Day 8 Llanfairdate to Bangor
The end of segment one
Today we completed the North Wales segment of the Wales Coast Path. Our legs and feet are a little banged up. To celebrate the end of the segment, we’ll take a zero day in the coastal town of Beaumaris on the island of Anglesey. We need the rest. After our day zero we will begin our walk around the perimeter of Anglesey.
The morning routine
Alarm at 8:00 (one of us has already been awake for hours). Breakfast at 8:30 (scheduled by the host. I’m still getting used to late breakfasts). Taxi at 9:30 (How do people start their days so late? I mean, people other than Kate.) Trail start at 9:45 or 10:00.
Our taxi driver dropped us off at Llanfairfechan at 9:45, but stopped a few hundred meters from where yesterday’s driver picked us up, so we got some extra mileage at the start.
You’re American, huh?
We’ve had a great conversation with most of the taxi drivers, but today I wanted to harangue us about Donald Trump. It wasn’t the first. Drivers, inn hosts, and other hikers hear our accent, realize we’re Americans, and give us a little lecture about how much they hate Mr. Trump.
It was kind of fun at first, but it got a little boring. Whether you love the president or hate him, why would you want to take him on vacation? That’s more or less how I respond. A smile, a laugh, a “No, thank you!” and a change of subject.
Some persist. Yesterday’s driver looked at me suspiciously when I offered my usual detour and demanded to know if I was a Republican. Do I even know what political parties are called in other countries? I work and something else here, as I remember…
I responded that I am a registered Independent, but he didn’t believe that was real. Luckily, Kate asked him about the Welsh nationalism that alienated him from American politics. It is true that American politics has recently spilled over into Welsh life in a way that rarely goes in the other direction.
ties that unite
Coming down from Little Orme a few days ago, Kate stopped to chat with a beautiful black Labrador puppy. The owners heard his accent and one of them asked if we were Americans or Canadians, adding that he wouldn’t talk to us if we were Americans. Oh.
When I said “Okay” and started to turn around (and his wife scolded him), he suddenly realized he was being rude and apologized. But the conversation that followed was awkward.
We live in strange times. We did the Camino de Santiago in 2017 with people from all over the world, some of our political “enemies.” Politics never came up. Rather, we were a community of hikers and pilgrims. What we shared was more important than our differences.
Something is really wrong with your priorities if you meet an international stranger, someone who may have amazing stories to tell, and all you want to do is tell them how much you disagree with their politics. Especially before you take the time to find out what your political beliefs really are.
It can be done
Instead, I spent the last 30 minutes talking to an elderly native—that is, a little older than my age—in the living room of our inn. We talked about trails, local hidden treasures, our work histories, and our future climate prospects (there will be rain), before arriving in my home country.
We found a lot of common ground, before the conversation bounced around international politics and landed on the history of the Welsh independence movement. It was informative and refreshing. We didn’t agree on everything, but each of us listened, at least to the extent that it allowed us to understand each other’s accent.
Most of the way it has been Switzerland. Politically neutral. Kate greets everyone we pass, chatting about her dogs, the weather and her destination. Safe topics. Nice conversation. Bridge construction. We’re happy to leave the bitter arguments to the online talking heads.
The end of the walk
A mile into our hike, we finally reached the end of the paved bike path. The paved path is easy to follow but hard on the feet. We step on the ground and smile at each other. Happy feet make happy hikers.
Today we walk towards and along the Minai Strait, a narrow channel separating mainland Wales from the island of Anglesey. Our trail skirted the edge of the marshes that bordered the pastures and marshes of the mainland.
We walked mainly on compact dirt and gravel in good condition. But we also had some loose segments of sand and beach cobbles. Some of the paths were wide enough to walk side by side, so we could talk together. And we accidentally tripped over our trekking poles.
We convinced ourselves beyond a turn we should have taken. We didn’t discover it until our path ended in a deep quagmire. I pulled out the trails app and discovered we were on the wrong side of the swamp. There was no way to cross the swamp without climbing a barbed wire fence and swimming, so we turned around and retraced our steps. Hurrah! An extra mile.
Sure enough, the turn was marked, but the small trail sign was hidden behind a gate. Furthermore, the path we lost was barely a foot wide, overgrown with grass, and led through a broken gate. The trail we mistakenly followed was four feet wide and covered in packed gravel. After looking at the gate, I realized that someone had removed the small metal trail signs, probably as souvenirs. gr.
Sheep, ghost cows and fences
When we weren’t scouring mudflats and mudflats, we walked through sheep pastures. It’s calving season, which plays havoc with our walking pace. How can anyone not stop to watch lambs run after their mothers and then spin their tails happily as they nurse? Some lambs were so new they were almost bald and pink.
As we passed through a seemingly empty pasture, I watched as a short, hairy cow slowly emerged from the tall brown grass surrounding it. He looked like one of the ghostly White Sox in Kevin Costner’s Field of Dreams, looked around, and disappeared again. I called Kate ahead of time, “Did you see that?”, but she had been talking to her furry cousin who was standing by a fence next to the trail.
The fence itself was a curiosity. Imagine a white picket fence. Now replace the white pickets with long, thin slabs of purplish-gray slate. I had never seen a slate fence. Durable, I guess, but expensive. Unless there were some of the largest slate mines in the world nearby. That there are, or so says my new older friend from the inn lounge.
Forests with flowers, bridges and castles
We had passed through some groves that only the little local children who played in them would call forests. Or at least that’s what I did when I was a kid. But today we had to walk through a real forest, big enough for Robin Hood to play in it. Large deciduous trees, dense undergrowth and a blanket of delicate white flowers. And better yet, a soft dirt road. Happy eyes and feet.
We stopped for lunch when we found a flat rock to sit on on a pebble beach haunted by the ghosts of the old docks. The seaweed-covered mounds stood guard as we ate our granola bars, the only food we had brought, as it had been spoiled at the trailside cafes over the past few days.
As if the forests, flowers, bridges and ghosts weren’t enough, the trail also provided a charming wooden walkway over the babbling Afon Aber. As the road ran through a generous forest, there was also a castle. Penrhyn Castle, specifically, which remains private property. The trail lords recently negotiated an easement through the estate’s beautiful woods, saving hikers a long walk around its perimeter.
bangor
We left the forest and entered an industrial area on the bank of the Bangor River. We followed the pavements past the motorways and the harbor to Garth Dock, where we were scheduled to meet another taxi.
Bangor was both the end of the North Wales Coast Path and the start of our walk on the Llyn Coast Path segment, which we will begin after completing our walk around Anglesey. Technically, the Llyn coast starts a little further south, but that’s where we’ll start.
Beaumaris
Bangor seemed big and interesting, but our path took us across the Strait, to another castle town in Beaumaris. Which is pronounced Boh-MAR-ee, BUH-mar-is or Buh-ma-RRI, depending on who you ask and how you pronounced it when you asked. No matter how you originally pronounced it, the correct way is different.
Anyway, it’s a nice little town with a large castle reputed to be «the largest unfinished castle in England.» That, of course, is not true. Not only is this not England, but I personally have at least a dozen castles that are not only larger, but even less finished. In fact, some haven’t even started yet.
Our big plans for our stay in Beaumaris include resting, eating, sleeping and little else. We’re not even sure we’ll be able to complete a tour of that castle, which somehow seems appropriate.
