Mines and Ponies

This was my last full day here in Betws-y-Coed (Northern Wales), and I decided my time here wouldn't be complete without a visit to one of the famous slate mines. The largest one, in fact, located in Blaenau Ffestiniog. I swear, I'm not making that name up--it's really a town. So is Dolwyddelan and Beddgelert and Abergwyngregyn. Don't ask me how to pronounce any of them. When I arrived at the mine, I took a photo of what is very typical weather here in Wales--sunny and stormy all in the same moment.

When I pulled in, they had just closed up the main parking lot and a man directed me to drive all the way to the top of the giant hill (it's a mountain, really!) and park there. See those teeny tiny buildings  and cars at the bottom right? That's where I had to get to, and this is where I had to hike back to in order to reach my car again. Good thing I am in reasonable shape.

I opted for the deep mine tour, which turned out to be me and one elderly British couple. Here's me riding the little train thing that took us into the caverns:

I was grateful to have that helmet on since I immediately clocked my head on the top of the doorway as I was exiting the train. I should probably wear one of those all the time. A few minutes after we arrived below, our guide cut out all the lights. As you can imagine, it was pitch black, and even though I rationally knew it was only temporary, I felt a split second of panic when it went that dark. After turning back on his flashlight and instructing us to turn on our headlamps, our guide explained that the men who worked in the mines in the 19th century worked in that darkness for most of the day. Once they saw their way to their stations and got to work, the candles were extinguished and they marked their progress by sound and by feel. They typically started at dawn and worked 12-14 hours down below, which meant that most of them didn't see light for days on end. Here's a lighted section where our guide demonstrated the tools they'd use. Basically, they'd use these spear-like tools to bore holes down through the rock, then have someone else come in and set the charges for an explosion.

In addition to the darkness, cold, and damp (it was 49 degrees down there), there was also the dust, which caused most of the men to die somewhere in their 40s. But people came from all over Wales to work in the mines (and brought their 8 year old sons down with them) because it was a solid way for an entire family to make a living. They worked full days Monday through Friday, had a half day Saturday, Sundays off (for church) and the only holidays they got were Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter. A detail that particularly moved me was that it was common for them to sing and recite poetry to each other during their brief lunch breaks--a way of lifting each others' spirits in the midst of all that dark cold. This is partly why Wales has a long tradition of Collier's Choirs (Miner's choirs).

Back up top, I drove back to Betws-y-Coed, once again marveling at all the beauty around me. I'm soaking up as much green as I can before heading back to drought-plagued Southern California.

The afternoon found me winding up tiny country roads, trying to find a stables I'd heard about that offered pony-trekking rides (ponies actually being fairly standard-sized horses, just...thicker). I did my best to follow the directions I'd been given, but couldn't find this place for a good half hour. I was getting more and more stressed (some of those roads were really treacherous and I had no phone signal), and seriously thought about just heading home again. But I persevered, and eventually reached my destination--a stable and farm out in the middle of nowhere. I was greeted by chickens, geese, sheep, and a couple of cats. Quite the menagerie, and I wish now that I'd taken a photo, but as I was running late, I was in a rush to get to the stables. There's at least one chicken in there.

This is Max, my ride for about an hour and a half.

It was raining steadily when we started, which made me think again that I should have just gone home, but before long, it cleared up.

It was just my guide, Carrie, and myself. We talked about all sorts of things during the ride. She shared about her father's death a year ago, her children, how she met her current partner, how she used to dream of owning a horse ranch in California when she was a little girl, and her opinion about Brexit. She was strongly for it, and when I asked why, the first thing she said was, "Because I can remember how it was before." When I asked if she thought it was better then, she said, "Oh, yes!" She then went on to talk about immigration and the strain on social services, and that immigrants were sending all the money back home instead of reinvesting it in the local economy. She also shared several stories of abuses of the system she's heard of in the news and from people she knows (interestingly enough, they were stories of Polish and Romanian immigrants). It was tough, in some ways, to just listen, especially since I question some of her generalizations and sources of information, and I disagree with some of her conclusions, but it was instructive. She, like many of the Welsh (who voted overwhelmingly to leave), has a strong feeling of the EU depleting Great Britain's resources, and an indignation at the idea of people "taking advantage," both of which would be justifiable if they were true. Are there likely some people taking advantage of the system, claiming UK pensions for themselves and for families still living in other countries in Europe? Probably so. Is that a majority, and are UK citizens being denied their own privileges as a result? I don't know, but I question that. What I could have asked Carrie if I'd been in a more feisty mood was about the millions of dollars in aid the EU has given Wales over the past decade, which I only learned about by listening to the news here. I refrained, however. Riding ponies through the woods was not the time to provoke an argument, and I must say my heart went out to her after hearing about some of the hardships she's been through in the past few years. And, ultimately, I'm a visitor, which makes my right to pass judgment a flimsy one.

But back to the beauty of my surroundings: here's a shot of a field of foxglove that we happened upon. These flowers are everywhere, but I hadn't seen such a concentration of them until that moment.

Chickens taking shelter from the rain as I was leaving.

Tomorrow I head down to Stratford, and the next day on to London for the final leg of my journey. I'll be sorry to leave the wild beauty of Wales behind, but am looking forward to a working cell phone again and roads that are easier to navigate. I might be posting an abbreviated update or none at all tomorrow as it will be my birthday and time, I think, for an evening off!

Mountains, Mist, and Grand Manors

This morning, I woke up to the news that Great Britain had voted (or at least a majority had voted) to leave the European Union, which is very big news here indeed. I've eavesdropped on conversations around me, asked people directly, and watched it discussed in the news for the past week, and I've heard some very ugly reasons (anti-immigrant/xenophobic anger) as well as some funny ones ("They regulate our light bulb wattage and the Hoovers don't work as well anymore!")for why people wanted to leave. I, in turn, have been asked by a number of people what I think of Donald Trump (I rather resent I've had to spend even a second of my vacation discussing that man, but I understand people's curiosity). Anyway, enough about politics. There are people far more knowledgeable and intelligent than I am on the internet to discuss those things.

After considering a number of options for what to do today and soliciting the input of two Australian women and the B&B owner at breakfast, I looked at the weather report and tried my best to plan a day that would work with the predicted weather. Which, of course, was just silly. Some of my nervousness about navigating sans GPS crept back when I had trouble translating what I was seeing on the map of the town and getting to this little church, which, as it turns out, was really close by. It's St. Michael's, the oldest still-standing structure in this area, and some say the oldest church in the area. In the yard was a yew tree, which I recognized after a lovely random conversation with an English couple I met a couple days ago when I pulled over to take pictures. They struck up a conversation with me and (we were near another church at the time) the husband pointed out the yew trees and said they are common at churches and can live over 1,000 years. So I went over and gave this one a pat, because honestly, how often do you get the chance to touch something living that could have been around for a millennium? If only trees could talk...

It was then time to get in my car and attempt driving further afield--Llanberis, to be exact. This involved driving on a few different highways, one of which took me twisting and turning up and over a mountain. As if this wasn't challenging enough, it began to pour rain. But, amazingly, I made it. Llanberis is where you catch a really really slow train (it goes only 5 miles an hour) that takes you up Snowden mountain. Here's the station:

I gamely paid the 29 pound ticket price and eyed the clouds. It seemed, at least here at the base, that it might be clearing a little, which in retrospect I recognize as wishful thinking.

They really cram you in on these trains. There were five of us seated on a hard bench built for four people, and the man next to me happened to be huge--at least 6'5" and just...big. Scrunched up and trying to stay in my space, this was my view:

Things were all right in the first leg of the train's climb

But the higher we climbed, the more mist intensified, and by the time we reached the halfway point, it was pouring rain. This, by the way, is the very top of the mountain. I climbed up even though one wrong move on those slippery steps (with the strong wind blowing) would have sent me plummeting.

Because, you now, I wanted to make sure I captured the amazing view:

Of course, after the hour-long trip back down the mountain, during which time I spoke with a lovely retired counselor from Minnesota, the downpour spent itself, and the day cleared up.

So, I decided to drive another twenty minutes or so to Penrhyn Castle, which, again, I found! It was genuinely amazing to me that I would actually arrive at these places and drove the right way. This was a property built in the early 1800s by a noble family who made their wealth from slate mining and, in later generations, hosted members of the royal family.

The interior was gorgeous and very Downton Abbey:

A glimpse of below stairs, where a large staff worked hard to keep up all that upstairs grandeur:

A gorgeous home in a gorgeous location, especially when the weather is nice:

And a smiling sheep to boot:

Overall, a successful and mostly enjoyable day out, but I was extremely happy to see my little guesthouse come into view (another successful drive!). While I am getting slightly more comfortable with these narrow little roads and their twists and turns and am even learning a little Welsh ("Araf" means "slow"), I must admit I'm looking forward to not having to navigate once I'm in London. I just have to get there first.

Into the Wilds of Northern Wales

This morning, I said a very reluctant goodbye to the chickens and my wonderful B&B in Hay-on-Wye. It certainly wasn't the most plush of the places I stayed, but it was the place where I felt the most at home. A lot of that had to do with Liz, the manager, who so chatty and friendly and accommodating (she even did a load of laundry for me!). Sure, the bed was a little too hard and the pillows squashed down to nothing, but the friendliness more than balanced that out. As did the chickens. She set them loose again for me this morning after breakfast, and I was able to video it, but seeing as it took over an hour just to upload the photos below, I shudder to think how long a video would take.

Anyway, leave I did, and drove about two and a half hours north. It actually took about three since, as usual, I had to stop and take photos of all the amazing sights around me, like these:

My destination? A little coastal village called Portmeirion, which was designed and built by an architect beginning in the 1920's (more was added on over the years. It was a little like Disneyland on steroids, minus the rides.

This little dollhouse village also happens to be the setting for the cult hit The Prisoner, which is a show my boyfriend happens to love (I can't say the same, although I've only ever seen the first couple episodes). Anyway, the little building that served as his 'house' in the show is...a gift shop, chock-full of Prisoner tchotchke.

Apparently, there is an official Prisoner fan club that overtakes the place once a year and stages re-enactments of famous scenes. Even if you're not a fan, you can stay in the village if you want--a number of the buildings are holiday rentals. It's a charming and fun place to visit, but I would hate actually staying there--it's like all the hordes of Bruges condensed into an area only a quarter of the size. I came just as about 10 tour buses full of people were loading up.

When I got back in my car, I discovered I had absolutely no cell phone reception or internet/data. All those beautiful green hills (mountains?) don't make for very good cell phone coverage. Fortunately, I had anticipated this might happen and had written down the highways I needed to take. Even so, it was still a very stressful drive that last leg. The roads seem to shrink with every mile and got twistier and turnier by the minute. There literally is not room for two cars in a number of places, and when another car suddenly pops around the bend, you both have to slam on your brakes and one of you has to pull over while the other squeezes past. So, there's that. Signage is also not the greatest. You pretty much see the sign right where you're supposed to turn (and sometimes because of all the trees and bushes, you can't even see there's a road there), AND there are a ton of words on every sign since they're in Welsh and English, so it's easy to register all the pertinent info too late and just fly by. Then it's another 3-4 miles before you can find an area to turn around.

I must admit, by the time I got here and settled into my room, I was starting to feel like I might not want to go anywhere in the next two days. The thought of driving those roads and trying to navigate with maps and signs to search out various spots is a little overwhelming. I have a feeling I'll find my gumption after some sleep. Otherwise, this isn't a bad place to hang out.

Chickens, Books, and Brecon Beacons

This morning after breakfast, I decided to spend some time with the 'ladies' who produced the very locally-sourced eggs for my meal. I had the pleasure of watching them all run out of the coop (no camera on hand to catch it--sorry!). It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. They really do come out at a run, as if they'd been, well, cooped up and were eager to get out. They knew exactly where to run for their food and ignored my sad little breadcrumb offerings. 

Also running out at full speed, looking like (as Liz, the manager here put it) a sumo wrestler, was this handsome fellow, who obliged with a good old-fashioned announcement of the morning:

I watched them for quite a while, but finally tore myself away to go for a walk along the river path. I was alone for most of the path. It was like walking through a cathedral of trees, with the sound of the birds and the water beyond them hymns of praise.

Eventually, I came to a clearing. Those clouds rolling in look threatening, but it hardly rained today.

After communing with nature, it was time to pay homage to the main attraction of the town--the bookshops. I went into only five and bought only seven books. I'm rather proud of my restraint, especially considering how wonderful some of the shops are. This one specializes in 19th-century works (especially Dickens):

This one is called Murder and Mayhem, which is pretty self-explanatory:

And of course I needed to stop here

After stopping for lunch and depositing my books back in my room, I jumped in the car to see a little more of the famous Brecon Beacons. A few miles out from Hay, the sight of a number of horses pegged in fields along the side of the road caught my attention, so I turned into a small side road and came across a band of...gypsies? I don't know, but that's what it looks like to me. And yes, you're getting part of my car as I was trying to be all stealth in photographing them:

Continuing on, I came across view after gorgeous view. Here's a small sampling:

The shot above was taken while I was on a short walk after parking my car on the side of the road. While I was waiting at the fence hoping the sheep would feel my sympathetic energy and come trotting over so I could pet them, it started to rain. Of course I had left my umbrella in the car, so when it started to really come down, I took shelter in this lovely church that was closer than my car:

The caretaker told me it had recently been restored/refurbished. When I asked when it was first built, he shrugged, "Oh, probably somewhere in the 1100's or so. The Normans built all kinds of churches and castles when they came over." I love that someone can just shrug about buildings dating back to the 1100's (no biggie!). And Normans.

The rain lessened and I went back to my car, ready to return home to Hay. Problem was, my phone had stopped cooperating and refused to tell me how to do this. I drove a few miles back the way I'd come, hoping it would kick in any minute (I had bars!), but no dice. Google maps was "offline." Which left me panicking for a moment that I would be driving around the wilds of Wales until my gas ran out and die some sad, lonely death in a hedge. And then I realized that I could always just pull into a town and ask someone. Anyway, panic moment past, I continued on the highway towards a town I recognized as being close to Hay and hoped I was going the right way. Sure enough, I was. My confirmation? The ponies pegged by the side of the road, still munching away at the long grass as I zipped by them. Hallelujah for the ponies! 

Back in Hay, I took my books and a few other items I purchased along the way to the post office. The cost of shipping all that to the U.S. hurt a little, but I figure it's money well spent not to have to lug all of that with me for the next week. As I walked back to the B&B, the sun came out in full brilliance.

I found the chickens sunning themselves in the yard. They kind of tip over sideways and spread out their wings.

And now all the chickens have gone to bed. Liz told me they all go in on their own. When they come out in the morning, the rooster does a kind of head count, and if one of them's missing, he'll go back into the coop and shoo her out. I'm headed for bed myself in a minute. Tomorrow I'm off to Betws-y-Coed in Northern Wales. I'll be sorry to leave this lovely setting, and especially the chickens.