We are senior citizens who live in Noosa, Australia and travel whenever circumstances permit, usually independently but sometimes with a group of close friends. This blog is a simple way to allow us to record our travel experiences for ourselves and to pass on travel tips to others who have expressed an interest. We're armed with a 4th gen iPad (formerly iPad1) which is the tool we use to update the blog as we go.
One of the best things we decided to do on this trip was to book our last night in Britain at one of the hotels at Manchester airport. Some of these hotels are very basic and very cheap but we reckoned we deserved a little more comfort this time so we booked a room at the Radisson Blu, which not only is a short indoor walk (via a tube) to our terminal, but also served as the base for our car rental firm (Green Motion).
Our Sunday drive from Beddgelert to the hotel was undertaken without difficulty even with a short deviation to visit the mediaeval walled city of Conwy en route. Mary navigated right into Manchester Airport with the help of the iPad and we soon found our way to the hotel by trial and error (it’s a maze of roads in there).
The car was checked back in with no damage, despite having done some 2000 miles and having dodged quite a few sheep on the way. And then we were settled into our room, feet up, ready for a good night’s rest before the 0910 flight on the morrow.
All proceeded well and early on Tuesday morning we landed at Singapore in a heavy tropical shower which persisted until after we'd arrived at our small hotel in Katong, ten minutes from the airport by taxi.
Here we were again happy to see that our early check-in, late check-out reservation had been noted and by 8:00 am we were into our tiny but spotless room, aircon going and rain pattering on the roof.
I wasn’t going to bother updating the blog, because Singapore, well, everybody’s been there, right? However Mary and I strolled down to the beach this morning for breakfast at Starbucks. I expected to see the beach covered in litter as it had been when we came through here about a month ago but to our delight it had been cleaned up. In fact a beach cleaning patrol was underway as we stood there, gawping.
I doubt that the picture of the badly littered beach I included in my blog at that time had anything to do with it, but you never know.
Anyway, back home to Brisbane on the overnighter tonight, departing in a couple of hours.
We got away from Chipping Campden shortly after 9:00 am heading NW, generally toward Beddgelert, Wales, where we’d made a reservation at a B&B for our last two nights in the “wilds” of Britain. On our paper map we’d noticed that the name Beddgelert was underlined in pen, possibly as a result of discussions with Sandra Carson, a close friend in Australia who’d been over this way. A check on the Internet revealed that it’d likely be a suitable place to spend these two nights, especially as it was also reasonably close to Manchester airport, where we’d have to get to on Sunday afternoon.
Mary did the first two hours of driving, through the more populous areas, and this and my two hours or so afterward broke the back of the journey. We’d originally considered travelling via Aberystwyth, on the Welsh coast but canned that idea when we realized that we could save some time, and probably some traffic hassles, by cutting north sooner. This also meant a more scenic drive.
Just before 3:00pm we were checking in to our B&B and shortly thereafter we were enjoying a cold cider each in the warm sun, outdoors at the pub just on the other side of the stream, visible from our window.
Even though it was only Friday afternoon there were quite a few generally elderly non-locals wandering the streets, doing the tourism trail. The locals, young and old, were pretty much seated near us, having a cold pint. Our thirst slaked, Mary and I examined the local church, the nearest building of historical interest to the pub. Here we found that three Christian sects presently use the same building for their religious gatherings: Anglicans (who switched from Roman Catholicism a few hundred years ago), Evangelicals, and Roman Catholics (who were banned in England for a couple of hundred years after the Reformation). Nice to see them sharing the facilities... Things have come a long way even in the last 50 years, although some of the changes have presumably been caused by necessity due to dwindling attendance.
Sleepiness, caused no doubt by the long drive and the warm, warm sunshine (but possibly just a little by that extra pint of cold cider), pushed us toward an afternoon nap before we strolled out in the evening to find an evening meal nearby. This is where it’s useful to be able to park and temporarily abandon your car, as we had done. Central accommodation with a variety of things of interest and sources of sustenance within a short stroll is a significant time and hassle saver.
Our sleep was interrupted about midnight by some raucous behaviour just in the street below. Did I tell you there’s another pub just next door? But it soon died down and we now forgive the interlopers because they provided some unique entertainment on Saturday (today, as I write). More later.
Two streams, both crystal clear, shallow with occasional deeper holes, and tumbling over rocky beds merge here. This morning was slightly overcast, great walking conditions, so after breakfast Mary and I successfully navigated to the stream-side public path, intent on following the stream a little.
We hiked about four kilometres there and back along grassy shores and into the edge of a gorge, long before the Saturday “crowd” appeared. There’s a local story, likely a myth as a similar story pops up in several places around Europe, about a dog, here named Gelert, loved but killed by its high-born owner when the owner mistakenly blamed the blood spattered dog for killing his infant son (a fierce but dead wolf and unharmed son found later are also involved so you can probably get the plot). Gelert’s supposed grave is nearby and also nearby is a statue of the imagined dog (dead now some 700 years) in noble pose. On the grave we found a fresh posie of flowers. And in the local souvenir shop you can spend your hard-earned on artifacts commemorating this unlikely dog. Also in the souvenir shop you can buy Australian didgeridoos. We’re puzzled at the Welsh connection, but have found didgeridoos for sale in many strange places, including the Greek islands. I mention this because, incredibly, a bloke walked past our window just now with a didgeridoo on his shoulder!
On returning to the village, to our delight, our eyes were drawn to the bright colours and elaborate dress of what could only be Morris Dancers.
Clearly they were assembling and hopefully were about to perform. Soon an older member of the group, whose black top hat was adorned with two toy koalas, confirmed to me that they were about to do their thing on the street corner just here. In conversation with him he revealed to me also that they’d used the pub next door to us as a meeting point last night and several members were less than their best as a result.
The group consists of both sexes, calls itself “Clerical Error”, blacken their faces when performing, and hark mainly from North Wales.
On that note, it’s probably time to finish the Britain blog. We have dinner this evening, at the B&B, which also has a bistro. After dinner we might, just might, join the Morris Dancers, this time in mufti, in the pub. Who knows, we might start a Noosa Branch.
Tomorrow night we sleep at Manchester airport, not I hasten to add, in the terminal, but in the Radisson Blu. Then Monday we start the journey home.
We hope you’ve enjoyed the blog and we especially want you to feel free to refer to it. After all, it’s intended as a permanent record for us and for anyone else. Thanks for reading.
Kev and Mary
- Prepared using iPad software and posted from our iPad
