2nd day of hiking, at Dinas Head.
I have hiked and run (and played golf) a lot on the beautiful coasts of the USA, New Zealand, Ireland, the Caribbean, and Australia, so when I saw a notice of how pretty the coast of Wales was, I thought, yeah, right, but the fact they had a trail that followed the coast for over 100 miles intrigued me. I proposed a trip there to my doctor and occasional running buddy, Ray Douglas, around a year ago, and he tentatively agreed. We solidified plans in the early spring of 2018, and though my timetable changed off and on as my job prospects varied, we went over in July of 2018. I had just done a similar trip in the interior of Iceland, with day hikes along an established trail aided by transport of my luggage to the next night’s lodgings, though that trip was with a large guided group and we stayed in huts sleeping as a group with bathrooms outside. This time it would be relatively luxurious, staying in B&Bs with our own bathroom inside. The walks, however, would be much longer and with more ups and downs.
I like to avoid drama, but injuries often factor into the planning of adventures like these, and I’d decided to cut back on my running in April after having pain in my right foot that would not go away, and then my Achilles tendon in my left foot started bothering me in May. I was still able to run, but I could not run fast or hard, and in Iceland it kept me from running at all while we were out on the trail, which was a disappointment, especially once we got below the level of snow cover. As the trip to Wales approached, I knew I needed to be fitter to walk essentially twice as far and I wanted to be able to run in the little towns we would visit as well as maybe on the trail itself. My Achilles did get better in the few days before we left, but about a week before, while I was in my new apartment in Washington, DC, I’d somehow hurt my right knee. It wasn’t bad, but simply stiff and sore if I bent it too much. The Tuesday of our departure, though, it was much worse on my morning run. To that point, it had not hurt at all on my runs but was only apparent during my stretching and weightlifting. The soreness only got worse as the day progressed, and then I knew I was in trouble. I still took all my running gear along, but it felt like I had torn the cartilage in it, much like I had in my L knee in 2011.
Ray Douglas, MD, my family doctor, friend and occasional running partner.
It was Ray Douglas’ first trip to Europe, and he was very excited. He is really into gear and had a new GPS tracking device into which he had input the routes of the hikes and certain points of interest already. He picked me up at my parents’ and we set off for the Newark airport. Showers and thunderstorms were in the forecast, but I discounted their chances of affecting our trip. There was quite a bit of rain in the first hour or so of our trip, but we got to Newark and parked without problem and made it to the airport dry. Check in and security were fine except for Ray forgetting to take an iPad out of his carry on, but he was not arrested or even given much of a hard time.
As we got to our gate, they announced that due to severe thunderstorms in the area, the entire airport was shutting down. Not good. It opened again in 90 minutes or so, and as best we could tell, our flight was not affected…until it was. The delays occurred steadily, 30 minutes, then another 20, then another 30, and then they needed to get another crew, and that crew was at one of the local hotels and couldn’t get to the airport, on and on. We ended up taking off over 2.5 hours late. We had a nearly 4 hour layover in Dublin, so what had looked like an ideal and relaxing trip was now getting a bit stressful.
The flight itself was blessedly unfull, so I got an entire row to myself in the back and could lie down. That was the only good part of our journey. When we arrived, we were told our connecting flight to Wales, for which Aer Lingus was not able to get us a boarding pass in Newark, left from another terminal in Dublin, so we had to process through customs and passport control and go to that terminal. The passport guy for Ray hassled him about his itinerary, taking precious minutes, and we rushed over then to the terminal after my passport woman told me we should run.
WARNING! TRAVEL PROBLEMS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL (look for next bold lines to avoid this section if you want to read the rest): We got to the line for check-in for Flybe (I think the proper pronunciation is supposed to be fly-b-e, but mine will evermore in my brain be bleeping Flybe), and after waiting, knowing our time was running out (the flight was to leave around 8:35am, and it was 7:25am), the woman checking us in detected some problem and had to go somewhere else to sort it. It took a long time, but she returned to tell us our tickets for the bleeping Flybe flight were voided in the system and we would need to go to see Aer Lingus back in the other terminal to sort it out. The bleeping Flybe clerk told us there were loads of flights to Cardiff all day so it wouldn’t be a problem to get us there on another flight.
We rushed to the other terminal and found Aer Lingus’ customer service area, where after a brief wait the clerk told us our tickets were fine in the system and bleeping Flybe was lying to us. She called bleeping Flybe, but they would not sort it, and then they told us we were not going to be able to go to Cardiff on that flight. There was ONLY ONE OTHER FLIGHT FROM DUBLIN TO CARDIFF THAT DAY, AND IT WAS AT 9:45 PM!!!! Des, our point man from Aer Lingus now, told us to go back and see if bleeping Flybe was going to get us to Cardiff another way or if they were going to just get us our bags and send us back to Aer Lingus to sort it out for us.
The bleeping Flybe desk area was now unoccupied, but we were told to go to another customer service desk where they got us our bags and explained their system had our tickets as voided (no explanation as to why they couldn’t just override that mistake…). Our bags finally arrived, so we had to go back over to the other terminal to the Aer Lingus counter and Des went through our options. I had enough wifi power there to find that there were trains we could take from Birmingham, England, to Cardiff, so we opted for an upcoming flight there. Fortunately they made check in easy for us, so we only had to drop off our bags at a service counter and not get in the long line. It was all far more annoying and frustrating than I am conveying to you, especially since my decisions were also affecting Ray, someone who had not traveled as much as I had. To his credit, he at least let me handle most of it.
Now just back to regular traveling: The trip to Birmingham went off well and when we got there, we had to deal with the second worry of the trip (the first was getting to the town of St. Dogmaels for the start of the hike, which we were still working on), getting a SIM card for my phone as we would have to make a number of calls while we were in Wales for taxis and for our lodgings. I finally found one in a store at the Birmingham airport (there were none at the Dublin airport) and sat at a bench to try to change it out. For those of you who have not seen the new micro SIM cards, they are the size of a potato chip crumb and way more slippery. I must have dropped the thing or my SIM card 10 times before I finally got them both where they were supposed to be and the phone was working. These are the types of things that stress me out, but that was over for now.
At this point, I had two major concerns: getting to St Dogmaels that day and my knee was very painful. We called the B&B and were able to talk to the woman running it about getting there later than expected, and then we went in search of the trains.
One of the great pleasures of European travel is the train system. Granted, the USA is huge, but if we’d devoted even a small percentage of what we spent on highways and defense to setting up transit like trains to get from one metro area to another, quality of life would be so much better (than relying on buses or cars that sit in traffic and waste energy and produce noxious exhaust AND, for cars, require at least one person to be extremely attentive the entire time). We got some money from an ATM on the way to the train terminal, which was easy to get to. It took us to another station at the airport where we were able to book trips as far to St. Dogmaels as possible, bypassing stopping in Cardiff.
Once we were on the trains, it was low stress. We’d bought food for the journey at one of the stations and were able to relax (several of the passengers helped us and gave us advice – people are also nice on trains). I think there was a change in a town near Cardiff to the train that would take us to the small town nearest St Dogmaels. From there we could catch a bus or take a taxi. Ray was leaning to taking a taxi, and as we discussed the options, the elderly man sitting across from us in the now nearly empty train car interrupted and asked if we’d said we were heading to St Dogmaels. We told him we were and he VOLUNTEERED TO GIVE US A LIFT THERE!
We later found out a taxi ride might have cost us 70-100 pounds from that stop, and Doug, our new friend, was a good driver and good company. His tiny car barely fit our bags and us, but at that point I didn’t care about anything other than getting to our B&B. He turned down our offers of money and dropped us right in the car park for the B&B, which was down the typically narrow drives everyone prefers outside the US.
The owner met us as we walked in and got us upstairs to our room, which was nice and well lit from the outside, with a view of the playground adjacent (turns out that would have been the best place to do my pull-ups in Wales). It was around 6:30pm, about 2 hours later than we had planned to get there, but still, not bad, mainly assisted by Doug and Des. We ate at the restaurant at the B&B. My meal was great, a mushroom stroganoff with a bowl of butternut squash soup (Ray was not a fan of his meal). After dinner I got ready for the next day and nursed my knee, taking 800mg of Ibuprofen and trying to keep it elevated. It was a little swollen and very stiff. Ray went out for a walk; he had a ritual of eating a bowl of cereal first thing on arising he tried to accomplish every day on the journey, sometimes easier than others, and this night was the hardest – no place to keep the milk, as the owner offered no place in a refrigerator.
Thursday, July 19th, St Dogmaels to Newport:
I slept really well for me, only up a few times and in bed nearly 10 hours. My eyes were super dry, but my knee didn’t hurt nearly as much. Ray was up much earlier and was eating cereal in the room around 6:30, then out for a walk. It was a cute little town and I wished I was able to go for a run, but I had to save my knee at this point, especially with a 16 mile walk that day yet. I pretty much gave up on running as soon as we got there and didn’t even try the whole time. Our biggest laugh was when we realized, before we saw anyone else, that we were wearing the exact same smart wool shirt! I took 800mg of ibuprofen in hopes it would keep my knee in control throughout the day.
We ate breakfast, with Ray trying a traditional big English breakfast and me content with some muesli. We walked the tight streets to a small store and got some extra snacks for the hike and soon were off. I was dubious of Ray’s GPS device, which he clipped to his pack like a security guard keeps his walkie-talkie, but it came in handy throughout, as the trail was not well marked at times and our B&Bs not always near the trail. The trail sort of started right next to the B&B, but then wound through some (busy, narrow and fairly scary) roads in the town before actually starting at the seaside in a quiet bay. We posed for photos at the marker and then headed off, still mostly on the roads for a while before finally some decent climbs up what resembled driveways to get to the hills along the shore. By the time we were up high, nearly the highest we would be the whole journey, the day had become fine and the scenery spectacular. The water was a stunning blue, with relatively mild surf, and we were treated to nearly constant cliff side views after the first three miles or so.
Thus began the pattern of the hiking: up the hills to the cliffs, sometimes right on the edge of them where the footing was very suspect underneath long grass, then back down to a beach by a cove, and then back up and repeat, following the coastline almost always. The foliage consisted this day of mostly ferns, the most ferns I’ve ever seen, all along the slopes, sometimes all around us. The trail was very runnable, with only occasional rocky parts on the ups and downs. My knee was solid, sore in the back part on the uphills and sore on the inside on every step of the downhills, but endurable without much worry.
The first mild dilemma came when we passed a particularly beautiful little cove that was connected to the sea by an interesting rocky cave. There were some young ladies of obvious pulchritude swimming in bikinis in the interior cove and a few older folks milling around on the seaside. I was prepared to swim every day, but that day I did not have my sandals, and it was a rough 6 foot vertical climb to the first set of rocks. In the end, despite the enormous temptation, I decided not to risk my knee trying to get down or back up, and we walked away.
We carried on and finished strong in Newport, another pretty little village set along the sea, with our B&B on the side of town closest to the trail as we arrived and only requiring a brief walk on the roads. Ray had tried to book us a table at the nearby restaurant (just a few yards down the street) called the Golden Lion, which was widely regarded as the best place in Newport. He was not aware that he had a reservation, as they never answered his email, but when we had our B&B host, who was a most amiable woman, call there, they put it all together and realized the owner had made a booking at the bar area for us but never let us know! It was a bit of humor and good old English sitcom misunderstanding to liven us up. The food was good, though the table was a bit low. I talked Ray into Duck pancakes, which are not to be missed, and had pork belly and blood pudding that was all excellent, topped off with a lemon tart that was a decent end to the day. Ray had been lusting after specifically brewed beers, cask-aged and somesuch, and was able to have one with his meal.
When we got back, Ray wanted to explore so I decided to kill some time by looking at the photos I had taken of the scenery, which was simply awesome. To my dismay, I found I had not deleted all the photos and videos I had taken on my family vacation at Keuka Lake. I was pretty sure I had enough memory, but I thought it might be best to delete them. I was very nervous as I started, as my camera always gives you the option to delete everything, which is usually what I do every time I use those settings, but now I wanted to delete only the old things, and I had to do it one at a time, each one taking a precise four clicks and a shift. I kept telling myself to stop, but I couldn’t, and then Ray came back all excited about his walk around and talk with the owner about the next town and where to eat there, asking me all kinds of questions rapid fire, and at some point, instead of stopping what I was doing and giving him my full attention, I paid poor attention to both things I was doing and clicked the “delete all” option and all my photos vanished just like that, with no undo button. I realized it right away and tried feverishly to find a way to reverse it, all while Ray was still right next to me asking questions, and I finally had to admit to him I’d just deleted all my photos from the day and needed to focus. He kindly left me alone, and then returned after a suitable interval to offer to share his shots when we got back (Ray is a pretty serious photographer and has had a few of his photos published on nature calendars). That settled me down some, but despite my outward calm, I was churning inside. I had a terrible night of sleep, haunted by my mistake, which I kept replaying over and over, and when that was quelled, my knee often hurt too much to sleep, and in addition, like the time when I spent an entire day walking along the edge of the Grand Canyon, I had recurrent visions of falling off the cliffs. My heart was pounding hard most of the night and I couldn’t get it to slow even with deep breathing. I did finally get some sleep and was woken at one point when Ray had locked himself out of the room and I had to let him back in.
It is always fun to look at the names of the towns…
Here is the general elevation chart. This day had the most vertical change.
Friday, July 20th, Newport to Fishguard/Goodwick.
This place had a great breakfast. It didn’t take us long to get ready and then we were back on the trail as it followed the waterfront. I think it was here we came across an old red phone booth and Ray, who had wished we would see one, got inside for some pictures. I was a little sad to start taking photos again, but after a slow start, it got nicer, both weather and surroundings. The same process of ups and downs, cliffs and beaches, ruled the day.
Early on as we headed up from a small bay with a rocky beach, I stopped to take some photos looking back at it. I was near the edge of the trail in the grass, and must have rocked onto the balls of my feet to get a better look and realized too late there was no ground under the balls of my feet! I went straight down about 4 feet very quickly, slowing my fall with my right arm, which clutched my camera. It happened so quickly, we both sort of shouted. I was embarrassed, but it was also very funny, and it taught us a lesson we would obey the rest of the hike, especially on the high cliffs: stay away from the edges! There were signs frequently on the path with a man falling off a cliff with the words, “Cliffs Kill” on them.
We ate on a nice cliff and went to the bathroom at an inn on the route. Ray may have gotten some ice cream there (and did most of the time when the opportunity presented itself). I didn’t buy any food on the routes – not quite sure why except for stubbornness. As we neared the next towns, it started to sprinkle a bit. I refused to put on a rain jacket and trusted in my merino wool, but Ray was in an out of his jacket the rest of the way. We passed some ruins and then managed our way along a tight, wet path lined with thorny gorse into Fishguard (real name) and past it to Goodwick. I was really looking forward to stopping, and our B&B was the most out of the way it would be, a good walk down a road on the west end of the town. It was a slightly shorter walk with nearly as much vertical change: 14.75 miles, 2700 vertical vs 16.4 and 3100 the day before.
rained for about the last 90 minutes or so.
This B&B was my favorite inside, with a bigger room, a bigger bed for me, a little balcony with a terrible view of the back yard, and a nice big bathroom. It also had lots of places to dry our stuff. It was the farthest from food and groceries, though. We took a taxi to and from an Indian restaurant. Ray was excited to try it, and I hope I enhanced it with my recommendations, especially of lasse’s to drink. I ate an enormous amount of food and was far too full. But I managed not to delete any photos and was much calmer for bed that night.
Saturday, July 21st, to Woolen Mill and back to Goodwick
We didn’t have to pack, as there was no lodging near the end of this day’s hike, so we were to call a cab from the woolen mill to bring us back to Goodwick. Our cabbies were the people who’d taken us to the Indian restaurant and back the night before, so we’d worked out the logistics as best we could since there was no cell phone coverage at the woolen mill.
There was an interesting port in Goodwick and we walked past that before ascending an impressive hill to get to the cliffs on the other side and restarting the cliffs-coves pattern. At one point spotted a brown head bobbing in the surf, and from there we saw a large seal basking on a rock, moving around like it was doing a core workout. It was very entertaining and we kept our eyes out from then on for more.
Ray had been telling me about a lighthouse we would pass called Strumble Head. He was very excited to walk across the bridge to the little island it was on. It did sound like an appealing diversion on our route. It came into view at about our lunchtime, which was also excellent timing, but, alas, the bridge was closed, and we found out later it was only open for tours on special occasions, more special than the arrival of two American physicians. While Ray explored, I climbed part way up the hill next to the entrance and sat on a dry slab of concrete, later to be joined by an Indian family. Ray climbed over the wall below and sat on a more precarious cliff for his lunch, and we rendezvoused for our departure.
My journal is a bit sketchy about this day, but I afger we got nearly out of sight of the lighthouse, we were walking out a very lovely peninsula and climbing a rocky precipice. When we got to the top, there was a woman of our age sitting there alone. As I came up to her, I said, “You better know the meaning of life, as it took me a long time to get here.” She laughed and told us she’d been married a long time ago in a house we could see from there and was enjoying her time back, especially the great weather.
This was another beautiful day with stunning scenery, especially the areas inland, with their stone walls, hedgerows, and cottages. Ray was very worried we were running late, but I was confident we would get to the woolen mill about the time we’d arranged. Still, leaving little to chance, I picked up the pace and was able to manage it ok with my knee. Nature has a way of slowing one down, though, and as we headed down one hill to a trail junction, we could see that the trail seemed to head to a gate on an uphill, and behind that were seven or eight cows, jammed in and trying to get through from the other side!
There was an alternate route that would take us out to a road, and from there we could walk to the woolen mill. As much as that appealed to us, we wanted to stay on the path and see the scenery and keep our trail integrity high. We walked up to the gate to see what the deal was, and the cows were not trapped. We didn’t want them to get out, so just opening the gate didn’t seem like a good option. I started to yell and clap to see what they would do, doing my best old west cowboy voice, and, in a bit of a surprise, they started to head away from the gate and up the hill on the other side. We were encouraged by that development and went through the gate and stayed a safe distance behind while shouting and making noise to keep them going. It took a while, as it was a long hill and the trail narrow, but they eventually moved off to the left and spread out while we passed them without any further concerns. It was all quite amusing, and I was very pleased, but I only took video of this.
We got to the area where we needed to move away from the shore, down by a beach called Aber bach, and there were pleasant, tree-lined paths the rest of the way to the road, and the mill was not much farther. The taxi was not there, so we went into the store and got them to call for us. I shopped a while and Ray got some ice cream at the little store adjacent. I got a proper scarf to wear in the cold (I am a big fan of buffs), and then had a well-timed, earth shaking bathroom break before we headed back in the taxi.
This night we walked to a pub that had a good reputation. It had some of the Open Championship on, but there were always people in the seats by the TV. The portions were absurdly huge, much more than you would get in the US. I was too full for dessert, though I still contemplated getting a Magnum ice cream snack on the walk back. We went to bed early after packing up.
Sunday, July 22: Woolen Mill to Abereiddy
This was another walk to a place there was no lodging, but this time we were to be picked up by a taxi at the parking lot of a beach in Abereiddy. I was supposed to call them and discuss our meeting site, but no one answered the phone, so I left a voicemail about our ETA and where we planned to be.
The drop off at the woolen mill went well and we found our way back to the trail, which started out fairly flat along the coast by that beach, with lots of clouds. It soon cleared and the scenery picked up. My camera battery warning light was on, but otherwise it was a lovely, stress-free walk (though I did find the key to our room at the last B&B buried deep in my pocket after about 3 miles of walking, so a little stress) and we came into the area near a town called Trefin. There was an old industrial site there with benches, tables and a small restaurant. This route had many more people than the others, and there was a decent crowd around on such a nice day. We ate lunch there at a picnic table.
The area had been a quarry and a place to ship coal and gravel to the Americas and Europe. We climbed up the hill next to it on the trail and there were some ruins at the top, but we didn’t dally there. A bit farther on we saw a sign that said there were wild horses in this area and to treat them with caution. Within minutes, there they were.
This was our shortest day of hiking, and I was hoping to get to St Davids early so we could do our sight-seeing there on such a beautiful day. It wasn’t too long, however, until we saw a beautiful beach with a proper stairway down to it and many people around swimming and sunning themselves.
This was a must. We’d both been prepared, more or less, to swim en route since that first day. We walked down and I looked for a place to change; Ray went in with his shorts on. I gave up and changed in the open with a towel covering me, and then we were swimming! The water was clear and a pleasant temperature, and we had a nice time before getting out and changing back – this time in a more secluded cave like area. We were both excited, Ray probably more than I was, and we had a spring in our steps the rest of the way, which didn’t take long.
Absolutely beautiful out by the end of the day.
We arrived what amounts to a resort area there, with proper changing rooms and toilets and a few food carts as well as adventure outfits offering kayaking and the ocean version of canyoning (which I would have loved to do – anyone reading this far and interested should definitely plan to do this while in St Davids). One thing it didn’t have, though, was cell phone service. We waited a long time, then finally told the parking lot attendants we’d chatted with a bit that we were going up the hill to get phone service. I could have sworn I saw the cab go by about when we were 50 feet from the first road. I had Ray wait there while I went up to the top of the hill, which was very long and steep. The parking guy told me he’d seen the taxi go by as well. I went to an area of the adjacent campground and was able to get in a call to the cab company and they said they would be there in 15 minutes. I bit my tongue and didn’t complain (much). Then I hung out with the parking attendant there, and he told me of his travels around the world to surf, including to Bali several times. He told me the surfing in Wales was decent when the weather was bad, but this summer had been the best weather in decades, so the surfing had sucked.
The cab appeared, having picked up Ray and come up the hill for me. The driver was initially gruff but he softened up and shared lots of useful tidbits with us in the ride to St. Davids. St Davids is the smallest city in the British Isles, but I expected more than what we found when we got there. It was the smallest town we spent time in. It was officially called a city only because of its notable cathedral, which dated back to the 12th century. We were dropped on a narrow, one-way street in front of a well-disguised hotel and checked in, having worked out our plans for our pick up the next morning before he left. The hotel clerk promised to get the key back to the other B&B and I called her and apologized (he voice sounded tired and impatient – I think she was on vacation).
Ray wanted to rest, but I didn’t want to waste the perfect weather. He eventually came around and we left to tour the Cathedral, which I’d heard good things about. It was a disappointment: little art, not that nice, and other than having a choir rehearsing for an evening service, not memorable. I toured the grounds and went into the old bishops’ house ruins, which were ok, and then reunited with Ray and we walked back. I hoped to find a place to watch the Open, but there was nowhere. The best I could do was a ginger beer and wifi at a pub. I gave up, as golf takes too long to keep checking updates, and wandered back, coming across Ray coming the other way to meet me at the restaurant we chose for that night. It was nice, quiet, and with reasonable portions, but pretty pricey.
We got back to our room and it was pretty warm. There was no AC, so I cracked a window and used a fan inside, but it still stayed toasty. I was in the small bathroom trying to get cleaned up when I hit my big toe on the toilet and it started to bleed. I’d bought new hiking boots for this year’s hiking trips, as in 2017, my (also new) hiking boots had banged up my toes and were a bit too small. I’d gone up a half size, but these were no bigger, and my toes continually banged against the end on the down hills. Now three of them had blood under the nails and felt like they might fall off (they all eventually did in September). They hurt, along with my knee, but not bad enough to affect the big picture. For the first time, Ray was grumbling enough to make me wonder how he would do on our final day the next day, but we both pulled it together. I woke up with a really sore hip and couldn’t get back to sleep until I took some more ibuprofen (I’d stopped it after the first two days, as it didn’t seem to make much difference).
Monday, July 23: Last hike, Abereiddy to St Davids:
We were ready early for our last day of hiking. It was a little tense, as Ray wasn’t sure how far he wanted to go and was talking a lot about cutting it short. It also wasn’t nice – foggy and drizzling. A different driver picked us up, James Crisp, a most pleasant man who taught guitar and played beautifully (I’ve since watched his video on youtube). Initially things were not great, with drizzle still off and on, but the day overall was not bad. Saw a larger group of seals early on, but scenery tame.
We stopped at a place called White Sands to eat at a picnic table and use their cool restrooms that had a push button handwashing station with everything in the same spot. I again got some ice cream. The weather suddenly got beautiful in the early afternoon but it didn’t last; we were soon back in light rain and clouds the rest of the day. My legs finally felt tired as the afternoon went on. We went off the trail in the cute little area called Porth Clais and walked a regular grass trail back to St Davids for 16.2 miles overall that day.
The last day of hiking was a long one and a mostly cloudy and occasionally rainy one.
We cleaned up and had time to make the early bird special at another nice restaurant with a prix fixe menu until 6pm. When we got back to the hotel, there was no one at the desk, so we waited and rang the bell for 10 minutes. I finally looked behind the desk and found our room key and we went up. We were eager to leave the tiny room behind. We’d worked out a ride in the taxi with James the next morning to catch the train to Cardiff and had plans of how to get to our hotel at the airport.
Tuesday, July 24: St David to Cardiff (no hike)
We had to leave early, and the hotel had stuff out for us to eat quickly, which was awesome. James was again great company as we road from St Davids to Haverford West station, which was really just a small stop. We gave him a nice tip and said our good byes. The station did have a ticket agent and he explained a much easier way to get to our hotel by the airport. Our only concern was getting to the hotel from the train station, but as we walked away a conductor shouted to us, then ran up and told us how to catch a bus to the hotel for only one pound each. It worked out fantastic. I highly recommend the Holiday Inn at the airport for your stay in Cardiff if you are flying in and out. There is an express bus downtown that leaves from across the street that is quite cheap, the hotel is nice and quiet, and it has a very early breakfast. The only trouble we had was we thought we’d reserved a spot on the airport shuttle the next morning when we checked in, but apparently, because we had to change rooms before checking in, they didn’t keep that booking, so Ray fortunately trouble-shooted that in the evening and we were fine.
Once we were checked in, we went right out to the bus stop to take the express downtown. It stops right next to a bunch of restaurants. I LOVED CARDIFF! It is such a cute, pretty city, with water taxis, an old fort, museums, nice walkways, and great food and shopping. I rate it ahead of anything in Ireland and would compare it favorably with Oslo, which is much larger. We did have a perfect day. After our water taxi ride, we walked back to the downtown and it was a bit dodgy, but everyone was nice, out on the street laughing and talking whatever Southwest Asian tongue they were speaking. I finally did some pull ups in a walkway tunnel, and the ledge I gripped was covered with bird feces and dirt. Only did 4 or 5, but they counted! Washing my hands before we ate was a high priority.
We ate outside in an alleyway. The food was very good (It was Italian). We caught the 7:10 bus back and when he dropped us off there was a furor of honking – I think it was at a better place for us to get off than cars to get around. We had a nice, quiet evening with more reliable internet and cleaning and packing for the very early flight (7am departure) the next morning.
We had no trouble getting to the airport and getting checked in. We hadn’t been to Cardiff’s airport before – the lines were very long all over, but not for bleeping Flybe, which redeemed itself somewhat. From the prop plane I could see the coastal towns we’d walked past and through, which was the sprinkles on the top of a great trip where we’d overcome some hardships and made the best of everything. Lots of great memories and photos. We got some food at the Dublin airport and the flight back went much smoother. It was a long wait for the luggage in Newark, but finally we were on the shuttle to the parking lot, took the quick way out and headed home. We kept going through all the traffic. Ray got tired around Hazleton and I drove the rest of the way in a steady rain (!!) on another stormy journey. I loaded up some stuff for him on a memory card and he got me his photos of the first day and it was over.
The takeaways: 1. Wales is a beautiful country with lovely people, and the coastal walk, with someone transferring your bags and staying at B&Bs along the way, is an outstanding way to see and immerse yourself in it. 2. The walking is not particularly difficult, but there is a lot of it. The trail footing is very good most of the time, and the scenery is relentlessly spectacular. 3. Cardiff is a top notch small city but it is hard to get to, with no direct flights and a very limited indirect flight schedule from the US. 4. I grew to appreciate the high tech style of hiking practiced by Ray. It saved us a lot of time finding where we needed to go. 5. Take more trains! Thanks so much to Ray Douglas for coming along!
Link to youtube slide show from the trip:
https://youtu.be/uIpSk-TmDbk
Link to youtube video, with all the cow related footage:
https://youtu.be/4LRV-UmERs0
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