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 !!