Sunday, 2 October 2011

Beddgelert


Friday 30 Sep 11 (prepared Saturday 01 Oct)

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.



More info about Beddgelert here.

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.


One of the dances was somewhat risqué and this is one I caught on video and which has now been made available to the public, and you, of course, who will be among the first to see it. It includes sound and has been cut right back to only 14 seconds so won’t use much of your broadband. Just pay attention right from the start. The dancers are three men and four women, although four of each would be better. The group's musicians are audible but not visible in this clip.







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

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