In via iterum

Wales Trip Day 5: Dyffryn Ardudwy, Merioneth

Before leaving the UK we intend to do a fair amount of sightseeing. This is an account of a week we recently spent travelling in Wales. Its not a live-blog, but I noted a few observations each day so that the posts read a little as if I had had a computer with me. (And its not as if anyone reading this cares where I actually am sitting when I post this!)

Morfa Dyffryn

Before dinner the previous night we had set out on a reconnaisance to locate the best way onto the beach. It took us a couple of tries because many of the tracks down to the sea end in private land (usually devoted to camp sites) between the end of the road and the beach. Eventually we found the right road (by Tal-y-bont) and went out through the dunes onto the beach. The council has built a walk way through the dunes to protect them, which was pretty good as it speeded us up a lot: I remember as a child the treck through the dunes while fun, was laborious. What is good is that those who want to can still get into the dunes and play there - a few people will not erode a dune, but the regular stream of people would. That is how conservation ought to be carried out - without dogma and without inconveniencing those who want to use the outdoors for recreation.

Dunes at the beach

As suggested by the presence of the dunes the beach here - Morfa Dyffryn - could not be more different to Aberystwyth. Instead of dark gritty sand there are simply miles of fine, white sand on a gently sloping beach which at low tide extends well out into the sea. It is one of the UK's finest beaches, and runs from just below Harlech, the entire length of the coast down to Barmouth. The boy enjoyed his first real play on the beach (Aberystwyth had not really counted as he didn't much care for the grit) and enjoyed picking up shells and jumping into the remains of holes the day's previous beachgoers had left.

We returned to the hotel wet and a little cold. Thankfully, we saw no sign that day or the next of the nudists who have colonised a section of the beach north of where we were. Apparently the council got fed up with constant complaints about flashers and formally designated a section for them, since when they have kept to their area. Each to his own I suppose - though I can't think of naturists without being reminded of the film Eurotrip (link) (skip to next paragraph to avoid spoiler), where having finally made it to the nudist beach in Germany the backpackers find it entirely populated by scary naked men, who have all gone there vainly in the hope of some women doing the same. Eurotrip made little impression beyond the usual takings for gross-out comedies of its ilk, which is a shame because like Mark Steyn (who actually favourably reviewed it) I think it is one of the best and most accurate symbols of the transatlantic disconnect - and its hilarious to boot.

Beware: Naked people!

The next day we returned to the beach, but before we did so, we paid a visit to the village cemetary at Dyffryn. I mentioned childhood memories of the beach. These are because my paternal grandparents (Nain and Taid as I knew them) lived in Dyffryn and we would often visit. I have many memories of exploring around the village and being told old stories about the area by Taid. They died in the late 80s/early 90s, and for a variety of reasons this was the first time I had made it back to the area since then, so we visited their grave and left some flowers. The graveyard is wonderfully situated, on a hill above the village it overlooks the span of the coast.

Overlooking the coast

The entire stretch of the coast of Merioneth is a striking landscape. The Rhinog mountains roll right up to the sea, such that the last valley carries on rolling down to the coast. Along the coast is the tidal coastline of beach and a few fields. The mountains and littoral have very few trees, especially the higher up you go, so all you see are ancient drystone walls dividing up the grassy fields on the hillsides. Now, no mountains in the UK are very tall - these are perhaps 600 feet at their high points - but despite this they feel a lot more desolate than you would suppose from their altitude. Endless sea wind, rain, salt and grazing sheep keep them clear. For centuries the sea and the lone road along the coast were the only communications networks here. No matter who ruled the area, their rule would have been felt very lightly up in the valleys above the shore - where approaching ships could be spotted well in advance. Even today, it would be a good place to get off the grid should the need arise.

We spent the rest of the morning/early afternoon on the beach, where the boy after some hesitation played with shells and a little toy truck we'd brought for him. The wind was strong that day and his truck would shoot along the flat sands with him chasing after it happily. We didn't make it into the water - though it was quite warm and would have been pleasant - as he was not so interested in that. Afterwards we had a barbecue in the car park and then set out for our next port of call: another converted farmhouse just past Porthmadog. This drive, along the littoral for the most part, took us past Harlech with its famous castle (we did that a few days later) and over a small toll bridge across the Dwyryd estuary - on the approach to which you could see Portmeirion village.

Getting into Porthmadog took a long time. The toll bridge there is now council owned and no longer in operation. I don't know if that is why the traffic was so bad (unintended consequences) or if it was simply a combination of summer traffic and badly timed lights.

We arrived at our accommodation for the night, Tyddyn Iolyn farmhouse, which was again a great choice - full review in the next post. After cleaning off the sand and unpacking (we were to spend three nights here) we headed into the next town along the coast for dinner. That was Criccieth, a pretty Victorian resort, beneath its own castle - built by Prince Llewellyn to oppose Edward I's Harlech, which lies across the bay. We ate at a pub called the Bryn Hir Arms - the food was good pub grub, and then visited the local ice cream emporium - Cadwalladers. That is heartily recommended. Criccieth itself is a very nice little town - less brashly touristy than some others and exuding an air of calm, it is a good place to end the day.

To be continued...

posted by j @ 8:14 AM