Pentrefelin to Sale

Overnight the rain continued unabated and hit the skylight and windows with such ferocity at times that it woke us up.  Breakfast was a quick dash across to the main farmhouse after which we loaded up the car and I opened and closed the gate for the last time.  Altogether a very soggy business.

UK Warnings

Weather Warning

Monday 5th August 2013

Heavy rain will continue on for a time on Monday across SW England, West Midlands, Wales, Cumbria, parts of Yorkshire, the scottish Borders and Lothian. Drier weather to follow to Wales and SW England later this afternoon, and from northern England and SE Scotland this evening.

20-40mm of rain are likely with a risk of 60mm over parts of SW England. There is a risk of surface water flooding.

(Taken from BBC Weather - 5 August 2013)

We'd be lucky to get this sort of rain in a month during mid-winter in Perth.  Evidence of the overnight wash out was all around as we left Pentrefelin behind and drove through Beddgelert towards Betws-y-Coed.  Roads were bubbling with water and mini cascades were tumbling down off the rocks towards a very angry looking River Glaslyn.  Sadly Snowdonia had concealed its magnificent peaks in the mist.

Lookout point in Snowdonia National Park

Mt Snowdon was definitely nowhere to be seen although I promise it is supposed to be somewhere in the centre of the picture below.  Those delicate white ribbons descending from the mountains were actually raging torrents of water.

Mt Snowdon hidden in the mist

We made one final stop before reaching Sale for another happy reunion with Veronia.  This time it was a hearty lunch at The Black Swan just outside Warrington.  

Dawn and Veronia outside The Black Swan in Warrington

An exorbitant(!) 12p toll to cross the Warburton Bridge and before we knew it we were at The Coachmans Cottage in Sale, our home for the next few days.  The owners, Manon and Paul gave us a warm welcome and took the time to tell us about their amazing house.  Set back from the road behind the main grand 1850s house, it originally housed the stables and coachman's dwelling.  It seems to go with B+B territory but restoring this house was yet another 2 year exercise and labour of love on their part.  

We had some hours to spare so we stretched our legs with a brisk walk into Sale.  The town centre was grim and unwelcoming - all concrete, steel shutters and bollards although the grey skies and damp air probably did it no favours.  Some familiar sights for Ross but not a great deal of enthusiasm.  

The evening at least was much better spent in the company of Vaughn who exhibited the same Gusto as the fabulous restaurant he brought us to in Knutsford.  He may have come unaccompanied, with us the poorer for it, but his family was never far from his mind and we benefited from hearing their stories too.

Ross and Vaughn

Portmeirion

In 1925, Clough Williams-Ellis, an architect and landscape designer embarked on a 50 year quest to bring his dream to life and the result is the bizarre and otherworldly but hypnotically beautiful Portmeirion.  It really feels like you have fallen down the rabbit hole when you find yourself in the midst of the fairy tale buildings, bright colours, and mish mash of architectural styles with a few random religious icons thrown in for good measure.  It's no wonder really that The Prisoner was filmed here.  It's just so weird.

The sun was still fighting its way through the cloud when we reached Portmeirion although the clouds coming off the mountains looked quite menacing.  Even so we completed a little of the Coastal Walk and managed to get completely off the beaten track on the Forest Walk in the densely wooded hills above the village before the weather moved in.  Good training for next week!

Views over the estuary from Portmeirion and clouds over Snowdonia National Park

The village itself is a captivating place.  The pictures below don't do it justice but do give a taste of just how much there is to see.  It's information overload for the senses.  

Portmeirion village - a view towards the Dome Gallery

Me - just a little bemused by it all

Bell tower

Portmeirion village - central view

Portmeirion village - italianate buildings

Intrigued by it all we drove a few miles north to Plas Brondanw, the ancestral home of Clough Williams-Ellis with the beautiful gardens he also designed and constructed. By the time we had finished lunch, the rain had started coming down in steady sheets.  Raincoats and borrowed umbrellas were enough to keep us dry as we did a quick circuit of the grounds.  Again, very pretty and testament to the commitment and vision of a slightly eccentric perhaps but undoubtedly gifted man.

Plas Brondanw

With our usual impeccable timing, just as we returned the borrowed umbrellas and had to walk the 100m to the car in just our flimsy raincoats, the heavens opened.  At times like these I usually think to myself, 'can the rain possibly get any heavier?!'

Yes it can.

Ah well, it was worth the drenching.

Plas Brondanw garden

And to finish the day on a high note we returned to Portmeirion in the evening for a meal at Castell Deudraeth.  Ross was in his element - a visit to fairytale land during the day and dining in a castle like a lord in the evening!  

Castell Deudraeth

Our accommodation at Tyddyn Iolyn had to be swapped during the day as it was the only way to accommodate us for two nights at such late notice.  Hence we returned in the evening to cosier lodgings at The Bakehouse, as its name suggests the farm's old bakery still with its beautiful inglenook fireplace.

The Bakehouse at Tyddyn Iolyn

The rain that started earlier in the afternoon just kept coming, the heaviest showers seeming to coincide perfectly with the times I had to jump out of the car to open and close the gate to the B+B.  It didn't help of course that the Bakehouse key somehow got swallowed up in the recesses of my cavernous bag and we were both standing outside the door slowly getting wetter and wetter while I rifled through my bag contents.  Ross demonstrated great restraint (albeit with barely concealed mirth) when we had to return to the car for shelter while I located the damn key.  Found it!

  

Aberporth to Pentrefelin/ Diana gets some friends

The owners of Ty-Parc have done such an incredible job modernising the rambling old 1904 house to its current impeccable standard of comfort and class.  It was interesting listening to the owner's tales over breakfast of the dramas involved in purchasing and refurbishing the house and establishing the B+B - truly a labour of love. 

We spent the morning with Ross’ mum.  Not sure if it’s my imagination or if Ross is making a habit of collecting bronzes every time we visit the UK but there’s definitely a pattern forming… last year it was Diana de Gabies which had to be lugged home from Bakewell.  This time courtesy of Ross’ mum, an assortment of small (but heavy) bronzes.  Getting them home will be a task for Manchester as we definitely won't be carrying them across Yorkshire next week!!

Ross and his mum

We said our goodbyes after lunch and left Aberporth, striking north on the coast road past Aberystwyth.  Being a sunny Saturday afternoon the road was busy with holiday makers towing caravans, flash convertibles driven by hatless and rapidly burning Britons, and cars weighed down with canoes and other holiday paraphernalia.  Nothing a little bit of swift maneuvering and overtaking(!!) couldn't fix... Fortunately once we got further away from the coast and the rolling hills gave way to more imposing mountains and dense woodland, the cars dropped away and Ross recovered his zen.

By mid-afternoon we reached our accommodation, the very remote Tyddyn Iolyn Farmhouse B+B.  Situated on a hill overlooking the small village of Pentrefelin which itself is outside Porthmadog, we had to drive up a narrow lane, cross a cattle grid and drive through a field of cows before passing through another gate to reach the B+B.  It was well worth the effort though as the B+B is quite special.  Comprising old 16th century farm buildings, it has been refurbished to a very high standard.  And what a wonderful welcome we received - on arrival we were ushered to our room and treated to a pot of tea and baked Welsh cakes still warm from the oven.

Tea on arrival outside The Stable

After resting for a little while we piled back into the car for the short drive to Criccieth.  Not as impressive as we hoped with its steep winding streets, ridiculously narrow seafront and dearth of eateries so we headed in the opposite direction to Porthmadog.  The harbourfront looked more promising and we headed towards a pub which promised some atmosphere and a hot meal.  Atmosphere it certainly delivered - we discovered pretty quickly that we were possibly the only ones there without a tattoo and/or a piercing and the tabletops were sticky with grease.  Still, hunger can drive a man to desperation so we stuck it out and ordered our meals.  Ordinary but it hit the spot.  A short stroll along the harbourfront confirmed that Porthmadog really didn't have much to offer so it was a hasty return to the comforts of Tyddyn Iolyn.  

The Beast (that's the car by the way)

No flies in Wales

Rather an odd title for a post perhaps but the earth shattering discovery that Wales is fly-free (or is it) was core to our day.

We left our airport hotel after breakfast and jumped back on the Hoppa bus to the nearest airport terminal, only to discover that the car hire depot was a few hundred metres from the hotel and we'd needlessly done a circuit of the airport perimeter and wasted about an hour.  Lesson #1 - always communicate with hotel staff (also helps if hotel staff can communicate effectively in same language however).

Although we were early, the insanely busy car hire office meant it took an hour to collect the car.  Was the Audi A6 worth waiting for? It took much of the M4 before Ross got familiar with the car but by the time we got to the Severn crossing, ladies and gentlemen the gloves were off.  True to form Ross was intent on defying the laws of physics to negotiate the narrow Welsh roads and tight corners.  Speed limits? Bah! Much of Carmarthenshire passed in a blur.

A stop in Abergavenny was a welcome break for lunch and the first of our attempts to find an insecticide bomb to combat the flea menace at Ross’ mum’s house.  After looking into two stores and getting quizzical looks in each place, we decided to try our luck elsewhere.  It was the same story in Cardigan so Lesson #2 - there musn’t be any insects in Wales.  Perhaps we should be importing the stuff.  We could make a killing (pardon the pun).

In the late afternoon we had a warm reception at Ross’ mum’s house and a lovely home cooked meal. 

View of Cardigan Bay from kitchen window

Exhibit A was one very itchy dog.  Exhibit B was the assortment of anti-flea sprays and powders on the hall table. Poor little Rowley dog looked to have aged a couple of decades in doggie years in the 11 months since we last saw him as he struggled to move about and with a noticeable absence of pizazz.  Ross’ mum was her usual stoic and cheery self however.  Dinner was followed by a walk down the hill to the sea and back up the hill again to make the most of the fine evening and a return to Cardigan to the comforts of a beautifully neat and cosy room in Ty-Parc.

Ross' mum's garden in Aberporth - yes the sun really is shining

The journey begins

I think I understand now why passport photos are deliberately made to look so monumentally awful.  It's so that after you've been sitting on a plane for 18 hours and get to the Immigration counter at your destination, you look as pale and miserable as your picture.  Perfect match!

We were two extremely weary travellers when we finally reached our London hotel room almost exactly 24 hours after leaving home.  

The very welcome sight at the end of the journey!

Somehow we accomplished the almost superhuman task of staying awake for almost all of that time.  The first 10 hour flight to Dubai was pretty unremarkable - just a standard procession of movies on demand, food on plastic trays and queues for the toilet.  After 2 hours on the ground in Dubai it was onto an A380 behemoth for the 7 hour flight to London.

We were less fortunate with our fellows on this leg of the journey or maybe fatigue just wore our patience particularly thin.  It did seem like the makeshift creche that established itself in the next aisle was particularly boisterous and certainly the three lads sitting immediately behind did their best to earn the lad title.  After starting with a beer at breakfast, one of the three then joined with his mates on the Dubai leg to find out just how many scotch and cokes they could sweet talk out of the cabin crew (answer = at least half a dozen each).  By the time we reached London they were decidedly merry ... and very entertaining!

View over Heathrow airport

We were very grateful we didn't have far to go before collapsing in a heap into a comfortable bed.  There's something extraordinarily restorative about sleep, a hot shower and a nice meal and the cares of tomorrow can wait until, well, tomorrow.