Freeway Free in Wales: Life in the Town, Life in the Castle
From Caernarfon Castle we moved inland to Conwy, a walled market town with some beautifully preserved Elizabethan homes. I could imagine the burgher who lived in Plas Mawr inviting other village citizens to dine, quaffing local ale and bemoaning the unreasonable demands of the lord of the adjacent castle. Meanwhile, the servants in the adjacent kitchen would be skinning the local game and trying to keep drops of sweat from dropping into the soup.
Moving forward several centuries, we stopped at Betws-y-Coed. The ultra-quaint railway station with its ivy covered veranda spoke of Victorian solidity and permanence.
But the twin ecological monuments on the veranda spoke to very different 21st century concerns.
Our next stop brought the world of the castle firmly into the 21st century also, as we stopped at Gwydir Castle, a Tudor-era manor whose young owners have taken it from being an abandoned white elephant to being a reasonably profitable and comfortable bed and breakfast.
The 500 year old cedars have been saved, the ghosts (both human and animal) have been exorcised), the plumbing, including the fountains, has been restored, decorations plundered by William Randolph Hearst and others have been (at least partially) restored, and there are peacocks begging for crumbs when tea is served in the garden. (If you want to know more about the restoration, Judy Corbett has written a charming book about the process, Castles in the Air. You will never be able to hear or see the term “fixer-upper” again without a smile.
I’m a lifelong fan of
Among the hazards of a pre-organized group tour is that one day may be PACKED with events and places to see, while the next may find you bus-bound as your itinerary hustles you off to the next attraction. (Above is a view from the bus of the beautiful Welsh countryside near Snowdon. Time to explore on your own, and time to digest your experiences may both be limited.
We are still traveling first class: we were picked up at the Manchester Airport by Jason, a deferential fellow with a strong accent. He loaded our gear into a Mercedez limo/van, and off we go through misty rain (the first rain in six weeks, Jason says) to Wales, home of unpronounceable names. We are staying outside of Llandudno in a 17th century carriage house named Bodysgallen Hall. The castle for which this ample residence formerly served as gatehouse is visible from our windows, at least a couple of miles away across the valley. Talk about an impressive entrance!
Allyson Johnson 