Wales before snails

Having gone on at length about the joys of England I’m now going to tell you that my last few days in the UK were spent in Wales, home of rugby playing singing boys with a fondness for sheep and Tom Jones. And my Aunty Val, who kindly put me up, along with Dad and Sonia. One last thing about England first – Devon was absolutely majestically sparkling in that hour long trundle on the train. While absolutely majestically sparkling is good, part of me hates it when it is like this when I leave. It’s like Devon saying, “Oi, what you doing? How can you leave me when I am this fluffy and warm and perfectly formed?”

Wales was some compensation for sure – at times majestic, at others sparkling, and sometimes both. In a nutshell I had three full days here and logic dictates I take you through in chronological order…

So on the first day, also commonly known as ‘Day 1’, Dad and I headed to the Gower Peninsula – a Cornish like piece of Australia twinned with Scotland that was ultimately Welsh and forever associated with blonde curly haired left handed batsmen wafting gaily outside the off stump (it’s not described this way in the brochures, but this is what my head says). Skirting Swansea Bay and its many ultimate lifestyle developments we ended at The Mumbles. I think the Mumbles are some pieces of rock, or possibly a lighthouse, or a seaside resort; regardless I did find myself mumbling more than usual (there must be mystical properties in them thar rocks). Anyway, it was a very nice spot – full of old people and a pier and an average coffee by the water. A nice, civilised start.

A little further on was Oxwich Bay and, with the tide out, a vast sweep of sand and wet flats eventually reaching the sea, curving all the way round for miles and miles. It required a panorama and for that I climbed a rather large sand dune.



And then, just along the narrowest of bus routes was Port Eynon, serving up some Banana Toffee ice cream and propelling us onwards to Rhossili. This is a magic and justifiably popular spot, a near perfect bay framed by a sweeping moorland ridge, tailing off to the cliffs and peculiar rock formations around Worm’s Head (I can’t see the resemblance to a worm myself). Possibly even more peculiar was the herd of cattle strolling the beach like they owned the joint.




The second day, which we shall call ‘Day 2’ was less ambitious in its reach but served up a nice dose of Welsh goodness. We all headed to Abergavenny, which, apart from being somewhere that you cannot but help try to pronounce in an awful attempt at a Welsh accent, was having a market. There were even some sheep for sale, and with that I couldn’t quite bring myself to eat the lamb baguette for lunch.



We are, of course, in South Wales, the old one and not the New one in Australia. I cannot see much of a resemblance between the two, apart from a few sheep and shopping malls. Still, didn’t stop some confused soul in Abergavenny rocking out with his didj.


So the third day, aka ‘Day 3’, emerged bright and sunny, a spell of settled weather just arriving as I’m about to leave. Today was time to head into the Brecon Beacons, a scene of pastoral heaven giving way to the rounded hollows and ridges of the Beacons themselves.





While we dabbled in visitor centres and the town of Brecon itself, the main event of the day was a sometimes treacherous walk to various cascades and the elegant Blaen y Glyn falls. It’s not supposed to involve a river crossing, but we are adventurous and misguided souls who like taking leaps of faith towards a slippery pebble on a gushing torrent. Memories of Dartmoor come to mind.

Safely forded, the river presented a number of cascades, each one moderately more impressive than the last and culminating in a plume of white water... the majestic and sparkling part.



On the way back we stopped by Miss Whippy, who wasn’t half as exciting as I was hoping the name suggested, but Dad seemed to be in there. And with a wave from Miss W herself we headed back down into the valleys, putting a cap pretty much on my time in Wales. Another country ticked off, not so much different from some of the delicious parts of England and providing some real highlights. For once I haven’t mentioned much food, which is odd because it was pretty fine, thanks in no small part to Aunty Val and the good people of the valleys.

Back on the road, more goodbyes and four countries in one day… what’s new, pussycat?