Day 27: Nefyn to Tudweiliog
What what?
Just as it is written. Just as it is written. I keep telling myself that every time someone asks where we are going or where we come from. But it turns out I’m not very good at spelling Welsh place names either.
So between my poor pronunciation, my horrible American accent, and my low, normal voice, I’ve found it difficult to communicate with the locals. Now I’ve lost my voice again due to another cold and cough, so I turn to Kate and let her answer.
things happen
In addition to the wheezing, coughing, and sore feet and knees, not to mention general fatigue from being an old man who’s been walking around all day, my laptop died yesterday. Things happen, huh?
I’m pretty sure the baggage attendant dropped my suitcase, but it’s my fault for putting my laptop in it. The booking company warned me about that. But the laptop is heavy (by backpacking standards) and it was raining. Plus, I wasn’t feeling very cheerful, so I didn’t really want to carry him with my already full backpack.
It’s probably repairable. I hope so. But not in rural Wales. So I get stuck typing on the phone, which I don’t really like. I don’t even like texting about it. But I’ll keep going, tapping the little keyboard with my thumb. Or I’ll complain enough that Kate takes over writing the blog. She writes everything on her phone. Or on paper. Strange.
Return to Hiking
Enough of that. I really want to blog. And it was a good one.
Not as epic, but just as epic
Yesterday’s hike up the mountain was epic. There were no mountains to climb today, but the trail more than made up for it.
Kate almost took a taxi. She went to bed tired and sore from yesterday’s party in the mountains. Additionally, she has been struggling with a nerve problem in her legs that keeps her awake at night. So when I checked the forecast and saw that it was predicting rain all day, she called him.
But she woke up refreshed, full of determination and with a revised forecast that it wouldn’t rain until the evening. And the road rewarded her for her determination.
Not this way
We start with a detour. Landslides destroyed part of the road leading out of Nefyn. Beach erosion has existed along the coast, erasing the trail in some places and leaving some unsightly cliffs in others.
But once the trail lords allowed us to get back on the official route, we had a really good trail. Smooth, level and wide enough to walk side by side, with stunning views.
something changed
Being a holiday weekend (May Day), many locals, tourists from the UK and their dogs were enjoying the trail with us. The friendly ones. And not just dogs.
They greeted us and asked, “Are you okay?” (the most common Welsh greeting) and chatted about the trail or asked if we were on holiday. Normal things. No politics. We like it.
Kate spent twenty minutes talking to a family. Grandpa and I tried our best to talk until he discovered he had lost his sunglasses. Then we had a task to share, which cemented our friendship. We found them in a thicket of grass about a quarter mile back.
Just after the trail closure turnoff, we ran into a guy walking his dogs. Who Kate stopped to chat with so I could practice patience. Practice, but you don’t quite achieve it.
The guy was friendly, even after noticing our accent. After quite a bit of banter, he mentioned that in the next bay we would find the Ty Coch Inn, the third best beach bar in the world.
The third best beach bar in the world
That caught my attention. I had read about the bar and its fame in the guide. But the book didn’t say how the bar got this honor, so I asked our new friend.
«Well,» he replied confidently, «it’s right on the beach, right?» I began pointing out that I knew of at least half a dozen bars in Mission Beach, California, that met that standard. But he seemed so confident and proud that I was worried I would crush the community’s only source of self-esteem if I did.
After walking on, Kate and I (okay, just me, but Kate smiled and tolerated it), reflected on how the bar got its third place finish.
Note that this bar is ranked 3rd in the WORLD, although it comes with the «beach» modifier. Still, its ranking is not just for the Llyn Peninsula, Wales, the UK or even the EU. It faces world-class beaches in California and the Caribbean, not to mention beachy places like Iran or Saudi Arabia. Or Arizona, which has a lot of beach, although very little ocean.
Was there a global survey? Interviews with travel writers, beach bums, or sleazy middle-aged guys in Jimmy Buffet t-shirts?
Possibly, but I doubt it.
How to become the third best
Personally, I imagine the rating as the brainchild of three elderly punters sitting at the bar, during a long day of drinking.
“This is the best bar in the world,” says one after receiving a buy of 10 and a free round from the bartender.
«No,» says another, «there must be one or two better ones somewhere.»
«Well then,» replies the first, «third best.»
At that, they raise their pints in toast and begin to tell their friends.
Or this
Kate imagined a more sinister plot, one launched around a conference room table by the suit-clad, world-renowned evil marketing gurus of North Wales.
«We need a hook,» someone suggests, «something to attract tourists and make this peninsula great again.»
“The best in the world?” someone proposes. «It’s not credible. Plus, someone might try to verify it. Someone would probably sue us.»
«How about we say third best? It’s like winning a silver medal at the Olympics. You can brag, but no one remembers you or bothers to check your facts.»
“Best bar?” Someone else, after being stumped by Wales, suggests other famous features, such as abandoned mines, unfinished castles, moody poets or druids. «No, there are too many entrants in that category. Plus, there are a lot of bars in Wales with very loyal customers. There would be a massive brawl across the country.»
“How was the bar on the beach?” is the following brainstorm. «Now we’re getting somewhere. I don’t think Wales has any other beach bars. We’ve got town bars, hotel bars, private bars, harbor bars, castle bars and sheep bars, but this might be the only beach bar. Or at least in the top three. Also, people who really like beach culture probably won’t come to North Wales.”
«Third best beach bar? That’s it. Awesome, vaguely specific. Perfect. Call the hiking guides and let them know.»
In fact, the Ty Coch Inn was a nice bar in a historic building that was right on the beach. And the best we saw all day. And definitely in the top three for this trip.
Beachfront towns
The Ty Coch Inn was not the only building built on the water’s edge. We passed a few tiny communities squeezed between the narrow beaches and the base of the cliffs.
Many had flood barriers built over inlets to prevent storm surge. Others had no road access during high tide. Its residents had to schedule their visits to the city around low tide, when they could drive along the beach to the nearest road.
We had timed our walk so we could follow the beach as well. As we walked along the edge of the waves, I found a A leopard shark and a falcon appeared among the remains. It must have been a great battle that ended in a draw.
A good walk ruined
After the third best beach bar, the trail headed away from the beach and followed the edge of a busy golf course. We followed a quartet of women, stopping every time they fired shots and shushing us as they headed to the dance.
They seemed a little frustrated with their game and perhaps with the two hikers and a dog walker following them. We, on the other hand, were delighted to walk, stop and enjoy the sun and the breeze.
Wasn’t it Churchill who described golf as “a good walk ruined”?
Coastline
The golf course curved inland, but we and the dog walker continued straight along the coast, weaving in and out of creek valleys that tumbled toward the ocean.
The sun came out, changing the water from my favorite steely blue to brighter shades of blue and green waves covered in white. All we needed was a colony of seals to make our good walk perfect.
Stamps
Then we found some seals. Unfortunately, so did the holiday weekend crowd. And they brought their kayaks and beach chairs, carrying their gear right past the «Do Not Disturb Nesting Seals» sign. We and the seals moved to calmer shores.
Home
The coast path continued along the cliffs but our path turned inland towards the world’s best little family tavern in the village of Tudweiliog. It had two nice patios, a few food trucks, and friendly staff. And, for overnight guests, a strangely detailed, specific and slightly alarming lecture on their emergency exits.
We probably would have slept through a fire. We slept among the weekend patio crowd.
