DAY 1 MON. MAY 30 - TUES. MAY 31 TORONTO - MANCHESTER

Exhaustion: fatigue: age: resignation. These were the emotions running through our minds and bodies as we began our latest expedition. And the words could be also used to describe our destination: Great Britain.

Our departure day was bizarre, to say the least. We awoke early to face the first truly bright and warm day of the early summer. At the back of our minds was the impending trip, but it was unreal because of regular, routine things: early wake-up, work-out, haircut, lawn mowing, lunch from Tim's, feeding chipmunks, the pool with neighbours Bill and Sandy. Then, a man showed up to take us to the airport, a long plane ride, no sleep, complete misery on a hot, crowded plane and .... Manchester !

We slept the afternoon away, then woke up, walked through the neighbourhood, had pints in our first pub, listened to a drunk local lady complain about how hard her life was and how much she wanted to emigrate " 'cuz there's nuthin' here", bad food at the hotel and a fitfull night's sleep, because of a messed-up body clock. Cheers !!

DAY 2 WED. JUNE 1 MANCHESTER

We missed breakfast at the hotel ! I couldn't sleep for love nor money until about 6 am, then, the next thing I knew, it was 10 ! No matter, no real travelling today, just wander in Manchester, get used to the time change and prepare for tomorrow.

Manchester is a large, sprawling and interesting city. There are still many architectural reminders of its glorious, prosperous past. Victorian-era architecture abounds, and much of it is well maintained and restored. They reflect the time when Manchester was, like Britain, a global power-house. Industry, trade and commerce was everywhere, and the buildings housed offices, banks, warehouses, shipping houses, mills, and consulates. Today, they house tandoori palaces, pubs, and chain stores. And, alongside the Victorian splendour, are examples of the change: steel and concrete monoliths of the 1960's and 70's, which stand as almost soul-less socialistic blocks of unhappiness. Something went wrong, it seems, and the change is abrupt and jarring. It is almost as though Britain tried to deny what it once was, and tried to erase the past and focus on the new, brutal truth of the modern world. Somewhere after that, however, the city found a way to adapt. Many of the newer buildings have tried to make peace and resemble their Victorian grandparents: the effect is more tranquil and pleasing.

Hopefully, sleep will come tonight, for tomorrow, we pick up our car and drive to Liverpool. My first British driving in almost eight years. We think we have everything arranged, but you just never know .......

DAY 3 THURS. JUNE 2 MANCHESTER - LIVERPOOL

They are so close on a map, it almost looks like you could walk from one to the other. But the reality is that we rented a car and had to navigate still largely jet-lagged, a toxic combination.

We called from our hotel to Manchester Airport and were assured by the cabbie that finding the Europecar Rental would be easy: we got lost in the terminal. Then, we were assured by the rental agent that it was "dead easy" to find the way to Liverpool: we got lost. Last night, the girl at the Britannia Adelphi hotel in Liverpool said it would be easy to find the hotel after travelling on the motorway from Manchester: we got VERY lost. And, yet, we made it, although our stress levels were through the roof. Lesson re-learned: nothing involving travel in Britain is easy.

Our car, a Vauxhall Astra, is small and well appointed, but it handles like a tank. It drives "heavy" and I found myself fighting it. Hopefully, I'll get used to it: I always do.

The Britannia Adelphi is an old hotel of past magnificence. It is truly beautiful on the outside, but dated and tired on the inside. Very much like Liverpool.

Admitedly, our first reaction to Liverpool was not positive. The weather was dull grey, the city difficult to navigate, the buildings dowdy, and the hotel past its prime. But then we walked down to the Albert Docks and were impressed by the renewal of the vast Victorian warehouses and docklands. Clearly, Liverpool will never again be what it once was, a thriving, wealthy, cosmopolitan seaport. In a true sense, it was, at one time, a world city. Its glory has faded, but there is renewal. Sadly, the renewal seems to be confined to the waterfront. The rest of the town leaves me nostaglic for Detroit.

The highlight was the Beatles Experience, and audio-visual chronicle of the Beatles' early years and their rise to fame and their ultimate demise. For true Beatles fans, this is a pilgrimmage, worth of reverence. The museum was excellent, and the re-creation of the original Cavern Club was moving: rather like seeing a holy site for devout Christians. We spent 2 wonderful hours there. Then, we regained the town and visited Matthew Street, site of the original Cavern Club, now an ugly modern parking garage, and the new Cavern Club just down the street, a faithful recreation of the original. What a vibrant, creative place Liverpool was fifty years ago. A city on its way down found an outlet for its frustration. Perhaps it can do so again.

The weather turned sunny and warm when we left the Docks, and, somehow, the city looked ... well, not so much beautiful as less ugly. We returned to our hotel to a free English dinner ( leathery roast pork, watery vegetables, nice deserts ) and FREE drinks ( ! ) for an hour. All we had to do was watch the faithful play bingo with all the intensity and concentration of formula 1 race drivers. I felt the presence of my old grandad as the numbers were called out in the old British bingo cadence ( "two and six, twenty-six" ) .... lovely !!

DAY 4 LIVERPOOL - CONWY

Frustration upon frustration upon frustration. Trying to make sense out of British directions and British highway signs is an exercise in byzantine bureaucracy: it makes sense to those who know it, but to the rest of the world, it's nonsense, chop-logic, and just plain stupid.

Suffice to say that we made it out alive. Liverpool is a large city with myriad streets and endless possibilities for getting lost. It almost ate us alive, but some creative navigation by Lou and dumb luck got us into Wales. Then, more madness. We chose a route that ran along the north coast, hoping for Icelandic views of the ocean, only to see endless town after British sea-side town: holiday parks ( trailer parks in North America ), sea-links ( golf courses ), sea-side resorts (downtown Port Dover x 10 to the power of 6 ), oil refineries, car parks, shopping arcades ( shopping malls ), etc. Underwhelming is the word, and what looked like a short jaunt took more than 3 agonizing hours with the weekend traffic.

Then, our luck finally changed. We made it to Conwy. The castle is something out of Robin Hood, and the walled town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is pure British postcard quaintness. We had a truly wonderful day wandering the castle site and through the town to the sea-front. A delicious dinner of Welsh lamb ( for me ) and a small sample of Welsh whisky ( for me ) ensued. I'm not sure what Lou enjoyed, but she seemed content.

Conwy Castle is part of a 13th century strategy of Edward I of England to surround rebellious Welsh subjects who had risen up against him. Ultimately, his strategy worked and Wales was subjugated by England. Interestingly, inside Conwy's walled town, the old Welsh flag ( 4 corners, red and gold squares and lions ) flew. Our B and B host, the restaurant staff and denizens in an afternoon pub were all English or Scottish. We encountered no Welsh today. Most of the tourists are English: so were the restaurant diners. We were told that we could wander freely inside the town's walls, but to be on the alert if we were to venture outside the walls. Noone was smiling when this was said. Edward I seems to have been completely victorious, at least in this town.

One thing that has been unbelievably good for us has been the weather. No rain so far, and, since yesterday, warmth and sunshine. Also, the car performed well despite the unnecessary extra miles from trying to regain our route. And, we're still healthy and speaking to each other, but we're mystified by our apparent ineptitude for getting a route right the first time. Our driving resume is undoubtedly impressive: all of Canada, including the Dempster Highway all the way to Inuvik: half of Australia: all of Scotland: all of Iceland: a good chunk of the USA: much of southern England. Why has this started so poorly? Does age have anything to do with it ? Or should I have sacrificed a goat before the trip to appease the mystical dragon of this land?

DAY 5 SAT. JUNE 4 CONWY - BEAUMARAIS

Another gorgeous morning: we certainly can't complain about the weather. We had a lovely breakfast with our hosts Alan and Elaine and learned a few things. Mainly, that the north coast of Wales is populated, permanently, by the English. We're disappointed at not hearing or seeing Welsh people. Alan explained that Conwy, despite being in Wales, is only 40 miles from England, and it's an English town. He is from Lancashire, yet lives full time in Conwy and has done so for the last 12 years. He's now Welsh, but not really. He doesn't speak Welsh, and has family and friends back in England. He spends his winters in Goa, India. I wanted to ask him where he keeps the Welsh people.

Our drive to Anglesey was fraught by more lost diversions, but not as many as before: we must be getting better! We enjoyed some lovely views of the sun-drenched coast, and arrived in Beaumarais, another of Edward I's castle towns. Beaumarais Castle, though a ruin, is every kid's dream of a perfect castle plan, complete with moat ( and swans ) and perfectly squared plan, with towers, turrets, barbicans, murder holes, etc. It was great to walk around through it in glorious sunshine and look back along the hazy coast. But I became uneasy at this. Again, it was a reminder of how the Welsh were a subjugated people, or perhaps more correctly, how the English became a garrison population in a foreign land.

We took a small boat cruise to Puffin Island, saw millions of sea-birds ( apparently a few were puffins ) and a few friendly seals. Then, back to Beaumarais for a lovely late afternoon tea with scones, jam and cream and barra brith cakes. A few beers with some Geordies in a sun-drenched beer garden followed. All very nice, but something was missing, something as ephemeral as the puffins. Ah, yes, the Welsh .....

Finally, in a local pub at dinner, we overheard two middle aged men speaking a strange language. They were obviously local, and slipped into English to greet other friends. At last ! The elusive Welshman ! I stared at them, expecting them to be dark or swarthy, to have horns or antlers, to wear skins, to act wild and uncivilized. Alas, they were just like me: middle aged men, grey, conversant with each other, and very, very human. But I felt like I'd just encountered a sasquatch. A real, live, honest-to-goodness Welshman ! Now, I'll believe in jack-a-lopes !!

DAY 6 SUN. JUNE 5 BEAUMARAIS - CAERNARFON

Should I start with the good stuff, or the bad stuff? Maybe the bad stuff first, to get it out of the way.

I'm beginning to think we can't navigate our way out of a wet paper bag. We left Beaumarais, after a great breakfast, under cloudy skies. We were pointed in the wrong direction by a kid who tried to help. We then struggled inland, trying to find the "scenic" north coast of Anglesey, but we never made it. We ended up literally going in a circle back where we started. Screw it, we found our way to Holyhead by going on the major highway in a straight line: so much for the scenic route, although we did see some lovely lush green Welsh farms. Our bad luck continued when we reached Caernarfon. We almost overshot the town centre, but managed to get into a central car park. We walked to the visitor centre and were directed to a street with 3 B and B's, none of which were open. A good-hearted neighbour said she knew the mother of one of the landlords, but we had to follow her to a "Pirates of the Caribbean" street party for the local kids. Kind of neat to see. Well, the mother wasn't there, but we were handed off to well intentioned granny who took us back to the B and B's, only to get herself completely muddled in trying to figure out a code sequence on the security scanning system, which, if successful, would've allowed us to break in. Alas, she couldn't remember the code, even though she tried to will Lou into guessing some combination of her grandkids birthdates, phone numbers, whatever. I was starting to lose it, but kept my cool and said little. Lou gamely tried to help the old dear, but, when it became obvious she would be of no help, we thanked her and let her go back to Capt. Jack Sparrow and his minions. Back to the visitor centre we went, convinced the man to call a place, secure us a room for 2 nights: we walked to the B and B, took the room, navigated our way back to the car, managed to drive back to the B and B without getting lost ( victory !! ) and collapsed.

The good stuff? Well, we're still alive, we're still talking to each other, but with more volume and edge, the weather is still gorgeous ( hot and sunny, mostly ). We had a nice walk on Holyhead, but didn't really see puffins, had a good meal in a pub on the waterfront and .... that's about it. The car, a Vauxhall Astre, feels better in my control, and I'm reading an interesting biography about Mordecai Richler. As you can see, I'm trying real hard to be positive, but Wales is not helping. Oh yeah, we heard lots more Welsh spoken today in Caernarfon: apparently, this is a centre of Welsh nationalism. Bully for them ! Oh, and I forgot to mention that the landlady of the White Lion in Beaumarais is smokin' hot. I came to Wales for this?

DAY 7 MON. JUNE 6 CAERNARFON

We had a good start to this day. After a hearty breakfast, we resolved to the Snowdonia drive, as highlighted our Lonely Planet book. We found the correct route and drove without incident to Llangberris, the terminus to Mt. Snowdon, highest peak in Wales. We decided to take the interesting Victorian era cog railway to the summit and walk back down, reasoning the descent would be easier than the ascent. The train ride up was pleasant, the views of the Welsh mountains stunning ( vistas to rival Iceland's ! ) and the weather continued sunny and warm.

Then, the descent, supposedly a two hour walk, began. It started well enough, and I was enjoying the day greatly, taking some good photos. At last, out on the land, being physical, challenging ourselves. Then, fatigue set in, due to the constant jarring of going downhill: toes, knees, lower back started to complain. Lou started to lag as her fatigue spread quickly. I had to wait. Our two hour descent became more than three. We abandonned the rest of the scenic drive. After a rest, we had dinner at the Black Boy Inn, then came back to our B and B for an early night. We are disappointed, sore and unhappy. Now also we are behind schedule. At least the weather is nice.

DAY 8 TUES. JUNE 7 CAERNARFON - DOLGELLAU

When you're feeling down, it sometimes doesn't take much to bring you back. For us, it was walking around Caernarfon inside the town walls and castle. Perhaps it's the security of being within walls, perhaps the change in weather made us close ranks, perhaps the stiffness and soreness from yesterday's hike, knowing that it couldn't possibly hurt more: whatever the case, today just felt better.

The walk around Caernarfon brought us inside the largest and most impressive of the Welsh castles. I was instantly transported back to 1969 and the Investiture of Prince Charles as Prince of Wales, the ceremony of which was held in the castle interior. I remember watching it on TV, marvelling at the ceremony. When I looked at the castle's exhibit, I once again saw the prince as a young man, single, immensely popular, just starting to shed the gawkiness of his boyhood, long before the scandals and failed marriage, and the rather dowdy figure he has now become. Such promise in that young man, with so many possibilities ahead of him: what went wrong? He has, like his future kingdom, lost something.

We tried to do the driving loop in cool, mixed precipitation. It actually hailed at one point. Then, a nice chance conversation when we pulled into a lay-by to take off our wet jackets, with a nice English couple who are planning a train trip to Canada. The sun came out, our clothes dried, our spirits lifted, and off we drove into some of the most wondrous mountain, valley, lake and village scenery we have so far seen. Then, lost again, but this time only temporarily. We found our route quickly down from Snowdonia to the wide sweep of Cardigan Bay to the medieval town of Harlech. The streets here were the most narrow and challenging, but we managed. The castle was small and rather disappointing. Perhaps we are castled out. The wind was fearsome, too, blowing like an invading force from the bay, seemingly penetrating the stern castle walls. We left the battlements, enjoyed a spot of tea and drove the short distance to our first farm B and B at Dolgellau, another small town with insane narrow streets: at least here they're on a one-way loop which we orbitted at least three times looking for parking.

After settling in and watching the farm's cat kill and devour a mouse, we relaxed and chatted with a couple from Birmingham. We noted shared opinions and experiences about many things and agreed that the modern world, Britain and Canada alike, was going to hell in a handbasket. Our best meal of the trip was at the Royal Ship Hotel: then, the heavens opened up for the most intense rain of the trip, enclosing us in our warm cocoon of a B and B, strangely content and satisfied that we'd done well, and hoping to get back on target with our trip tomorrow.

DAY 9 WED. JUNE 8 DOLGELLAU - ABERYSTWYTH

Darkness and light change so quickly in this country, it is like trying to predict how many waves will crash along an ocean shore in a minute. The light changes many times in that minute, and, when it's bright, you'd better enjoy it, because the darkness swallows it whole and covers everything.

We left Dolgellau in grey rain, mist obscuring the surrounding peaks. We had decided to push south to Aberystwyth, then doing the "mid Wales" drive described in our Lonely Planet book. After previous driving attempts in good weather, we were concerned about getting lost in the grey mists.

Instead, we had our best driving day to date, rally-style through the high mountains on our left and rolling farms to the right. We transitionned quickly, and found Aberystwyth easily, before noon. We scored accommodations in a slightly funky sea-side hotel and watched the ocean roll. Then, we recovered our car and set off on the tour. The driving was amazing through narrow winding roads and villages and farms that evoke the stereotypical images of a pastoral Britain still clinging to life in the modern gloom. First stop, in and out of sunshine, was the so-called Devil's Bridge. We didn't climb down due to our stiff joints from Snowdon, but we admired the lovely dark woods.

Next stop was Ynbyty Cynfyn, a lovely country church tucked into a small round space engulfed by a sheep farm, nestled at bottom of a damp hill. What makes this setting more appealing is the presence of a ring of bronze-age standing stones, which appear only when you concentrate, when you look really hard : they are embedded in the stone fence of the churchyard, keeping the dead in and the living out, but peering into the darkness.

Our final stint was at Bwich Nant yr Arian, a bird sanctuary in the damp woods of mid Wales. The stars of the sky are the endangered red kite, a beautiful flyer almost eradicated as vermin a short time ago, now making a determined come back. These are large birds of prey, or so we thought, sailing effortlessly on the invisible currents of air. They dove and wheeled crazily, and swooped to get meat set out by the staff for the 3 o'clock feeding. At least 60 of the graceful red and brown creatures enchanted us. Later, we learned just how delicate they are: with wing spans approaching 5 feet, they have the appearance of a winged killer. But the truth is that they are all wings and feathers. They weigh only 2 pounds and eat nothing but carrion. They aren't strong enough to kill anything larger than a small mouse. But they are among the most amazing flyers in the skies, and we thrilled to the air show.

We made our way back to Aberystwyth in brilliant sunshine and, despite being caught in a rare traffic jam, made our way to the hotel without incident. We enjoyed tea and coffee in our room watching young people surfing in the sunshine. Yes, I wrote "surfing in the sunshine" .... in Wales!!









Then, the day ended in cold, silent darkness because of bad communication and careless misunderstanding. Light to darkness in the blink of an eye.

DAY 10 THURS. JUNE 9 ABERYSTWYTH - ST. DAVID'S

Another lovely day: it gave us a sense that, maybe, just maybe, we might have touble on this leg. But our drive was almost flawless: note that I wrote "almost" : we got slightly lost in Fishgard, but quickly found our route to St. David's, the spiritual home of Wales.

We took a detour at Castell Henllys , a reconstructed Iron Age fort. I love it, because it brought the truly elemental aspect of the British, pre-Roman character to life. I've often thought that, if Arthur truly existed, he would have lived almost like this. Certainly Arthur's forefathers lived this way, and, if Arthur was a Celtic war chief in the years after Rome's withdrawl from Britain, he would have drawn on the traditions of the people who lived in this fort. It was quite tribal, almost like our First Nations, and I enjoyed it.

Then, to St. David's, a lovely town on the extreme southwestern tip of Wales. No Welsh is spoken here, sadly, even though we're only 2 hours or less south of Aberystwyth. The people are still Welsh, but not like their Gaelic-speaking brothers to the north.

St. David's Cathedral is a gem, but is in the midst of both restoration and a TV movie. The activities of the set crew absolutely took away from the magic of this romanesque treasure. Still, the roof and the heavy round arches were wonderful to see, and I touched the chest containing the bones of St. David. Lou lit a candle for her mom in the quiet sanctuary and I shed a tear. Light in the darkness: such is the purpose of these cathedrals, and I love them all.

DAY 11 FRI. JUNE 10 ST. DAVID'S

There are places on this earth where the real world, the world we know so well, meets a different world. A world where time moves slowly, less frantically, and where the spirit can emerge unfettered. St. David's is such a place.

We drove to Whitesands, a lovely stretch of beach and began our walk along the windswept rocks and dunes of the Pembrokeshire coast. Such a lovely stretch. It wasn't long before we scaled cliffs that plunge dizzyingly down to the rocks of the ever moving sea. Birds soared and wheeled on the breeze under sunny skies, and their cries mingles with the constant sigh of the ocean, making the place come alive. We loved it, and loved walking on the land once again.

Later, we drove a short distance to the ruins of St. Non's Chapel and Well, a focal point for those seeking peace and solace at the end of land. The chapel, standing on a flat promontory overlooking the sea, is a shell of what it once was, but there was a presence here that was palpable. The well, a final destination for foot-weary pilgrims, is said to have restorative powers, and I helped myself to the water: I slept well this night.

Next to the ruins was a retreat for priests needing quiet contemplation, and a 1930's vintage replica of St. Non's. The chapel, a simple one-room stone structure, was meant for quiet prayer and a simple rest after a long journey. I was greatly moved by this simple, lovely place.

This was our best day, and we needed it. Thank-you, St. David's.

DAY 12 SAT. JUNE 11 ST. DAVID'S - SWANSEA

We bade farewell to St. David's and hit the road to Swansea. The land became more rolling and rural. At Carmarthen, we took a southen turn to Laugharne, the home of the famous poet, Dylan Thomas. We saw the shed where he wrote his most significant poetry and the Boathouse, where he and his wife and children lived until his alcohol-hazed death in New York in 1953. Laugharne is a charming coastal town and we saw it, peaceful and quiet, in sunny low tide. I can understand why Thomas would want to live and write here. The inspiration of the pastoral simplicity of the Welsh land and its people were fodder for his imagination, and I found myself remembering "Fern Hill" and "Under Milk Wood", poems that I had read and admired at school.

From Laugharne, we drove to Swansea, Wales' second city and birthplace of Thomas. We were unimpressed because of its size, noise, and frankly, ugly architecture. Nevertheless, we checked into our seaside B and B and walked through the town. After an obligatory walk through a central shopping mall, we found Wind Street and walked to the waterfront. On Wind St., we found the "No Sign Bar", an absolute gem. It's one of Thomas' favourite pubs ( apparently, he had many! ) and the front part hasn't changed at all. I sampled a couple of pints of Rev. James Dark Ale, sank into a leather wingback chair and enjoyed the atmosphere. After the No Sign Bar, we checked out the street which is a smaller, but no less frantic version of the Entertainment Districts in Austin, Texas. The place was crawling with hen parties, bands of scantily dressed young women celebrating someone's impending wedding, looking for places to raise hell: I don't think they'd have too much trouble finding their objectives.

Swansea's waterfront has been done over well and features museums, shops and pubs, a marina, and nice apartments. This is the recipe for urban renewal in British cities: start at the waterfront, and then do nothing about the rest of the city. Oh well, there was a stretch of great Indian restaurants near our B and B, and we went into one and ate a huge and delicious curry, and then turned in early.

DAY 13 SUN. JUNE 12 SWANSEA

I had bad indigestion last night, and the weather has turned horrible. We're holed up in our room watching a rerun of "Columbo" and hoping to ride out the storm. Good chance to rest up.

In the mid afternoon, the rain eased up to a monsoon, so we headed out into Swansea town again. Undoubtedly the weather is playing a large role in this, but Swansea really is mostly an ugly city. Too much grey, squat architecture and ambience for my liking.

We tourned the Dylan Thomas Centre, which is a small museum dedicated to Swansea's most famous son. Fitting that, in this Celtic land, where people's verbal cadences are a lilting sing-song, a writer should hold such prominence. Would Toronto ever develop Margaret Atwood Centre, or a museum for Robertson Davies, or Montreal create a Mordecai Richler exhibit? Unlikely, but that, perhaps, is the difference between Canada and Wales. The Thomas Centre was interesting and, in spots, brutally honest about Thomas' drinking, public behaviour, and womanizing. But that is part of the bad-boy image that Thomas himself cultivated and is copied by so many media stars today. Was Thomas a great poet? Undoubtedly. Was he also the great godfather of bad artistic behaviour? Yes. ( Charlie Sheen springs to mind as a descendent of the Thomas personna. ) And was Thomas a true artist or merely the first "media star"? The jury's still out on that one.

We finished the day soggy and a little down in the dumps after such a dreary outing. Hopefully, we can pick our spirits up tomorrow when we head into the larger and more cosmopolitan city of Cardiff.

DAY 14 MON. JUNE 13 SWANSEA - CARDIFF - ABERGAVENNY

After a day of little action and no driving, we had a day of much action and too much driving.

We left Swansea in drizzle and mist. Were it not for the urban congestion, it might have been an evocative mood, but, alas, it simply put Swansea into the same league as St. John, New Brunswick.

We headed east successfully and all seemed well. You know, of course, what happened next. Cardiff, largest city in Wales, ate us up, but we've accepted the fact that driving in the UK makes no sense to North Americans, and simply tried to survive. We found a car park, and successfully walked to the tourist info centre, arrogantly thinking we had Cardiff in the bag: hell, the sun was even shining ! That should have been our clue.

We met Ben Korczynski's dopple-ganger, a fine and helpful young man named Ryan, who cheerily told us that a huge concert and a "Cardiff BBC World Singer" contest ( the Brits love these ) were ongoing, and that Cardiff and the surrounding 30 miles were fully booked. As Ryan gamely tried a couple of hotels, Lou and I went instantly into a JTF-2 like mode, quickly calculating new tactics. Ryan, to give him his due, remained positive and suggested several new spots for us: all in England. I immediately nixed that, in an anti-English "been there, done that" sneer which immediately raised us in Ryan's estimation. A new Canada-Wales alliance established, Ryan instantly became our co-pilot and we plotted a new itinerary for the week. I looked at the map and chose Abergavenny as our new destination. Why? I liked the sound of the name.

Ryan, our man in Cardiff, now took control and phoned the Abergavenny tourist office to arrange a booking. Now that our Welsh insiders were fully on the case, Lou and I wento to a coffee shop to enjoy a break in the stress. The weather got even hotter, so you know what's coming !

We returned and our man Ryan had come through for us with a lovely B and B "just outside" Abergavenny. He even printed off Google directions for us: wonderful !! A new way to foul up ! Which is, of course, exactly what we did. We tried, I mean we really tried to avoid geeting turned around, but the travel gods made playthings of us. We twisted and turned, but finally made it to Abergavenny. We wasted much time and fuel doing so. Our B and B, however, islovely, set in a completely pastoral setting on the edge of the Brecon Beacons National Park, with a nice Welsh garden for Lou to explore and a pub right across a narrow Welsh road that could double as pit row for the Michigan International Speedway.

So Ryan came through for us. Our promise in this little entente is that we will return to Cardiff later in the week, after the concerts and contests have subsided.

Just one thing is bothering me: when I began to write this, the skies were grey and threatening. Now, the sun is shining. Oh, shit !!

DAY 15 TUES. JUNE 14 ABERGAVENNY - CAERLEON - ABERGAVENNY

Necessity is the mother of invention, and we are now inventing a new itinerary literally on the fly. Perhaps that created the conditions for our best day yet.

After a hearty breakfast, we set off to visit Caerleon. The day was sunny and warm and, based on our previous experiences here, did not bode well. Still, we plotted a route through the glorious gently rolling countryside and found Caerleon without incident, an absolute first for us on this trip.

Caerleon has been on my radar for decades because it's considered a legitimate possibility for the location of Camelot. The theory goes as follows: Caerleon was one of 3 legion bases in Roman Britain from the first to the third centuries AD. The fortress was substantial and a large civillian population sprang up within and outside the walls. There were several large administrative buildings, large public baths ( partially excavated ) and a sizeable amphitheatre ( also excavated ). During its heyday, an entire legion ( the XXth ) was based there, which meant that it was home to more than 6,000 men. Add numerous civillians and the population of the town was substantial.

Now, that's the known historical part, which you can plainly see if you visit. Arthur comes in later. Forget all the Mallory, Tennyson, T.H. White, and Broadway musical stuff about Arthur and Camelot. Arthur, if he existed, was probably a fifth century Celtic warlord who tried to fill the gap created when the Romans pulled out of Britain. He was probably a tribal chief to whom the local people looked for leadership and protection, especially with the advance of the foreign Saxons from the south-west of England. Arthur would need a fortress, a capital from which to operate. I believe it was Caerleon.

While I was enjoying my tour of the Roman ruins, I kept trying to imagine Caerleon in post-Roman, chaotic, violent and uncertain Britain. The Roman structures would be in some disrepair, but not in the ruins they are now. In other words, they have been useable, liveable, and repairable for fifth century Britain. Caerleon is protected, productive countryside, where farms could have supported a fair population, as they did in Roman times. Artisans and tradesmen would have been able to live and work there, providing the tools and weapons needed for Arthur's army.

I think Caerleon gets the nod for the possible site of Camelot. Other contenders in Cornwall, Exeter, Salisbury and Winchester ( all places I have visited ) and Cadbury Castle ( a site which I have not yet visited ) claim to be Camelot. But the problem for me is that they are all in Saxon England. Wales is mostly Celtic and not Saxon, and Arthur must have been Celtic too. So, until someone tells me otherwise, I insist that I have found my Camelot.

We successfully returned to Abergavenny and strolled around the town, admiring St. Mary's Church, and enjoyed a nice tea and scone. We have decided to stay one more day in Abergavenny, then attempt our last two days in Wales in the modern capital of Cardiff before heading to Northumberland. The sun continues to shine on our lovely 15th century B and B and its wild English style gardens. We are no longer afraid of the brightness.