Day 19
Newgale to Little Haven: 7.5 miles
Visit of the day: The Druidstone Hotel
Reason: This hotel has the loveliest vibe ever - in particular on a sunny day, I could have sat over the cliffs and watched the sea forever. Also they still served me a brownie and coffee when they were no longer serving food.
Pembrokeshire Tourist Busses
As I've mentioned before, I've been 'commuting' from a lovely Airbnb stay in St. David's for the last few days - and I'm starting to get rather farther afield. Because of the great tourist infrastructure of the area - in particular for walkers on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path which has been around since the 60s - it's pretty easy to get to all major spots on the path on one bus or another.
Although there have been plenty of people in St. David's, the bus hasn't been overly packed. And what this has meant is I've really, really gotten to know some of the bus drivers. In particular, today I was for a long stretch the only person on the bus, and had a 30 or 40 minute plus conversation going first to Newgale, and then coming back from Little Haven. It was all the more impressive because the driver basically just kept yelling things out at me, while impressively not getting into an accident on the one lane twisty and turny roads that really have no business supporting bus traffic.
Also he managed to stop for five minutes to chat with a rugby player he recognized in a turning car, tell a driver she was a very good driver after she was forced to blind-reverse for about a quarter mile with the bus 20 feet in front of her, and also drive up to and order a coffee from a beach-side food truck, without ever leaving the bus. Really, the bus was an experience in itself in the Welsh love of chatting.
Newgale to Druidston
I'd taken a later bus, and so I got back to Newgale after lunchtime. I suddenly realized I hadn't brought anything to eat. But then I figured I'd just stop in at the place in Druidston - the Druidstone Hotel - that my Airbnb host had highly recommended. Specifically, she'd told me that in early days a long time ago when she'd gone there, she suspected the staff of being so, umm, mellow, that at times they had completely forgotten her table's food order. Like, entirely forgotten.
That doesn't sound like much of a recommendation - except that the views and the vibe and the friendliness of the... forgetful... staff meant that she would go back again and again - and besides, anyone who went there wouldn't mind being given an excuse to hang around longer.
So I walked the undulating path, down the lengthy Newgale Sands and its few surfers fighting for some waves, up past an old brick chimney, down into a small village with a tiny cove, up over cliffs, down past a modern, glass-fronted, in-ground house that is nicknamed 'Teletubby House' for a good reason, back up on a teeny tiny road toward the Round House, originally built as a croquet building of some sort, now an eco-friendly vacation home, and up again to the Druidstone Hotel.
Set on up on the side of a hill over a cove, the Hotel is a former large residence, redone with lots of interesting artwork, cozy corners, and a charming garden. The dining room's windows have long views back to Solva and St. Davids peninsula. The garden is walled in against the wind off the water, with overgrown rose bushes, neatly planted trellisses, a fire pit, picnic tables and a small blue wooden door that opens into a front yard with further mismatched wooden tables and further beautiful views.
But the main draw (in addition to the views) is the chill vibe exemplified to me by the sign suggesting you climb some of the garden wall, but not to use the top of the wall because some of the stones are loose. Most places have signs telling you not to do things like climb the walls - it's nice to know some places want you to enjoy yourself. I imagine why the place was packed with people of all ages hanging out in the sun with a drink.
I myself had wanted to eat - but it had taken me so long to walk there that it was now well past meal time. Luckily, they still had a brownie and some coffee for me. I wish I could have stayed at my little table overlooking the sea much longer - but I really had to get to at least Broad Haven today, and I was also very limited by a Sunday bus schedule (when only the smaller tourist buses are available).
So off I went.
Little England Beyond Wales
After walking past Druidston, the path was suddenly paved, and only wandered left and right along the tops of cliffs - as opposed to up and down. This easy walking was also accompanied by the noticeable addition of many, many benches with many, many dedications on them. I of course like to read all of these because if someone took the time to make a dedication, then you should take the time to read about the person being honored. Also I definitely want a bench dedicated to me when I die, and I want it to by hysterical.
Anyway, this reminded me a lot of England. Though you certainly have bench dedications in Wales, there was something about the path and the benches that reminded me more of my times in England than of Wales. Then I suddenly realized - coming south, Newgale was actually the first town I'd hit in 'Little England Beyond Wales'. I'd crossed what's called the 'Landsker Line' divides Welsh Wales from English Wales, roughly running from Newgale to southern Carmarthenshire, and also through the Gower peninsula.
English Wales, though remote from the border of England, is effectively an English-speaking enclave that's closer in cultural and linguistic ties to England than it is to Wales. There are also recent reports that the people of north and south Pembrokeshire divided by the line, are extremely different in genetic terms as well.
No one is quite sure why there is such a distinct separation of Welshry and Englishry along this line - the area was all highly Normanized, and though there are many castles here, the language line itself doesn't run across any line that has ever been defended in the past. But as early as the 16th century, writings described an extreme difference of culture between one village and the next - with almost no intermarriage and even surprise when, for example, a Welshman might wander into an English town.
And as I dropped in on Broad Haven, the sense that I was in an English village rather than a Welsh one got even stronger. I'm honestly not entirely sure what it was - the place just looked English, rather than Welsh.
I continued on along a very narrow, very flower filled road to further even narrower, even more flower-filled roads to Little Haven, and was greeted by an adorable little town that looked like it could easily have been in Cornwall. But I still stopped into a great place where you can buy live seafood, and got P a birthday present of seaweed salt (for making mussels with) and seaweed derived Welsh gin, and ended my day by ordering my first-ever Welsh laverbread (bread cooked with, you guessed it, seaweed) and cockle pot (cockles are a tiny little clam).
So Wales still seemed to be shining through regardless.
