plus

White Sands / Porth Mawr was just White Sands when we holidayed in the caravan owned jointly by my Dad and Uncle George.  Back in the 1950s it stayed permanently in a field above the beach.  We spent a lot of time on the sands and I think this is where I got my love of the sea and clambering over rocks.  These days it is a much acclaimed beach and has a huge carpark.  No camping allowed, but you can have surf lessons and Uncle George's son, Cousin Richard, is a leading light in the Surf Life Saving Club.

David and Frances drove me there one day and we sat in the car and reminisced.  Conveniently, there is also a bus so I could get there easily on my own.  In the past I have used many wending ways to get there but the fields and tracks were sodden after days of hard rain that luckily ceased just before I got to Wales.  The bus is mud free and also allows dogs.  I bonded with this lurcher before he undertook his soulful walk. 

It is a moody beach

and a paradise for sea dares

and sea tracking.

this is how I like my beaches

On a sunny day it's a different kettle of fish.

This was the day I chose to bypass the beach and climb Carn Llidi

which was silly really because it was the hottest day I'd had so far.  I didn't get to the top and, while I'd like to blame the heat, I think age had something to do with it.  The drive to conquer has gone

but the need to see the horses roaming free remains.

In the 1960s our camping site was Caerfai.  Here we stayed in our tent on a farm, trudging through sludge to the farmhouse to get milk.  It is an organic dairy these days and the camping is far more civilised.  Huge motor homes lumber down the hedgerowed lane and disappear through coded boom gates.  I walked via the cliffs and via the road a number of times.  It's like a time machine for me.

Only once did I venture down to the actual beach.

The descent is steep, even though the wooden stairs of my childhood have been replaced by concrete steps.  The wildflowers make the effort worthwhile

as does the beach itself.  It crossed my mind to join this woman for a swim but I let her enjoy her solitude.  I kept watch just in case The White Lady, terror of young swimmers, emerged from her cave to snaffle her.

looking back along the cliff path from the road

catching my breath as the sun catches the cottages

There is nowhere I would rather be.

The reason

St Davids is my soul place.  I go to find calm and restore my spirit.  It works.  I walk the same paths each time to imbibe the beauty and relive my childhood.

It is a 20-30 minute stroll through back lanes from David and Frances' house to Non's Well.  It's a favourite place of mine to sit on a very comfy bench here and stare out to sea, sometimes do a bit of reading.  Non was the mother of St David.  She gave birth alone in the adjoining field during a wild storm. The well is said to have healing properties.

There is a passing parade of people walking the Pembrokeshire Coast Path  but it would be selfish to keep such pleasure to myself... and often there are dogs to ogle.

These rocks between St Non's and Caerfai are  my favourite place to lounge and read but, this trip, the weather was never ideal for this.

This postcard captures the joy I feel walking this path.

Today we'll start at St Justinians and we'll walk home to St Davids via Porth Clais and Non's Well even though it will nearly kill us.

David drove me to St Justinians to do a boat trip to Skomer Island mid morning.  Sadly the trip was not to be (more in another post) and I was stranded.  A boaty chap told  me it was a 2 hour walk to St Davids, so off I set.

this is the image that sits in my heart 

It was early Spring.  Lambs were strangely bossy.  Daffodils were nearly at an end. It was too early for the foxgloves, but oh the wealth of other flowers!

Many hours later I glimpsed the chimneys of 'My House',

by which I don't mean 'home' (note Carn Llidi in the background)

but my dream house, the cottage my child-self imagined would be where I lived with my Alsatian dog and pursued a career as a writer.

The cottage is on a cliff at Porth Clais so I stumbled down the track and nearly kissed the ground when I found the kiosk still open and serving food.  It was later than 3 o'clock, my legs were worn to stumps and I was very hungry.

Porth Clais is a fishing harbour.  As I ate a toasted sandwich, then a mango ice-cream, I noticed nesting boxes in some of the trees bordering the dry dock - look carefully.  Then it was onwards to Non's Well along the coast path.

Looking back to My House from the other side of the harbour

It was a long but glorious walk.  Of course, I could have used the roads but...

As for  St Davids, it is a city by virtue of having a cathedral.  It is the smallest city in the UK and I consider it a village.

We'll cruise the cathedral in another post.  I love St Davids but I acknowledge that there are prettier villages in Britain.

from outside the house where my Uncle George used to live

There are vistas I find uplifting

and little local gems.

The Visitor Centre is a beautiful space, its architecture inspired by cromlechs.  At this time of the year, the rooks are raucously nest building in its grounds.

The cathedral dominates even when you can't see it.  Here houses face the stone wall that once surrounded it.

Once this street was also within the cathedral walls.

And this is one of my favourite views / walks, a little known path leading from the village to the cathedral grounds.

Perhaps that's enough for now.

Welsh adventure 2024. The Accommodation

All went smoothly on the train to Haverfordwest.  I just gazed out of the window.  The countryside is so beautiful, so green, a balm to me.

Wonderful Cousin David was waiting for me at Haverfordwest Station and off we drove to St Davids, arriving mid afternoon.  I have no photos of my room at David and Frances' place.  I tried to take one but couldn't do it justice.  You'll have to believe me that it's just the sort of room I like - a loft style with windows at both ends, a bit Shaker-ish, ensuite, all white bedlinen, and a view over rooftops to Carn Llidi.  Five Star accommodation with Frances keeping my clothes clean and David challenging himself to provide a different meal every night.  Plus wine.  They were perfectly happy to leave me to my own devices but also keen for day trips.  Most evenings I was pretty tired from walking, walking, so many nights we watched a movie.  12 movies all up!  I retired tired but very happy.  And thus it continued for 21 days.

I decided to spend a cuppla days in Cardiff.  I have never been there before, only passing through on the train or bus.  I wanted to see my Cousin Cynthia who, I had learned, is now in a nursing home and best visited in the morning.  Thanks again to David and Frances I caught the train from Haverfordwest to Cardiff and stayed in a hotel that they had suggested.  It is in the heart of the city and close to the station.  Perfect.  Apart from the hundreds (I exaggerate, slightly) of stairs to climb - and that's just to Reception.

The Sandringham

a welcome landing between flights, with wall art placed by someone with a sense of humour

My room proved most satisfactory with opening windows and a bath.

view from my window, a Turkish Restaurant on the corner

where I had an adequate but ordinary meal

I think Cardiff is a lovely city, very pedestrian friendly, good public transport and lots of arcades to explore.  The weather was beautiful, as far as I recall it was sunny and warm and I stopped wearing my thermals daily.

Apart from the bath and opening windows, my room was basic but it was always a pleasure to return up 60 million stairs to be greeted by this picture.

After a couple of days, and having seen Cynthia, it was time to move on to my rendezvous with Spanish Rose at Heathrow, she having flown in from Barcelona to spend the weekend with me in London.  This was the trickiest day's travel.  My train was delayed because a freight train had caught fire up the line at Swansea and no other trains could get through.  I still made it to Heathrow in good time but Rosa's plane took it's time in landing and then there was no bus to carry passengers to the terminal.  We'd both lost the will to live by the time we met.

But we struggled womanfully via the underground to Kew Gardens where Rosa had brilliantly managed to have a friend waiting to drive us to her place just around the corner.  I remembered Kew Gardens station well from travelling to Kew Gardens with Mum, Cynthia and John in 2010.  It feels like going back in time, and I half expect women in fingerless gloves and clutching posies of violets to urge us to buy.

Mon's house is an absolute delight.

Cleo the dog quite rightly takes a star role.

this bust preened atop the wardrobe in my room, reminding me of my wedding ensemble from 2001

Everything is luxuriantly OTT.  The sun streams in this window in the morning

and a fox prowls the garden in the evening.  We were so well looked after.  I can never thank Mon enough.

the view from my bedroom window reminded me of River Bank in Wentworth

lush gooseberries in the garden!!!!

the rear of the house seen through the garden wall which backs onto the Thames Path.

I like to think this is how the fox, welcomed only by me, makes an entrance.

Before I knew that Rosa had arranged accommodation for us, I thought it would be nice, albeit expensive, to stay here https://www.artistresidence.co.uk/london .  Staying with Mon surpassed this in every way.

Our two glorious London days flew by and we were off to Heathrow again to each fly our ways home.

Happy Birthday Georgia and Momery

and a fairy-tale year for you both.  Momery sent me her Welsh photos so I can blog more detail.

Remember Castel Coch (Pink Castle) which I have blogged previously?

It was built as a folly, a fantastical place and a perfect place for story telling.

It also has relevance to The Year of the Horse.

A bridal party was imminent when a group of horsey people turned up and one rider was adamant her horse would go across the bridge and up to the castle.  The poor horse was scared and equally adamant it was not going  up there, and it did the huge steaming poo visible in the photo.

A beautifully dressed attendant had to race down with a broom.