Mynach Falls, Cymru (Wales)

Just exactly how mom and I came up with our travel game plan, I do not remember. I knew she wanted to go to Yorkshire, endeared to her by Dr. James Harriott, author of the series starting with "All Creatures Great and Small." He made Yorkshire a living thing for her, as no other story had. Eventually, that was where we were due to end up, but she indulged my need to be in Wales, and thus we wound up at the Devil’s Bridge. I wasn’t there for the story about the bridge, but rather for what lay under it: the highest waterfall in the whole of the UK, Mynach Falls.

Now, when you’ve been next to some falls like the ones in Yellowstone and the Tetons, Mynach, at 300 or so feet, doesn’t sound like much. For me, however, it was a landmark in Britain. That alone meant more to me than the Reflecting Pool at Yosemite. Part of me is forever buried in the UK, and that part pines to be there again at least weekly, if not more.

It was probably a bit after lunch before we got to the Devil’s Bridge, with its scenic overlook and tearoom. Mom and I headed to the hiking path, and came to a sign that will stick in my mind for a longtime. I know now that they were not kidding!
I didn’t photograph it, though I would today, but I remember the list of “if you have this problem:” being quite long! It went from basic motor function difficulties right up to and including diabetes. That’s the one that made mom hesitate, and after doing the hike, I was glad she had. Essentially, the warning sign was telling the hiker to be aware that rescue was next to impossible, so don’t risk it if you are not prepared.

They weren’t kidding.

I would’ve been better prepared than I was, had I had any clue what I was walking into. I took no water, no firstaid kit, and was dressed really inappropriately had I gotten stuck. Top that off with doing the hike in my cowboy boots, and I think stupid might be applicable.
Wisdom does come with age, and the next hike will not be done quite so haphazardly.
I also will take more time, because the place is beautiful.

Due to time, yet again,I ended up doing the hike too swiftly, though I almost didn’t do it at all. I had left mom at the tearoom, gone through the gate, and started down a very mild slope. I was beginning to wonder what that sign had been fussing about- this was easy!

Then, I came.... to the stairs.

I cannot set this up well enough to make anyone understand who hasn’t been there.
I don’t even know how many stairs there were.
I just knew they were at a 75 degree angle or better, about six inches wide, wet, and someone expected me to go down these. I would’ve prefered a free climb down a rocky outcrop!
About every six stairs or so, a bit of metal stuck out of either the wall, or the outer railing, to prevent one from falling more than a short distance should one slip. Did not raise my enthusiasm at all! (Again, this is one of those things I can look back on a laugh about now, because I obviously survived, but then? Not so funny.)

I am not certain how long I stood there, but I seriously considered turning around. Finally, the rushing sound of the falls called me on, and I started down the stairs.
There’s nothing like being alone on a hike and laughing outloud at the situation one has found one’s self in......But the first glimpse of the falls thru the trees made all the trepidation go completely away. As I descended further, the view got even better and I knew I had made the right choice. I will have to snitch someone’s photo to show any reader what I mean.

The only thing I really came to regret was not having brought anything in like bottled water with me (it wasn’t as common as it is today, but even a soda would’ve worked.) I was worn out by the time I got to the bottom, and I only rested for a short while. I would’ve been smarter stopping for a real break, but I couldn’t leave mom up there without any idea where I was. I drank from the falls a couple of times on the way up, which might not have been wise. (I learned in Costa Rica years later that some wild animals defecate directly into running water. Granted that was a jungle, but who knows. Human pollution is everywhere too. Better safe than sick!)

The way up was a near free climb, or possibly I missed the path.....I just know I was working my tail off on what I had believed was an easy hike! I am not even certain how long the whole thing took me, but I know I was ragged by the time I got back to mom. I sat awhile, drank a lot, and then we started driving on to Betws-Y Coed. That’s the largest village in the Snowdonia National Park area, and where we were going to stay overnight.

I was seeing spots in front of my eyes, literally, so when mom saw a sign for afternoon tea, we stopped so I could rest a bit longer. (I now know it was dehydration, due to bad prep., and I will not take the UK’s size for granted again!)
The interesting part about the place we stopped was that it was someone’s home. The lady of the house had a sign out, tea and biscuits, come on in. We sat with her, her son, and a couple of other tourists on her front porch and just shot the breeze! This would never happen in any large city in the US......I was fascinated. It turned out that we weren’t the only Yanks there either- another surprise this far out. An American couple was being given the tour, so to speak, by a British couple they were friends with. The americans were tickled by the fact I was doing all our driving; the Brits thought it cool that I hadn’t hit anything yet!

Considering all that has happened to our world since those days, I wonder if that woman still opens her doors quite so easily. I would understand but be saddened to learn she stopped. It was one of many things that endeared Wales to me, so much so, I had a Cymru flag on my car for many years,...


We drove on to our B-n-B in Betws-y-coed, and I am afriad the rest of the evening was rather uneventful. I was so tired, I went to sleep really early for me. It meant we got an early start the next day, a Sunday, but I am glad I got to enjoy wales, because I really learned to loathe Manchester......or at least its highways.

more on that one later- again, I can laugh at it now, but that day, coulda used a Prozac!

Forever Britain, continued

Chuckle!

I just found an old journal of mine, while cleaning up from my nephew Aaron's visit. Aaron, his life partner Mike, possibly my sister Darcy, and I are in the planning stages of a trip to the UK for '08. This journal is a reminder of exactly what one can and can't do in the UK, Brit Rail pass or not! On one day out of two weeks in 1985, my friends and I had planned to go see Glasgow, York ,and Nottingham, all while heading back to London. Talk about ridiculous. The trip on the high speed, straight shot into London is about 12 hours! And as I have been to York since then, I know that rushing through it, and any of those other places, would be a waste. Even a guided bus trip couldn't cover that much ground in a day.

My sister wants to hike Snowdenia, which she has glibbly said can "be done in a day." While she is an experienced hiker, both on the Benten- McKay Trail in the south east and in Alaska, I will do my darnedest to talk them out of thinking that Wales is a simple layover. Lovely, lovely place, but due to roads not unlike Cornwall's (see last blog) not somewhere one passes through swiftly. My personal goal is John O'Groats in Scotland, and Lewis Island for the Callanish standing stones. Those too speak of much travel off the beaten path, so I will have to get input from the less traveled members of the crew. I've done the touristy stuff; they haven't. There has to be a certain amount of give.

Why John O'Groats? It is the farthest point north in the UK. I have been able to go to the farthest East, West, and South, and wish to pluck that final feather. I must say of the three so far, Land's End in Cornwall was definitely the most exciting. It was pouring down rain, with stiff winds coming off the coast. Mom stayed in the tea shop there while I walked against the wind out to the bridge that crosses over the eastern most section. It was probably a fool's errand to go out on that bridge, but at the time I found it invigorating. Even took a picture straight down off what would have been a deadly drop had the bridge flipped or given way. Every now and then, it's good to face one's limits and survive. Makes the simple things seem much sweeter.
(the image of that lovely spot snitched from: www.stives.uk.co )

Hm. Found a small but accurate picture of the Minack Theatre I wrote about before. Aother lovely reason to hang out in Cornwall.

I am not certain what most tourists are looking for when they go anywhere, but I myself am looking for the unique. Churches, government buildings, ...all that kind of stuff gets old really quickly. In the UK it has been a more metaphysical thing for me.
From Cornwall, mom and I moved our trip up to Bath. Wonderful B-n-B there, just as homey as the Vicarage down in St. Ives. We did the tourist stuff- the Baths (really over crowded with people- it was hard to get a feel for them) and then we moved on to our drive through Wales. Along the way we stopped in a place I consider very sacred- Chalice Well, in Glastonbury. The Tor there is also supposed to be connected to the Arthurian legends, and the whole area is believed to have once been the place called Avalon. That translates to The Isle of Apples. While the christianizing of the UK by Rome got a lot of things about the legends changed, the pagan roots to it all are still there. The Chalice Well is supposedly where Joseph of Aremethia (sp?) threw the chalice from the last supper to keep it from pagan hands, ...or something like that anyway. I ignore the story, because I know the well was sacred to pagans long before that. So was the Tor. I walked the Tor, no small feat actually, and took some pictures from the top of our car. It is by far the tallest thing in the area, and an imposing hike. We then took a rest stop at the well, where we befriended an english robin and her chicks! It was so cute.I would whistle to her after throwing whatever it was I tossed- some kind of biscuit I think- and momma would test the situation, then call the babies out to eat. If we hadn't had a bit of a schedule to keep, I think mom and I would've enjoyed staying there all day. The gardens around the well are very well kept up and just so peaceful. i did take some of the well water with me- like I said, it's sacred.

The drive through Bristol, over the Severn bridge and through Cardiff could most accurately be described as frustrating. We hit rush hour, and it got a bit hairy as far as I was concerned. Didn't help that I was having to deal in some part with a different language. The Cornish do have their own tongue, which is actually related slightly to Welsh, but the predominant language is still English. In Wales, Welsh holds an equal footing with English in the south and a predominant one in the North. How does one tell the North from the South? Street signs. They change rather abruptly I might add! Here I am trying to pay attention to the road, I glance at the sign to see if I am going the correct way, and something in my mind goes "What the hell did that say?!" I can laugh about it now, but it was scary and frustrating at first. I literally had to buy a translation guide to drive through this fairly small country!

I will leave trying to describe the Welsh tongue to another blog. Suffice it to say that "w" is a vowel to these people, and two d's is pronounced "th"....... And that's just the start. There was absolutely no temptation to watch TV that night in the lodge we stopped at, as all Welsh TV is in Welsh......So we listened instead to the river outside the back door. We found quite by accident the Nan Ddu Lodge, which had the river Ddu on one side and lovely high hills sprinkled with sheep on the other. The great glass doors in our room opened out onto one of the most peaceful scenes I can imagine the next morning. Wind in the tall, straight pines and cypress. Sheep bleating out in the field. Cool breeze wafting over the tumbling river. No cars. No planes. No radio or TV. No cell phones. No ipods or even walkmans. I knew right then why people fall in love with this part of the UK. It is part of Breton's Beacon, a national forest, right in the heart of Cmyru (that's Wales to us foreigners.)

Ah me. I am getting wistful again. The next day, we stopped many many times because we just couldn't pass this country by without seeing some of it. One place we stopped mom got involved with talking with a ranger, or whatever they are known as there, and I took a walk into the forest. The trees were young really, obviously re-plantings, but the magic there was almost overwhelming. I could feel the forest breathing, the whole pace of life in these growing things aorund me, and frankly, it was almost frightening. Here was a living space, where I was the outsider and possibly threat, and for awhile, I wondered if they felt they need to "deal" with me. I was in awe when we finally drove away and would love to go back and stand there as alone as I was that day again. Because- I wasn't alone.

a break here. A reminder to self- Mynach Falls. That particular place is a story unto itself. More later as I can.

New...er...OLD ..photos up!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/astralbodies/sets/72157601947654574/

There ya go. My intrepid nephew has put up still more of the family slides from the mid Sixties. As embarassing as some of them are, I share them anyway. Hey, at least I was relatively cute. And I seemed so ...innocent...then. HA! ;)

I put captions on most of them, but they may change as I clarify, and he rearranges accordingly. I think he's enjoying this more than he'll let on. His dad was stationed in Germany with the US Army at the time, so sadly, he's not in any of these. And come to think of it- the pictures I am now pretty certain are of England may be his Dad's work! Skip was in the UK for part of his time overseas. Will have to ask.

Forever Britain

I miss the U.K.

I mean it, I really miss her. I am a pretty typical western European mutt as far as blood is concerned, but much of my blood can be traced to the UK- Wales, Scotland, York,..... all lovely places to visit incidentally. The first time I stepped off the plane in London, September 1980, I was home. I knew no one in the country, didn't even know for sure if I had a place to stay, and yet I was more comfortable there than I am to this day in Texas. Nothing felt odd to me, and I can only say I must have been there sometime before, because there was no other explanation.

i went mostly on business in '80, but trust me, I got in as much sightseeing as I could- but not to the standard places. Watching the changing of the Guard, or hanging out in Soho Square or Piccadilly were not, and are not still, my idea of London. The hidden quiet corners of Hype or Regent's Park, feeding black swans, walking through areas of the city I guarantee no tour bus goes....that's me.
Tea at 10 and 4 with the working class joes, riding the Tube out to distant places most tourists don't even know are on the map.....

I came to understand pretty quickly that to really know the English, one must get out of London. It's like NYC- so cosmopolitan that sometimes the truly English part gets submerged. I remember my mom's mother warning me before my first trip not to expect the British to be very nice. She found them tight lipped, in her words, and stuffy. I,on the other hand, found that to be quite untrue. When one lives in such close proximity to so many others- the UK is not a big place- one learns to stay within one's boundaries socially. It isn't that Brits are being cool; they are trying to be respectful of privacy, something often in short supply. When I needed help or started a chat with someone, that all dropped away quickly. It probably didn't hurt that JR had just been shot, and my coming from Texas had to mean I had some sort of insight into who-done-it. 'Course, when I had to ask who JR was, I probably blew that! (never watched even one episode of Dallas, and it wasn't filmed anywhere near Texas anyway!)

While I have loved being in England every time I have gone, I think my favourite trip was with my mom in '88. She deemed to rent a car, so we could be free to explore. I did all the driving (not in London!) and managed to not kill anybody!
Seriously, other than bashing my hand repeatedly on the door reaching for a stick shift that was now on my left, I don't think any of of my driving was any worse than it would've been in some unknown place in the US. When we got on a majour highway heading for Harrogate, I did get honked at a lot....until I realised that was turned around too, and I was in the fast lane.

My first day of driving might have been an unwise thing, but it worked out okay. I had gotten a touch of food poisoning (milk, which I am allergic to, I know now.)and was still woozy. It may have helped me be a little more relaxed than I might have been. We were in St. Ives, Cornwall, and to call the driving conditions tricky is to be overly polite! Harrowing, though good exercise, might be more accurate. Penzance is 8 miles from St Ives, as the crow flies. Apparently, whoever designed the road systems in the area thought it more appropriate to follow a midge fly on its route and make that into roads! The roads were not much wider than the car we were in ( a Ford Festiva) and there were walls of a sort, just high enough one couldn't see over them, lining a fair number of them. Any oncoming traffic was hard to see, and somebody had to get out of the other's way. So here are my mom and me looking for standing stones, trying to see any signage there might be, rocking from one butt cheek to the other every 50 feet, dodging traffic almost as often! At the very least, we got some good giggles out of it. Since one couldn't go more than 30 tops anywhere on this journey, it probably wouldn't have been too serious if there had been trouble.

I remember when we first got out of St Ives proper, we hit a patch of sea fog. Very few places in Cornwall do not have a view of the ocean. I was in a susceptible state of mind, but I swear as we passed one large hill on my left, i could hear the shuffling and snorting of horses...the clank of armour...the muffled voices of people talking. Tinatagel Castle is supposed to be the birthplace of Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King. I don't know how many battles actually took place in Cornwall, but that was what I felt I was hearing. Cornwall is a unique place, full of magick, holding on to the old Ways, without quite knowing it. I felt a strange connection to it that I would like to go back and explore.

(9-6- it is early am ish and I need to get rest...more later. )