unless we were in a group it was expensive to get taxi's home. I always remember being on a training course with some Wood Group guys and them telling me that S Wales & especially Swansea were the easiest places to laid laid in the UK. I went back in June and it's miserable now and my town just seems full of social accommodation and dossers, it's killed the town.

Edited by sandrabbit
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On 12/24/2019 at 10:04 AM, BritManToo said:

I went camping in Wales one summer when I was younger.

Rained every day, I never went back.

I grew up with that in the 60's and 70's my overriding memory of walking to school is it was pissing down .............

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