For a week in the break after Lent Term in school, our grandparents visited and took us kids up to Wales for the week. It was quite fun, getting lost on the roads. We'd be going in the right direction, and then the road would look like it was the wrong direction, so we'd turn around and ask someone, whether they be a pedestrian or someone at the gas station, for directions and find out that we were going in the correct direction, so we'd turn back round the right way and make our way to our destination.
On the night we arrived in Newport, we drove up to a town called Caerleon, where we had dinner with our distant relatives. One of them was my fourth cousin, in fact! They had extremely generous hospitality to offer to us. They even led us to the B&B that we were going to stay at for the night. Before dinner, they showed us around the nearby Roman ruins, which were spectacularly preserved. There was even an arena which was apparently the only Roman arena in Britain, and they, as a town, had kept it as their own little secret.
The B&B was very nice, run by a hospitable middle-aged lady called Charmaine. Apparently, it was a farmhouse, and it was a farmhouse with an amazing view over the town of Caerleon below. You see, it was in the mountains, very much out of the way. Our rented car made the steep drive up the hill, though.
On the day after, we had a drive up to a village northwest of Abergavenny called Crickhowell, which had, nestled in the middle of the town, our 2nd B&B. However, when Joanie rang the doorbell, no one answered. Whilst Joanie and I tried all the doors to see if they were open, my sister found a slightly demolished trampoline, so she bounced around on that. We then used the extremely handy spare cell phone that Dad had lent me for the trip to call the owner. She said that she would be back in half an hour.
While we waited, we went for a hike up Table Mountain, which was a climb with exquisite views over Abergavenny and Crickhowell. Surprisingly, it only took us two hours to get up and back, and our grandfather, Carey, was deeply satisfied with that trek. His goal for the trip was to walk up a mountain of a significant height. The highlight of the climb for the kids, though, was going down. The actual walk was going through fields and climbing over stiles, so coming down, my sister and I would starting running downwards, and then we would start going faster until we were completely out of control, and it was too much effort to stop, so we just kept going, laughing hard all the way and we would fall down near the stiles so as not to crash into them. Of course, then we'd have to wait for our grandparents to come down too before hopping over the next stile.
Next day, much of the morning was spent driving down to the Gower Peninsula with much difficulty. As I said before, we always got lost when going the right way. Again, the owner of the B&B was yet to arrive, so we called them, and the owner's teenage daughter came. To make the matters even more difficult, when she called her mum, her mum said that she didn't have us booked. She came along to the rescue, looked at our bookings, and decided that they looked alright. Phew.
Since the rooms were still to be made, we drove all the way to the other end of the peninsula to Rhosili beach. It was the very first time that we hadn't gotten lost, but it was just a straight road until it dead-ended by the beach. That was the biggest expanse of sand any of us had ever seen. The cliffs overlooked the low tide that day, yet not making shadows, because the sun set in the sea. I could just imagine what high tide would look like, lapping water on the bottom of the cliffs, threatening to go upwards.
For dinner that night, we went to a pub that we saw by the beach called The Worm's Head. After much giggling and discussion over the name, Carey told us that worm was the welsh word for a dragon, so they were really talking about a dragon's head. Anyway, the food was delcious and the sunset was spectacular. The sun was orangy-red, almost pinkish, and it made the cliffs farther down the beach silhouettes overlooking the calm ocean.
On the way back to Newport to get our train, I thought about the various breakfasts we had at the B&Bs. They were all the same, with bacon, sausage, egg, hash browns, tomatoes and mushrooms, with the exception of a mere Welsh pancake that my sister had at the second B&B. It must be a UK thing, because when we visited the Lake District, we had the very same thing.
Also on the way to our train, we stopped at the Museum of Welsh Life, which took houses from all four corners of Wales and put them together in an outdoor museum. I thought it was very good, and I especially admired all the varieties of architecture that they had. It was a very good end to our visit.
On the night we arrived in Newport, we drove up to a town called Caerleon, where we had dinner with our distant relatives. One of them was my fourth cousin, in fact! They had extremely generous hospitality to offer to us. They even led us to the B&B that we were going to stay at for the night. Before dinner, they showed us around the nearby Roman ruins, which were spectacularly preserved. There was even an arena which was apparently the only Roman arena in Britain, and they, as a town, had kept it as their own little secret.
The B&B was very nice, run by a hospitable middle-aged lady called Charmaine. Apparently, it was a farmhouse, and it was a farmhouse with an amazing view over the town of Caerleon below. You see, it was in the mountains, very much out of the way. Our rented car made the steep drive up the hill, though.
On the day after, we had a drive up to a village northwest of Abergavenny called Crickhowell, which had, nestled in the middle of the town, our 2nd B&B. However, when Joanie rang the doorbell, no one answered. Whilst Joanie and I tried all the doors to see if they were open, my sister found a slightly demolished trampoline, so she bounced around on that. We then used the extremely handy spare cell phone that Dad had lent me for the trip to call the owner. She said that she would be back in half an hour.
While we waited, we went for a hike up Table Mountain, which was a climb with exquisite views over Abergavenny and Crickhowell. Surprisingly, it only took us two hours to get up and back, and our grandfather, Carey, was deeply satisfied with that trek. His goal for the trip was to walk up a mountain of a significant height. The highlight of the climb for the kids, though, was going down. The actual walk was going through fields and climbing over stiles, so coming down, my sister and I would starting running downwards, and then we would start going faster until we were completely out of control, and it was too much effort to stop, so we just kept going, laughing hard all the way and we would fall down near the stiles so as not to crash into them. Of course, then we'd have to wait for our grandparents to come down too before hopping over the next stile.
Next day, much of the morning was spent driving down to the Gower Peninsula with much difficulty. As I said before, we always got lost when going the right way. Again, the owner of the B&B was yet to arrive, so we called them, and the owner's teenage daughter came. To make the matters even more difficult, when she called her mum, her mum said that she didn't have us booked. She came along to the rescue, looked at our bookings, and decided that they looked alright. Phew.
Since the rooms were still to be made, we drove all the way to the other end of the peninsula to Rhosili beach. It was the very first time that we hadn't gotten lost, but it was just a straight road until it dead-ended by the beach. That was the biggest expanse of sand any of us had ever seen. The cliffs overlooked the low tide that day, yet not making shadows, because the sun set in the sea. I could just imagine what high tide would look like, lapping water on the bottom of the cliffs, threatening to go upwards.
For dinner that night, we went to a pub that we saw by the beach called The Worm's Head. After much giggling and discussion over the name, Carey told us that worm was the welsh word for a dragon, so they were really talking about a dragon's head. Anyway, the food was delcious and the sunset was spectacular. The sun was orangy-red, almost pinkish, and it made the cliffs farther down the beach silhouettes overlooking the calm ocean.
On the way back to Newport to get our train, I thought about the various breakfasts we had at the B&Bs. They were all the same, with bacon, sausage, egg, hash browns, tomatoes and mushrooms, with the exception of a mere Welsh pancake that my sister had at the second B&B. It must be a UK thing, because when we visited the Lake District, we had the very same thing.
Also on the way to our train, we stopped at the Museum of Welsh Life, which took houses from all four corners of Wales and put them together in an outdoor museum. I thought it was very good, and I especially admired all the varieties of architecture that they had. It was a very good end to our visit.
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