23 May, Sunday: So much to do at home. My place is a wreck with
clothes and “stuff” strewn about. I did get two big boxes packed
yesterday. And only have three loads of laundry to complete.
Today I decided to accept Bron’s offer of a sightseeing trip to
Conwy Castle in Northern Wales. I love castles. This is one you can
explore. Am drinking coffee sitting aoutside at a café—okay, a
Starbucks. Will meet Bron in front of the train station at 10:30.
She reckons she can find the train station, but I think it would be
too difficult to describe how to get to my flat—even though it’s
only a one minute walk from the station. To drive there would
involve one way streets
______________
She arrived at 10:45 after a detour. Went to the train station in
Timperley instead of Altrincham. This is one of the things I’m not
supposed to tell anyone. Aha!
Bron’s real name is Brainne, pronounced Bron-ya. It’s Irish. And
she’s as pretty as her name. She does have some Welsh relatives
though and really knows Wales. So even though I’d driven over the
northern coast a few times, this time was different.
Our destination was Conwy and Conwy Castle. We came up upon it so
quickly that I actually squealed. Luckily I had my camera on
already. I took one hundred pictures in the several hours we were
out.
The castle was built in 1283 and is HUGE. Edward I built it as one
of the strongholds he developed when he conquered Wales. I called
this the Day of the Pigeon however, because we took so many pictures
of birds. They were nesting everywhere and were lovely.
There’s a wall that goes around the whole town and newer roads were
cut into it. It’s still complete except over the main road where the
wall was taken down to allow for more traffic. I took pictures of
the entire framework.
After we walked on top of the village wall, we entered the castle
itself and walked around the wall there. The first tower we climbed
was the prison tower, right above the great hall. Bron hates heights
but she gamely climbs anyway.
Besides the prison tower we climbed the King’s Tower, Chapel Tower
(sometimes known as the Queen’s Tower) and the Southwest Tower.
There were remnants of GIANT fireplaces where you can just imagine
whole oxen being roasted.
The steps to the top of the towers were a little dodgy at times. But
thick ropes ran along the sides that I grabbed onto to keep my
balance. The views from the top were unbelievable.
In the gift shop I heard some American voices and struck up a
conversation with two Texans. I told Bron that if it had been two
Brits the conversation would have lasted 15 seconds, instead we
talked for a few minutes and learned all kinds of things about each
other. She said, “Yeah, but what if you don’t want to know all that
information?”
After we’d spent a long time enjoying the castle we went to
Canfadoeidlolnyynnn (Bron, please read this and tell me the real
name so I can correct it. Thanks. Okay, I just read Bron's blog and
it's Llandudno.) It’s a lovely seaside resort town. The architecture
reminded me somewhat of the Isle of Man. I really enjoyed it and so
did the million other people who were there to celebrate an actual
sunny, warm day.
Because it was so crowded we had trouble finding a parking space. I
yelled, “There’s one and it’s large enough.” Well, Bron had just
gotten a new car and it was manual transmission and without power
steering. It probably took us 20 minutes to park and we ended up
with two wheels on the sidewalk and couldn’t get them down. One of
the problems was that we were laughing so hard, it was difficult for
her to drive at all. She kept thinking she didn’t want anyone
watching and thinking she was some dumb female. (This is the other
incident I'm not supposed to talk about.) It was really funny.
Especially when a guy came over and offered to help. Just at that
point her car—on the very edge of the curb—slid off very slowly. So
now the tire and wheel cover were so tight against the edge of the
curb that the wheel cover was bending in. The man picked up the side
of the car by himself (yes, it’s small) and lifted it an inch away
from the curb. All well and good except he broke the bumper. That’s
why people don’t like to be Good Samaritans.
We ate at The Habit Tea Room. The food was excellent and reasonably
priced. I must confess I had dessert. (Slap my hands. Bad Jeri. Bad.
Bad.) I had apple crumble with custard (remember the insidious
custard from previous blogs?) and Bron had a banana split.
The waitress was a stitch. Old. And if she’d been in the US her name
would have been Flo. She saw Bron’s Portland CSz shirt and asked if
it was from Portland Oregon. When Bron said, “Yes,” Flo told us all
about Robert Scott Baxter, an American from Portland who she dated
during the War when he was stationed at the bomber facility. Her
mother wouldn’t let her go to the base like the other girls did, but
Robert would call at her house. After the war, he asked her to come
to America, but her mother wouldn’t let her. She corresponded with
him for a few years, but then lost track. Now she thinks about him
and wondered what happened. I told Bron that I think I’ll look him
up on the Internet. (I did, but didn’t find anything relevant.)
Then we walked through the town so I could get some money from the
ATM and we bought rock. No, it’s not drugs. It’s a rock candy, made
into long sticks. I didn’t eat any of it, but am taking it home to
share. It’s famous here I guess, so I’m looking forward to trying
it.
We walked back along the beach where Bron picked up some rocks for
her boyfriend. There were some beautiful ones on the rocky shore.
It didn’t take as long to get out of the parking space as it did
getting into it. But we still laughed about it.
Then we drove to the Great Orme, which is a huge country park and
reserve. From a distance it has the look of Diamond Head on Oahu.
What a beautiful spot. We drove very high up on narrow roads and the
view was spectacular. One particular view was the side of a hill
where everyone takes large rocks and writes their names on the
hillside. I took a picture but the names are hard to see. We also
stopped at a very old cemetery where Bron’s Great-Uncle Jessie is
buried. While she tried to find his grave I had my first encounter
with nettles. Omigod! I can’t believe how much they hurt. The plant
injects a kind of venom in you. At first I thought I was stung by a
bee or even bitten by a snake, it hurt so much. She found some
duckweed and I rubbed it on both my ankles. That’s supposed to help.
And it did for a while. But now my ankles hurt and one is swollen.
All from a stupid old plant. Well, I always say I crave adventure.
Bron gave me a framed picture of me in the stocks from the show at
the Malthouse Pub. And she wrote on the back. Very nice.
I bought some CSzUK shirts to give as gifts, and will buy more when
I see her in Milwaukee in August.
A very good day. Thanks, Bron.
