Day 52
Peterstone Wentlooge to Newport: 9.5 miles
Shock of the Day: That I haven't been killed yet
Reason: According to my taxi driver, this was a real possibility.
I started out the day remembering what my host in Barry had told me to expect from Newport - having grown up there I suspected she knew what she was talking about. She described a YouTube clip (that I'd find and link here but unfortunately I don't have internet access at exactly this second) about the beginning of The Lion King. Mufasa is showing Simba the landscape, and he says whatever he says 'All this is yours' etc, etc, and then points to the dark spot on the horizon and says 'Except that. That, Simba, is Newport. Promise me you'll never go there.'
So in this mindset I got into a taxi with a driver who proceeded to tell me that what was good about the US and the UK is that we were currently relearned what it meant to be British and American, which we'd forgotten. Apparently what that means, if you're wondering, is that we'd forgotten women shouldn't be allowed to file sexual harassment claims. Giving me an example of a man who was recently suspended from his wife's place of work for putting a smiley face in his email to a co-worker, he asked me if that wasn't ridiculous.
Rather than suggesting that maybe this isn't actually what happened, that it sounded like that's just the office rumor and no one outside the two of them can know what happened, that it's unlikely a woman would report a man for that, and the history of women being harassed in the workplace and also my concerns that what it might mean to be British to this gentleman is otherwise known as putting women in their place (and all the while suppressing the urge to just jump from the moving taxi rather than have to continue this conversation), I simply said, because he really did seem to want me to answer 'As someone who's been harassed many times in the workplace because of my gender, I can tell you from experience that there is definitely a line. If that's actually what happened in this case, no, I agree that's not it.'
I then proceeded to stare silently at him in the rearview mirror. I'd like to think with one eyebrow raised but from what I understand when I raise one eyebrow I look more shocked than confrontational [Editorial Note from P: I don't usually jump in on her writing - but in the interest of honesty, I wanted to let you know that L can't actually raise one eyebrow. If she tries to she looks like she's having a stroke. And never, ever ask her to try to wink. End Note] so really I was just staring blankly. Unsurprisingly, the previously extremely talkative taxi driver continued driving in silence for a few minutes after that.
The next time he spoke to me, it was to express concern about dropping me, as a woman by herself, where I was asking to be dropped. I practically had to wring the steering wheel out of his hands to get to where I was trying to go, and then he made me knock on someone's door to ask to make absolutely sure we were in the right place (we were). Of course I couldn't have any idea where I was going without someone else confirming it for me.
After the last protest of my taxi driver I told him thank you, but that having already walked 460 miles by myself so far I assume I'd be able to make it another ten without anyone trying to kill me, I was finally allowed to go on my way.
So then I was forced to spend the next bit of my walk through some flat but fine mudflat shoreline wondering why exactly it's always the men who think sexual harassment doesn't happen who say they're trying to protect you in whatever imaginary dangerous situation. Because really, logically speaking, you'd think that they'd be the ones to tell you there was nothing to worry about. But I suppose it's a function of assuming that as a woman you're literally never doing the right thing.
This isn't great, but no one's going to kill me
Anyway, when walking by myself I find I have a terrible time getting my mind sidetracked from things that annoy me, and unfortunately this walk didn't have enough happening for me to just forget it.
I did eventually get to the cute West Usk lighthouse, originally opened in the early 19th century, but redone in the 20th century and now serving as a B&B. It was actually pretty cute - although the clouds and the mudflats, not to mention the giant electricity towers and power lines in the distance, didn't do much to enhance the view.
I made my way closer and closer to the power lines, and after going through a few overgrown green areas, I plopped into the heart of darkness that is otherwise known as Newport. Really it's just a small city. But it isn't a city I'd want to spend a ton of time in. Except for one thing - the Newport Transporter Bridge.
I'd seen this in several tourist websites about Newport and the Wales Coast Path, and didn't fully understand how it worked. The pictures I'd seen showed a giant metal bridge with a crossing over the top (over 200 ft high), and the descriptions said that as a walker you could walk over the top along metal girders - which from the looks of the thing brought to mind walking over the Cape Cod railroad bridge in Bourne while it was still raised.
But when I got there I finally understood how it worked. As a walker you still can walk over the top (when it's open - when I got there it wasn't), but the bridge actually functions by basically moving a hanging giant pavilion platform back and forth across the river. A normal arched bridge wouldn't have been high enough for the type of boats that go through there, so after looking at options they decided on this funky design plan. If you don't understand it, picture a platform hanging from wires. The top of those wires are attached to a mechanism that slides back and forth across the river from the girders on top of the bridge.
The bridge does still run, but unfortunately it wasn't running today. Which is a shame because I would have much preferred crossing the river here to crossing at the bridge several miles on - where to get to the bridge I had to negotiate my way through a small traveller camp.
Given the expectations I'd been given for the day, I suppose I just should've been happy to be alive.
[Just to reiterate how ridiculous that seems to me.]
