I've proven to be an unreliable narrator, taking far too many days off from the task of chronicling our travels....So I'm glad we finally have some time together.
A long drive, almost five hours, brought us from Pembrokeshire through Snowdonia National Park to the North of Wales. For those that learn better visually:
If you were with us back in the neolithic era, we started our road trip (I'm excluding London) on that portion of England below Swansea and Cardiff, specifically Cornwall and North Devon. We made our first stay just West of Cardiff, from whence we visited Royal Porthcawl and Pennard.
That trip to Pennard took us past Swansea almost to the delightfully named The Mumbles, which you can pick out on the map below. Because you'll want to know:
Mumbles is a district of Swansea, Wales located on the south east corner of the unitary authority area. It is also a local government community of the same name. At the 2001 census the population was 16,774, reducing slightly to 16,600 at the 2011 Census. The district is named after the headland of Mumbles which is located on the southeast corner of the district.
It's of some architectural significance:
Archaeological evidence indicates that an ancient submerged forest was located on what is now the foreshore of Mumbles Bay[citation needed] The bones of bears, wolves, hyenas, deer, rhinoceros and mammoth have been discovered there.
A bone cave at the western tip of Caswell Bay was excavated in 1832[citation needed] but has since been destroyed by the sea. Another cave, at the Inner Sound, Mumbles Head, was blown up by quarrymen in 1838 but not before elephant bones had been found. Also scattered around the bays of Mumbles and Gowerare the bones of sixteen Ice Age mammals, including a mammoth tooth measuring ten centimetres across, which is on display in Swansea Museum.
As for the source of the unusual name? Well, far too good to fact check...
The origin of the name "Mumbles" is obscure. Wyn Owen and Morgan (2008) cite several possibilities: Middle English momele ("to mumble"), describing the "mumbling" of the sea next to the rocks; Latin mamillae meaning "breasts", in reference to the breast shaped silhouette of the islands and headland, and Old Norse múli (snout, promontory).[5]
Is there anything that doesn't ultimately trace back to breasts? Well, anything worthwhile....
We then drove due West to Tenby:
The Dylan Thomas Boathouse was in Laugharne, and we wandered Saundersfoot and other little villages that dot the coast.
Our trip North on Monday was a far more substantial undertaking:
From South of Carmarthen, we drove through Snowdonia National Park past Porthmadog and Pwllheli, which sounds just as it looks, and even through the sailing village of Abersoch.
Yesterday we played Nefyn & District Golf Club (actually located in Morfa Nefyn at the top of the map above), and I owe you the full disquisition on that wonderful day. But all in good time.... We're
staying at Porth Tocyn Hotel, a country house situated on the bluffs overlooking Cardigan Bay, with views back towards Snowdonia.
Innkeeper Nick, third-generation of some combination of the Brewer and Fletcher families, is a constant presence, and is obviously quite the card. They don't get too many Americans this far out, in fact he at first guessed that we're residents in these parts. But no sooner had he heard my accent, than he started referring to me as Mr. Trump. He got the first off without return fire, but on the second occurrence I countered by addressing him as Mr. Corbyn. And there hostilities stand....
The hotel has lovely views of Cardigan Bay, including from our own windows:
Walking paths are everywhere, we first explored those leading down to the beach. Even better, as we discovered, was to head away from Abersoch and pick up the Wales Coastal Walks, which cover their entire coastline and are, to our experience, widely used.
As we were quaffing our post-round libation at Nefyn, the bride unilaterally declared a cessation of golf-related activities. This is a first, so I was inclined to humor her, but it required us passing on Royal St. David's, by all accounts. the second course in Wales behind Porthcawl. I hate when that happens....
We amused ourselves with a stroll through Abersoch, arriving early to beat the crowds.
A lovely little village, the photo above doesn't do it justice. Lots of shops, and while many are of the tacky beach variety, others were of a more interesting nature and money did pass hands. This trip has passed mostly swagless, as nothing really caught my eye. One of my bigger disappointments was that Royal North Devon uses the proper name for the club on all merchandise, as I had a hankering for something proclaiming Westward Ho!, exclamation point and all.
This was a mystery solved, however, in that I never knew where they grew it:
Alas, they were still tending to the back 40 and hadn't opened yet...
We're at that stage of the trip where we're going out of our way to use the few remaining clean items, whether appropriate or not. That includes throwing on our suits for a chilly walk to the beach. One of us actually put toes in the water:
She did better in the hotel's heated swimming pool:
Here's a couple more from that coastal walk:
The vegetation was lush, not a surprise given their unusually wet season:
The heather is self-explanatory, but the bush with the yellow flowers in the foreground puzzled me. It seemed to be genuine gorse, every bit as prickly and noxious as God intended it, but the flowers are all wrong. They bloom yellow, but with in actual blossoms and, more importantly, in May.
And, because I can, a panoramic of the bay, a full 180 degrees from Abersoch to St. Tudwalls Island.
Always the saddest task, the packing of the golf bags:
Our drive to Manchester, site of tomorrow's exfiltration, provided one last moment of hilarity. We had time to kill, and solicited suggestions from Nick before departing. He suggested spending some time at Conwy Castle, with details of how it was just before one crosses the water on the A55. Well, we might as well have been looking for real estate in the area. Theresa started soliciting directions from pedestrians who were all quite cheery and helpful, but each ended their guide with those famous words, "Well, you really can't miss it." And yet miss it we did...repeatedly.
And when we finally found it, showing more resolution than is typical for us.... well, God can be a nasty piece of work. The carpark was jammed full, with many more waiting for spots to come free. Thus, this was or only look at famed Conwy Castle, through the windshield of our car:
Still, we enjoyed it....
I owe you Nefyn, and then a return to normal blogging soon.
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