We sat on the south facing balcony; the warm rays of sunshine still loitering as the day slowly slipped into a sheath of golden dusk. Tom had been working that day and I had arranged for dinner to be ready when he walked in the door. It was a simple salad of chicken, bacon and broadbeans in a balsamic glaze, with tomatoes, cucumbers and spinach tossed through the mix. I had arranged two glasses of a Chilean red, a £5.99 special from Tesco and slightly chilled, beside our plates to accompany our supper.
The breeze was sweet and warm as we sat on the balcony. Our cutlery tinkled as we ate and imbibed our evening victuals. The conversation turned to Tom’s impending mid-week weekend and how best to make use of it.
“We could go down to Kew Gardens and Richmond?” I suggested.
“We could,” agreed Tom, “we could also maybe hire a car, do a trip up ‘Norf’?”
The spontaneous idea struck me with delight. No office to go to on Tuesday. No ties or commitments to keep. A whole two free days, as open as the blue sky above us – ours to use as we wish. Why couldn’t we just take off somewhere? It was entirely possible and an all together pleasant idea.
Me: “Yes….yes, let’s! Where should we go? Why we could do anything really couldn’t we? Bath? Cornwall?”
Tom: “How about Wales?”
Me: “Yes! Wales would be great….I do remember Lucy from work raving about the beauty of the Snowdonia National Park!”
And so over the meal, over the salad and wine ,and under the brilliant British summer sky, we got fervently excited about this little jaunt of spontaneity we would undertake the next morn. My Europe 2007 Lonely Planet was plucked from the bookshelf and we pored over the tiny map of Wales. Fifteen minutes on the computer saw an appropriately compact (and therefore economical) rental car booked for pick-up at 8:00am the next morning. We agreed accommodation shouldn’t be hard to arrange once we got to our agreed destination – a little village called Beddgelert: a wee hamlet in the foothills of Mount Snowdon; the largest mountain in the UK outside of the Scottish Highlands.
After a night of eager anticipation, we awoke on Tuesday morning. Tom set off on his bicyle to fetch the hire care from Fulham, while I packed and prepared for our trip. Trading his bicycle for a sexy black VW Polo, Tom beeped in mellifluous greeting from the street when he returned about 30 minutes later. We loaded up and set off on our way. Westward then north! The morning traffic in London was thick, but thankfully on the move. We pootled past Heathrow and the endless line of planes landing, their path taking them thrillingly low over the motoway: there is nothing like a Boeing 737 in the final throes of touchdown.
Because of a problem on the M25, we drove past Reading and then made our way north past Oxford and then drove on toward Birmingham, before reaching Telford, where we entered Wales around Wrexham and headed toward Llanberis. The scenery changed from the undulating and rolling green hills so characteristic of the English “countryside” into the more rugged terrain of the Welsh countryside. Hills turned to peaks and mountains. We wooshed through gorgeous little stone villages that just consisted of a row of quaint pebble-dashed cottages and a central “general store slash post office”. When we reached Snowdonia National Park, both Tom and I were enthralled with the beauty of the landscape. Crystal clear lakes which mirrored dramatic peaks. The roads turned narrow and winding, edged by intricately constructed grey stone walls. The bright blue sky was cut jagged by the mountains around us, while candy floss clouds as white as snow curled gently miles and miles above the peaks. Breathtaking!
We reached the hamlet of Beddgelert at around 3pm. The drive had taken around 5 hours with a brief rest stop at one of Britain’s ubiquitous and seemingly all-identical road service centres. The village was so wee small with just a cluster of stone buildings and a beautiful gurgling stream running through the centre of the hamlet. We parked the car and stretched our legs – first order of business was to find lodgings for the night. We made our way to the small tourist information centre and was informed that a small row of B&Bs were located right next to where we parked the car. We tried one but they had no vacancies. The second proved more fruitful and we took a very small loft room in the top of a cute three story stone cottage that had lovely sash windows and colourful floral window boxes. We were astounded however, when upon inquiring whether they took debit cards as payment, the hostess said “No, only cash or cheque. But if you don’t have it on you, you can mail the payment to me when you get back home.” Such trust and friendliness! Wow! It was not something us hard Londoners were used to!
With lodgings sorted, we scouted for refreshments. Lyn’s Tea House more than adequately provided for this with a delicious cream tea of a scone with clotted cream and jam, and a small piece of the Welsh specialty bara bith (fruit cake), washed down of course with a nice steamy pot of tea. Suitably fortified, we explored our surroundings. We made our way to the “Grave of Gelert” – a small site about 400m from the village centre. The legend goes that the Prince Llewyn of Gwynedd who lived in the area had been out hunting, though inexplicably, his faithful hunting dog was absent for the expedition. When he returned home, he went to see his beloved baby son in his crib. The prince found nothing but blood and clothing shards and as he turned, he saw his dog Gelert standing in the corner of the room with blood smeared around his snout. In a fit of rage and sorrow, the prince plunged his sword into the dog’s side who let out a dying yelp. Moments later though, he hears a mewing from the next room and discovers his son, completely unharmed. Next to the boy, is the body of a dead wolf. The prince is overcome with grief and buries his dog with great fanfare and ceremony. However, he is forever haunted by Gelert’s dying yelp and legend has it, the Prince never smiled again from that day. The story was very poignant and I couldn’t help but shed a small tear as we stood in front of this solitary grave.
But on we went, through a paddock filled with sheep and lambs. One of them was bleating in the most comical way – almost like a petulant teenager, while an older sheep with a deeper “baaa” seemed to be admonish the younger one who grew more and more adamant in its cries. It was quite a display and reminded us of a teenage temper tantrum. If only the sheep had a door through which to march and then slam!
We made our way out of the village along a pebble path which eventually joined up to a stream. We followed this for around 3kms and it grew more and more rugged along the way. It was getting late so we eventually turned around. But not before removing our shoes and paddling in the cool, crystalline waters of the stream. Oh it was so refreshing, especially since the sun had been quite warm on our heads and shoulders and we’d worked up a bit of a sweat on our walk. The birds tinkled and there was the lovely sounds of the faint breeze rustling the leaves and the constant burbling of the brook. It was utter bucolic bliss I tell you!
On the way back, we were chatting and strolling along when suddenly from above the mound of trees in front of us flew a large World-War II style military plane with four propellers. We were dumbfounded as it swooped over us and then banked sharply to its right to fly between two mountains behind us. It was such an awesome sight and it made us a giddy as school children! It was so exciting and was really unexpected. A little later we noticed a military fighter jet streak over us with its sonic boom sound. As a bit of a plane freak, this added to our enjoyment of the holiday muchly.
We arrived back in the village and retired to our room to freshen up for dinner. We decided to eat at the Royal Goat Hotel which we had walked past earlier and had then decided the menu looked very agreeable indeed. The establishment was doing a bustling trade with a variety of tourists and locals. We took a table outside and started with an apertif – Tom; a pint and for me, a Pimm’s and lemonade. The evening was gorgeous – the sky was still brilliantly blue and the air was just the most perfect temperature. We couldn’t believe our good luck with the weather. And believe me, any Antipodeans (or otherwise) reading this who have experienced an English/European winter, will know why one becomes obsessed with any hint of mild and agreeable climes! After finishing our drinks, we ordered our meal from the bar. What followed was just amazing…I ordered lamb chops with vegetables and mashed potato. Tom got a rump steak with chips, tomato and onion. It was pub grub. But absolutely delicious pub grub which you KNOW has used the finest local ingredients. The lamb was the best I’ve ever tasted. Sweet and tender and delicately flavoured with mint and thyme. It was accompanied by leek (the Welsh national vegetable), carrots and delicious red cabbage and raisins. The red wine and redcurrant sauce that accompanied the dish was a revelation. Such simple food. But simply divine! Tom’s steak with peppercorn sauce was also delicious. Both of us were in raptures, having worked up a hearty appetite with our walk (and well, I have a hearty appetite most of the time anyway!).
While we were eating, three men sat themselves down at the table next to ours. Rather disconcertingly, they faced us and seemingly watched us while we ate. However, they proved to be very friendly; a man, his friend and his father, all from an island off the nearby coast had come out for the night to enjoy the lovely weather. We made small talk about the usual things and it was an all together pleasant exchange. They bid us farewell after their round of drinks and tootled goodbye from the car as they drove away. Mellowed by our gastronomic experience, we retired to another local inn for a nightcap – this time me with a Bailey’s on the rocks, and Tom with another pint. The sky was beginning to darken now and there as a freshness in the air that had replaced the earlier warmth. We discussed our plans for the morrow – to tackle Mount Snowdon! And that required a somewhat early night. So we finished our drinks, dismissed reluctanctly the idea of another round and went to bed in a village that was delightfully void of any siren, plane or Tube noise. I was taken off into the land of sleep upon the sound of the stream gurgling its way through the village.
Up at 8am, we had a hearty breakfast in the dining room with an American couple from Florida. They were travelling around the UK and regaled us with some of their British experiences. Though we could sympathise with their aversion to ANOTHER full English breakfast – there is only so much stodge one person can take! After that, we packed up the car and headed for Llanberis which is where a number of paths up Snowdon begin, but namely and importantly for us, the “easiest” one to the summit. We bought some bananas, two energy bars, some digestive biscuits, some nuts and dried fruit, as well as a hat each and some sunscreen. We set off at 10.30am and the sun was already very warm.
The first section was REALLY hard and I worried that I would be able to make it to the top at all. It starts off on a very steep and winding bitchumen road that leads to a gate into the foothills of the mountain. Luckily it seemed to level off and was much easier to negotiate from that point forward which restored my confidence. We followed the path, stopping to take in the scenery every now and then, and after about an hour of walking, we reached a small cafe which marked the halfway point. We had some tea and snacks there and after half an hour, set off on our way again. The path began to get steeper and steeper. We reached a point where it was like a giant staircase of boulders that was quite tough-going to climb. I had only sneakers on and not proper climbing shoes so I had to be quite careful where I stepped so not to twist an ankle. The “boulder staircase” gave way to a plateau where the train station was – yes, you can take a train up the mountain! (If you’re soft! 
). Here there is a small reprieve before an even steeper and more difficult part of the climb! At one point, I didn’t know if I could do it. But after a small rest, we just “did it” and climbed up the 35 degree incline hill with slippery pebbles. It seemed to take around half an hour to get through this section alone, but mercifully, it levelled out a bit and it was here that the cloud began to set in. But buoyed by my achievement of getting over this horrible bit, we marched on toward the summit which was getting ever closer. The final bit was rather rocky and bouldery, like the earlier “staircase”. But quite easy to negotiate. By 1.30pm, we had made it to the top! Yay! It was such an awesome feeling. The feelgood endorphins coursed through my veins and I forgot my exhaustion. “OK, so what’s the next mountain?” I asked Tom in fit of exhuberant giggles.
We spent around half an hour on the summit. Unfortunately, heavy cloud marred the view. But we enjoyed the sensation nonetheless. I munched on an apple and gulped a lot of water. Tom had a banana. We reluctantly bid farewell to that elusive, but finally conquered summit and started our descent. Let me tell you, going down the mountain was less fun than going up. You don’t get exhausted, but you must watch your feet every moment lest you place your foot somewhere slippery and you fall and break your neck! After getting past the slippery, steep incline, the sun came out again and unfortunately was on our necks all the way down (resulting later in a bad bout of sunburn on my neck and shoulders). By 3.30pm, we were at the car again with a most pleasant feeling of “physical graft” in our limbs. Our venture had taken around 5.5hours with two half hour breaks. The mountain is quite an easy climb – we saw many children and older people doing it, but hey, it’s no walk in the park. But I would recommend doing it to anyone.
We were able to get cash out in Llanberis so we decided to go back to our B&B to pay our host, insteading of worrying about sending a cheque. She wasn’t in and so we left it in an envelope which we put through the door. I do hope she got it and not some snoopy guest! So we started the long drive home, but not before a stop in Betwsy-y-Coed for our dinner/lunch in a large hotel pub at around 5.00pm. I had a vegetarian penne and Tom had a pizza. It was OK but no comparison to our meal the day before.
The drive home was long but relatively free of the pain of peak hour. We rolled into London at around 10pm. I slept very well that night let me tell you! Our jaunt to Wales was amazing. The feeling of utter freedom you get from taking off somewhere unknown, just because you can, is incomparable. I am so blessed not to be chained to the damn office at the moment. Being made redundant was the best thing to ever happen to me.
So unfortunately, that is probably our last trip in the UK. We have but mere weeks left on the this island we have called home for nearly two years. We will be in the Netherlands this time next month and while we have some travels planned from there, it’s with a heavy heart I think of our departure. London has been a mixed bag, but it sure has provided some beautiful memories.
I’ll leave you with some pictures from our trip and some utterly, stupendously good news….we got the visa! Our ticket home! 
)
xx
