Our one-year old granddaughter is lucky. Her name is Rylee.
The traditional Irish spelling is Raghallaigh.
Dublinia was an exhibit of the Viking and Medieval history
of Dublin using models of how people lived back then. It gave a good overview
of what and who were where and when that was. They mentioned another reason why
Vikings struck out and invaded new lands. Only the eldest sons inherited. It
was the old rule of primogeniture. The landless younger brothers ventured forth
to seek their fortunes abroad.
Karen and Ron rode the “hop on” to the Dublin Writer’s
Museum. We walked. It was a lot longer than we thought but we got to walk
through the neighborhood of sex paraphernalia shops. At the museum an actor
performed segments from different Irish authors slipping into character for
each. The best quote was Churchill who said, “ If we solve the Irish problem
they will find a new one.”
The Ciminis went back to the hotel and we hoofed it to St.
Stephen’s Green, a Victorian gem in the city center. It had an idyllic pond
where ducks swam blithely along watching the hoards of local teens doing their
mating rituals on the grass. The evangelists were out in force trying to sell
Jesus. Flower vendors were also abundant. A man was standing alone holding a
sign that said “Jesus.” David asked if he’d lost him. The man replied that he
hadn’t. David said that if he had lost Jesus he could show him how to find him.
Another proselytizer said he had him in his heart. A passerby said that he
might find him if he took the sign to the airport.
We went to the hotel desk in search of advice regarding an
Indian restaurant. The clerk’s name was Ewelina. Where was she when we were
trying to name sheep? Anyway, Ewelina was very competent and Karen wondered why
only the Eastern European male help was rude and lazy. Our cab arrived and the
driver thought he knew a better restaurant than the one we knew of. He called
his office to inquire but had a bad signal on his phone. He asked them to text
him the name and number of the restaurant. All this was while he was driving.
He accomplished what he set out to do and delivered us at Tulsi’s. It was
delicious but the cab ride was three quarters of the cost of our meal. Our ride
home was $3 less. Maybe we were taken for a ride. I know the taxi driver didn’t
get a kick-back because the manager asked who it was and we didn’t have a name
to give him.
Tomorrow we leave Dublin for Castledermot in the county of
Kildare. It’s another castle stay. We were warned there would be a huge crowd
coming to Dublin for a major Irish football game. It’s like rugby with a round
ball. If we figure out which side of the river we need to be on to get to the
highway we should be able to get out of here.
Our one-year old granddaughter is lucky. Her name is Rylee.
The traditional Irish spelling is Raghallaigh.
Dublinia was an exhibit of the Viking and Medieval history
of Dublin using models of how people lived back then. It gave a good overview
of what and who were where and when that was. They mentioned another reason why
Vikings struck out and invaded new lands. Only the eldest sons inherited. It
was the old rule of primogeniture. The landless younger brothers ventured forth
to seek their fortunes abroad.
Karen and Ron rode the “hop on” to the Dublin Writer’s
Museum. We walked. It was a lot longer than we thought but we got to walk
through the neighborhood of sex paraphernalia shops. At the museum an actor
performed segments from different Irish authors slipping into character for
each. The best quote was Churchill who said, “ If we solve the Irish problem
they will find a new one.”
The Ciminis went back to the hotel and we hoofed it to St.
Stephen’s Green, a Victorian gem in the city center. It had an idyllic pond
where ducks swam blithely along watching the hoards of local teens doing their
mating rituals on the grass. The evangelists were out in force trying to sell
Jesus. Flower vendors were also abundant. A man was standing alone holding a
sign that said “Jesus.” David asked if he’d lost him. The man replied that he
hadn’t. David said that if he had lost Jesus he could show him how to find him.
Another proselytizer said he had him in his heart. A passerby said that he
might find him if he took the sign to the airport.
We went to the hotel desk in search of advice regarding an
Indian restaurant. The clerk’s name was Ewelina. Where was she when we were
trying to name sheep? Anyway, Ewelina was very competent and Karen wondered why
only the Eastern European male help was rude and lazy. Our cab arrived and the
driver thought he knew a better restaurant than the one we knew of. He called
his office to inquire but had a bad signal on his phone. He asked them to text
him the name and number of the restaurant. All this was while he was driving.
He accomplished what he set out to do and delivered us at Tulsi’s. It was
delicious but the cab ride was three quarters of the cost of our meal. Our ride
home was $3 less. Maybe we were taken for a ride. I know the taxi driver didn’t
get a kick-back because the manager asked who it was and we didn’t have a name
to give him.
Tomorrow we leave Dublin for Castledermot in the county of
Kildare. It’s another castle stay. We were warned there would be a huge crowd
coming to Dublin for a major Irish football game. It’s like rugby with a round
ball. If we figure out which side of the river we need to be on to get to the
highway we should be able to get out of here.
We
had the luxury of sleeping late this morning. We woke at 8 AM & weren't
prepared for humor at breakfast when David read the label on the margarine. It
said, "Vegetable Fat Spread." I guess they're not into
euphemisms.
We
bought a 24- hour pass to a "hop on and off" tour bus that would get
us around town and give us an overview of what there was to see and where it
was located. Before the first "hop off" I learned that Vikings
came to Dublin in 841 CE. (I use Common Era and BCE for Before the
Common Era instead of AD & BC. It's a Jewish thing.) They came because of
overcrowding and to plunder. Give me a break! Overcrowded where? In Iceland?
You could move all our illegals into Iceland today and they wouldn't be
noticed. I also learned that according to Celtic myth a shamrock stands for the
trinity and leprechauns were cobblers to fairies. Now I won't wear a shamrock
and I wonder if the little guys specialized in gay clientele or Tinkerbell.
Come to think of it, that might be redundant.
The
City Center proved to be architecturally ordinary until we came upon a few
Georgian and Gothic lovelies. There were a surprising number of vacant stores.
We
got off at Trinity College whose library houses the Book of Kells, an
illuminated Christian text handwritten on calfskin by monks in the 9th
century. Impressive. On close inspection the occasional calf hair has been
spotted. Before we got to the Book of Kells there was an illustration of Ogham,
a stylistic Celtic alphabet from the 5th century that was written on vellum.
Once again impressive, but... I got to asking David about the dating of Hebraic
writings and pre-Hebraic like Phoenicians. Now we're talking thousands of years
ago. So in the long view of history the Book of Kells is a toddler.
Historic Time Line
I realized that I’m woefully ignorant of Irish history and
that’s why I haven't been able to relate to it. When I studied English history
in school, Ireland was invisible. Somehow English literature included the Irish
greats (Joyce, Shaw, Brecht, Beckett, Wilde,Yeats) but their leaders were
absent. I'm beginning to fill it in. One thousand years ago Ireland was wet.
Around 700-900 CE the climate changed and it began to warm. In 431 CE the first
bishop was sent to Ireland by the pope. 1845-49 was the Potato Famine causing
over two million to emigrate. There was an unsuccessful rebellion, the
Easter uprising, against England in 1916. By 1922 they'd gained home rule but
didn't leave the Commonwealth and become an independent (80% Catholic) nation
until 1947. Northern Ireland (Church of England) was split off and stayed a
part of Great Britain. In 1969 The Troubles began and British troops were sent
to the North. That didn't end until 1994.
Blasphemy, Beer & Bridges
We
bought a Heritage Pass before we came here. It's been great. We get anywhere
from 10%-50% off some admissions. We also get a senior discount. Sometimes
there's a double dip. At Christ Church, a Gothic Anglican cathedral built in
1172, they couldn't do the math and let us in free. We were almost kicked out
when Karen got the giggles this time. Not really. She was very discreet and
curled up in hysterics on a bench in an unobtrusive spot. She'd looked into the
baptistery and moved on to the next anteroom. As she approached she saw a glint
of gold. Expecting to see a gilt statue of a saint, Mary, or Jesus, she was
taken aback and didn't recover from the sight of a three-foot high gold duck
with wings spread in preparation for flight. What popped out of her mouth was,
"Holy duck!"
Fortunately, we got to visit the
Guinness Brewery next. It’s an impressive converted warehouse that uses
original installations and glass to create an upward motion culminating in the
round viewing deck on the 7th floor. That’s everyone’s goal where free tastes
are. They're no cheapskates. The free taste is a pint. Established in 1759 the
original lease was probably the best in history. It was 45 pounds/year for
9,000 years. That’s no typo. Not quite as good as the purchase of Manhattan.
This is for my granddaughter Alex
who has an aversion to bridges. There’s a pedestrian bridge across the river
Liffey that she'd be interested in. They call it the “quiver in the river”
because when you walk across and get to the middle of it the bridge trembles.
We rode on to our last stop near
the dinner theater where we'd made a reservation for tonight. We were early so
we stopped at a Burger King for a Coke. To put prices in perspective they
charge $6.80 for a Whopper. Our lunch at O’Neill’s Pub wasn't terribly
expensive and was excellent. We learned to ask questions of people on the
street only if they're dressed in business attire or are police. The rest are
foreign workers or tourists who don't know anything. The cops told us to try the
O’Neill’s. It was so stereotypical that we thought we’d fallen into a 1940’s
movie set. The paneling was dark, the lighting dim, the crowd, loud, and the
barkeep overworked. We lined up to order our food and slogged to a table. We
had to clear it ourselves but that seemed to be the custom. The only thing
missing from the old-time setting was there was no smoking. There’s no smoking
indoors at restaurants here. That’s a huge step for Ireland and Great Britain.
The dinner show was called Celtic Storm and that it was. It
exceeded our expectations on all levels and we've been to many of these in many
countries. The food was phenomenal. We tried colcannon, a soup made from
potatoes, leeks, and cabbage. It was luscious. I had a veggie crepe called a
“boxtey” (a potato and flour pancake) while David tried Irish stew. The
desserts were either Irish crème cheesecake or dense chocolate cake. Both were
excellent. The level of the performers and costuming was first rate. I liked it
better than Riverdance. They did mention Riverdance during the program and did
the original dance that got it all started. It was first performed as a 15-
minute act on TV. The music and especially the fiddling had such kinship to our
Appalachian sounds and the reels were pure West Virginian. Many songs had a
Nashville connection and could have been lifted out of our country genre if
they hadn’t been written herefirst.
One of the songs told about the immigration to America. They sang of leaving one
island for another. Ireland for Ellis Island, “isle of hope and tears.”It’s no wonder there’s a bluegrass zydeco
band from New Orleans touring Ireland. They were on a morning TV show today.
There was vaudeville shtick and storytelling. They even did an Irish “hand
jive” of knee slapping that was daunting. They were so fast it’s a wonder no
one got punched in the face. The weak link was the MC’s daughter who reminded
me of an American Idol reject. Simon Cowell would have described her as
“pitchy.”
During the opening act the table
next to ours was extremely noisy. I asked the maitre de if he could speak to
them if they stayed as boisterous when the show started. He said that indeed he
would. By way of closing the MC welcomed people who were celebrating special
occasions. He mentioned a man at that table then introduced the others sitting
there. They included his dear friends and his wife. It’s a good thing they
quieted down on their own. It could have been embarrassing.
On the way out I stopped to speak
with the costume designer. She asked where we were from. When we say we’re from
Ohio people ask if it’s near California. But she had relatives in Toronto so
knew the Great Lakes region.
We’ll hop back on the bus tomorrow
and see where we end up. Kilmainham Gaol is our first choice. It’s at one at
one of the stops.
Poor
David saw a laughable sight and couldn't share it. We'd all fallen asleep in
the car on the way to the airport. We were on the expressway and had forty
miles before we had to look for exit signs so we all nodded off. What he saw
was a line of cows crossing the highway on a pedestrian bridge over our
road.
If
you know David you know he likes to leave plenty of time when going to an
airport. We left our hotel at 6:30 AM for what the directions said was a two
hour drive. We had four hours to make it and return the car. It took us three
hours and we didn't get lost. It took us a half hour to return the car. We did
get lost within the airport complex. We got chummy with a man we asked
directions of several times and he wished us."All the best," each time. Even the guys in the security
compound who came out (unarmed) before I could enter and violate all the
signs on the door that I didn't notice called me "love" but
couldn't help.
I
was impressed that they had baby food for sale and baby menus available at the
Manchester airport. David had seen them at lots of restaurants too. We flew Lux
Air (based in Luxembourg) to Dublin. It was only a half hour flying time.
Things were easier once we could find our gate. It wasn't posted until they
announced that the flight was boarding. The flight attendants had their heads
sticking out of the plane door wondering where everyone was.
Where’s the Green?
Ah,
the wearing of the green! It was green when we hit landfall after flying over
the mountains of Wales and the Irish Sea. We taxied along green runways. Then
we hit Dublin. It's a city. It doesn't look polished and the buildings aren't
charming so far but we're in an area that's being gentrified. I guess it hasn't
arrived yet. We were used to pastoral charms and have to re-orient to
citification. What more can I say? Our hotel, the Park Inn, is well located
near the River Liffey and within walking distance of the Temple Bar district
where there are scads of restaurants. The hotel is modern and funky. Kind of
cute in an off-beat way if you like salmon red walls. We do. The disinterested
desk clerk told us he knows little about the city or its services and didn't
seem interested in learning. He's only in Ireland for a few months then goes
home to Eastern Europe. The Ciminis didn't have a reservation when we got here
despite having correct vouchers. On the other hand they had our booking correct
but also had us returning on Oct. 1 for another three nights. Whoops! We got
that all straightened out and David went off to buy a phone card so we could
call the tour company in the States. They called back with the number of their
local contact. We'll touch base with them tomorrow.
One
thing that threw us was the traffic light system. Red traffic lights on
either side of the road mean no turns. There's a small green arrow showing that
through traffic may proceed. It took a couple of beeps behind us to figure that
out.
We
ate at La Med, an Irish/Italian restaurant in the Temple Bar district. We had
authentic Irish stew. It had to be authentic. We were in its homeland. We would
have slurped up the soupy parts but didn't want to embarrass ourselves. We used
bread to mop up all the juices.
Tomorrow
we'll do a hop-on hop-off bus tour and hope to hit the Guinness Distillery. I
imagine our hopping may be impaired after that.
When
we got into the car to leave Betws-y-Coed, our two guys proudly told us
they did an expert job of packing the luggage. They called themselves “Two Men
and a Trunk.” For those of you out of our area, Two Men and a Truck, is a
moving company. Karen also deserved bragging rights. Her bladder control was
stellar last night. When we were joking about the sheep to mountain size ratio,
she began to laugh uncontrollably. For those of you who remember, one of my
emails from Florence, Italy told of how she wet her pants during a giggling
bout there.
We
had directions from an on line map service that proved to be overly optimistic
in estimating driving time on these roads. They didn't take into account that
there might be other cars, that some roads were too narrow even to warrant
center lines indicating lanes since there was no room for two lanes, and
they certainly didn't take into consideration prostrate sheep huddled against
the foot of a hill next to the road with their rumps and tails infringing
on our road space. David's only comment at that sight was, "Lamb
chops."
The
inevitable happened and we stopped for gas. The advice we'd gotten when using a
petrol station was not to look at the pump or the receipt. We didn't listen. We
peeked. We're driving a VW Jetta. It took the equivalent of just under 10
gallons and we paid the equivalent of $76. That's almost $8/gallon. That wasn't
half as scary as the sign posted before a bridge we had to cross that warned,
"Weak Bridge." That sobered us up after that bridge collapse in
Minneapolis.
Tintern
It
was a schizophrenic day. We thought we were going to be in Wales as we drove to
Tintern in the South. Our goal was Tintern Abbey of the poem Wordsworth wrote
in 1793. David said he saw a sign welcoming us to England. We pooh poohed him.
Surprise! We thought we were only going to Ireland and Wales but found
ourselves in England and stayed there most of the drive. We rode along the
border and the only way we could tell where we were was to see if the signs
were bi-lingual or the "Slow" stenciled on the roads also said
"Araf." Our hotel, the Speech House is a charming inn and is also in
England. It served as Charles II's hunting lodge in 1676 and later was converted
into a meeting house and court house.
We
swallowed hard and worked our way through the Forest of Dean, about 20
roundabouts, and on into Tintern. Tintern Abbey was a 12th century abbey
built along the River Wye for the Cistercian monks. We'd been to the Abbey
about twenty years ago and thought the Ciminis would love it. We
remembered how much we enjoyed their audio guided tour and were relieved to see
they still offered it. What an experience! Gregorian chants were the background
for the narrative as we walked through the ruins. The sound effects were so
vivid that when we heard a bell ring to call the monks to dinner we took
our headphones off to listen thinking it was tolling in real time. Exterior
walls are pretty much intact but the roof and floor are gone. There was the
omnipresent green scaffolding rigged for the re-facing of the main exterior
wall so we had to buy a post card rather than use our cameras. The decay is
partially the erosion of time but mostly the greed of the villagers. When Henry
VIII stripped the church of its authority and power in 1530 the locals stripped
the churches of anything they could carry away. That included building
materials.
We
were supposed to meet Michael, a colleague of Karen's who lives in England. He
was driving in from London. We were told that we could eat lunch at a
hotel across from the Abbey, but they'd stopped serving until dinner. We
decided to try to find the spot where Wordsworth sat to pen the Ode. We knew he
was on a hill overlooking the Abbey and that he was in a cemetery. We thought
he sat among Jewish graves. The proprietor of the hotel didn't know anything
about the story but he directed us to a church ruin and graveyard up a hill
behind the hotel. When Michael arrived we all started climbing the path but
realized it was in the wrong direction. Ron and I took off up another trail
while the others waited below. We did find the church and an ancient cemetery.
The grave stones were mostly too weathered and deteriorated to read but we
could make out a word here or there. I became excited when I made out what I
thought was Hebrew lettering on one marker. It turned out that with the
blurring of the letters I was really reading the word "died"
backwards. Ron and I diligently went from stone to stone scrambling through
knee-high grasses and avoiding sunken graves trying to discern the markings. We never found any sign or symbol of Jewish occupancy. There
was a man sitting alone basking in the sun and we questioned him about the
Jewish presence but he'd never heard the tale either. Nevertheless we enjoyed
our hike and adventure. I'm sure Wordsworth had the best view from up there but
in the intervening years the trees had grown up forming a screen. We got great
shots of the valley, and cemetery but none of the Abbey. Besides, that
scaffolding would have been in the way.
We
never got to Cardiff and the seaside town of Penarth we'd hoped to see. Too
many diversions. Too little time.
A
sad update. The body of the 9- year old boy who fell in the river in
Betws-y-Coed was found.
Again,
to end on an upbeat note. We followed Michael and his GPS guided car to our
hotel. He got lost and had to call the hotel for directions. It did my heart
good. At least natives are confused by these roads too.
Tomorrow
we leave the hotel at 6:30 AM. We don't believe the driving times on the
directions anymore and are leaving plenty of time to get lost, return the
rental car, and get to our flight to Dublin.
Every
trip has to have one throw-away day. In Peru we spent a hell of a lot of money
to fly over Nazca lines in the desert near Ica. We were air sick and visited a
tacky oasis. At least today we didn't spend a fortune but we didn't get to all
we'd planned to see. We did pick some losers.
We
started early so we'd be able to see what was on our list or allow time to get
lost. We got lost. At one point it became so tedious passing the same sheep
over and over that we began to name them. We came up with the inevitable
Blackie and Whitie then got more creative with Shellie, Ewie, and Ramon.
Tonight, after a drink, Karen thought of the Queen of Sheepa.
At
last we got to Snowdonia National Park. As mountains go Snowdon is not huge at
2500 feet. As we approached the scenic railroad, clouds cast black shadows on
the hills while mounds of slate and shale reflected purple. At least there was
enough sunlight to cause shadows. Ron and I have had a difference in opinion as
to whether or not the mountains were big. He insists that the sheep looked
really small next to them. I concede that was true. I was comparing them to the
Rockies, not to the sheep. Ron also had a drink when we had this talk. We did
learn that the mountains are high enough to require 250 rescues a year.
The
Snowdon cog railroad was built in 1895 and is propelled by a Swiss built
engine. The steam locomotives are powered by coal and smell sulphuric. We were
trying to imagine what it would have been like in a world powered by coal.
There was a movie explaining the history of the railroad and the
introduction to it was done by a young man whose English was unintelligible to
me. I got the giggles and covered my mouth. He must have heard me because he
asked if I had something to contribute. I didn't understand him and didn't know
he was even talking to me. He realized he'd caught me off guard and muttered
some more. Karen asked me if I frequently misbehaved in school. When he left us
in the theater he had trouble closing the door. When he succeeded it slammed
with an echoing clang and we were sealed in the dark. I mentioned that I half
expected to hear the hiss of gas.
We
bought tickets then waited 1 1/2 hours for our round trip of 1 1/2 hours.
That included a half hour stop at the mid-point before reversing.
Construction prevented us from continuing to the top. Eight people were crammed
into cubicles built for six and, knees battled for space as we chugged on up.
We packed a lunch planning to eat at the stop. When we got there it was so cold
and cloudy we stayed in the cars to eat. Ron and David ventured out during the
brief breaks in the clouds. We lucked out. The other people in our compartment
decided to walk the 2 1/2 miles down. Our ride down was so much better since
I stretched out and slept.
We
got chummy with a couple from Kent, England while waiting for the train. She
and I decided to go to the bathroom "just in case" since there were
no facilities up top. I told her about "preventative peeing" and she
told me that her kids still talk about "giving a squeeze."
Slow Going To Nowhere
Between
the heavy traffic, narrow roads, and getting lost we averaged 15 miles per
hour motoring to Portmerion a Welsh seaside version of Epcot and a rip-off
at $13 per person admission. The entry drive was lined with a wall of
hydrangeas and promised the magnificent gardens mentioned in the
brochure. Ron, ever the optimist and always trying to put a positive spin
on things, thought it only needed a coat of paint. It was designed and
assembled in the early 1900's by an architect who should have known better. He
tried to create an Italian village including what-knots from around the globe.
The Buddha featured in the movie Teahouse of the August Moon lurked in a
gazebo while gilt statues of Thai dancing girls pirouetted atop columns by the
pool. There were too many improbabilities to mention. It was gift shop ridden
and even the woodland garden trail was tired looking. When we passed a fountain
into which people had thrown coins Karen warned that we should be careful not
to drop any money in or we might have to come back.
We
had no time to see the copper mine or castle we'd planned on so tried to
save the afternoon by going to the nearby town of Porthmadog. It's not about
dogs. Madog is an historic figure. Towns here close at 5:30pm. Most stores and
restaurants fold up and roll their wares inside. We found a parking lot in time
to leave.
We
had great directions getting back to Betws-y-Coed but it’s
a melancholy town today. We saw lots of emergency equipment yesterday and the
news carried a story of a child falling into the river near a waterfall. There
were police on every bridge peering into the water and helicopters hovering. I
don't think they hope to find the child alive. It overcomes me every time we go
through town.
I
don't want to leave you on a heavy note so I'll mention the sign we saw outside
a church. Although we missed the event it brought smiles to our faces. A Ferret
Derby took place on August 12.
O.
K., so I got it all off my chest yesterday and feel better now. Maybe it came
out as it did because I was propped with my knee on an ice bag while the
computer sitting on my lap was plugged into electricity. I'm happy to be
here even though it wasn't at the top of my list. Scenery is scenery but if
it's lovely I can still appreciate it after a good night's sleep. But I'm still
ticked at the root causes of airport security. Bottom line is I can't cope well
with disorganized living. It's a good thing I'm traveling with a psychologist.
Things
looked up when I took a shower. The crescendo of the clanging and wailing of
the water running through the pipes built until it became orgasmic and sounded
better than any sex I've ever had. The problem of the phone message light being
perpetually on (the desk agreed it was a worry but couldn't fix it) was solved
by tossing David's underwear over it. We passed out and slept in our lumpy
uneven bed comprised of two twin mattresses of different heights that had been
pushed together.
The
sun came out this morning and we were able to walk the castle grounds in
comfort. A gardener took us under her wing and showed us to the whipping pit
where prisoners were flogged before being taken to the drowning pool. If they
survived that they were stashed in the dungeon until they died. The dungeon was
one room about eight feet square that was reported to hold seventy people. She
led us to the grave of "the gray lady," her husband, and his lover's
head. The gray lady is said to haunt the castle. She hasn't been resting well
since she lopped off her husband's head then she in turn was beheaded. I
assume his lover was beheaded as well since her head rests with them. I don't
know what became of the rest of her. Perhaps she was fed to the black adders
that are said to exist in these parts. On a happier note: the grounds are
inhabited by luscious looking peacocks of which I have more pictures than I
need thanks to the freedom of digital photography.
Wanders
We
pulled out of Ruthin past hills covered with heather (yes, we sang the song)
and tooled on to our next stop. We encountered free range sheep and saw a truck
carrying free range eggs. I guess they start their free range chickens young.
Signs are all written in Welsh and English with Welsh being the first language
on signage. The directions warned of "bad bends" in the road so we
were concentrating on keeping David away from the stone walls and on his side
of the of the highway. Highway here is a two-lane road. A motorway is what we'd
call an expressway. That's how we ended up in LLangollen instead of LLandudno.
Hey, they both start with "Ll."
Llangollen
is a charmer of a village. Some of its earliest settlers were two women whose
parents disapproved of their relationship. These lesbians set up housekeeping
with their maid with whom they were extremely close. Read menage-a-trois. They
were visited by numerous dignitaries including Walter Scott and Wordsworth.
They’re buried with their maid in the church and a monument and
marker were erected commemorating them all. Now I understand why the town
is famous for its alternative festival.
We
assembled lunch between a bakery (meat and cheese pasties) and a fruit stand
(Italian peaches, local blueberries and raspberries) and walked over to the
canal. We hopped onto a horse pulled canal barge to enjoy the scenery and our
lunch. We could have been in Canal Fulton.
We
didn't realize our error until we got into the car and looked at the map as we
headed to our next stop. We corrected course and made it to Llandudno, a
seaside town of Victorian architecture. I took tons of pictures while
scampering on the stone strewn beach (see, my knee is functional) and we
huddled together against the stiff wind from the Irish Sea until one of us gave
up due to the cold. It was Karen this time, not me.
The
trip to Betws-y-Coed (pronounced betus-ee-coyd) was through the kind of
topography we see on the way to Wooster, Ohio. There were more sheep but the
gently rolling farmland and rolled bales of hay could have been transplants. We
were to stay at the Best Western Waterloo Hotel but when we arrived the didn’t have our reservation. We had vouchers for today and
tomorrow. They relocated us to a major upgrade. We're at the Royal Oak, a
sister hotel and stunning example of stonework overlooking the river Dee.
Dinner
was at the Stables Bar. We've found bar meals are as reasonable as it gets here
(8-9 pounds or $16-18 plus beverage,) varied, and filling. We lolled around the
hotel bar afterward until we started nodding off. We have an early start
tomorrow and a full day as we explore Snowdonia in Western Wales.
I
think the emails from here will be shorter since we're not on a guided tour.
We're a little short on historic background. I'm sure brevity is
appreciated.
