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 !!