Day 79
Bangor to Beaumaris: 7 miles
Food of the day: Asparagus
Reason: Good on its own, even better when it's in tapas.
Gwynedd here I come! Oh wait. Anglesey.
So one of the exciting things about arriving in Bangor is that not only had I arrived in North Wales, but Bangor is also in Gwynedd - the region of Wales that I live in. To be fair, I live in the farthest south point of Gwynedd, and Bangor is the farthest north part of Gwynedd, but when you've gone 700 or so miles you really don't care anymore.
So I left the university city of Bangor with a spring in my step, passing a stone circle that wasn't ancient, but a modern Gorsedd Circle to mark the national Eisteddfod festival being held there. Or rather, I would have left with a spring in my step if I hadn't looked up how big Anglesey actually was a few days before.
You see, off the north coast of Wales is the giant island of Anglesey. Known for it's slower pace of life, beaches, ancient monuments, concentration of Welsh-speakers and utter resistance to the outside world, I've been really excited to visit here. But, well, I knew it was a big enough island. I didn't realize it was 120 miles around.
The feeling I got as I saw the bridge that crosses the dangerous Menai Straits separating the mainland from Anglesey made me finally understand why people had been all asking me the same question when I told them I was walking the whole way around Wales. 'Oh, Anglesey too?' they asked. 'Yes of course' I would respond, while simultaneously wondering what part of 'the whole way around Wales' was so difficult to understand. Anglesey was part of Wales. Of course I was going to walk around it.
But now, faced with the prospect of 120 miles of gorgeous coastline, historic sights, out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere super scenic hiking and great food, my heart sank a little. If it's not clear - this was totally a psychological problem, the result of already having walked 700 or so miles, feeling like I was so close to my goal, and then feeling suddenly like I was being forced onto a diversion. Somehow, after finishing up the Offa's Dyke Path and walking west along the north coast of Wales, I was again supposed to be making my way north - i.e. even farther away from the place I was supposed to be walking toward.
It was all just so depressing.
But come on, it's Anglesey!
Given all of the above, it would have had to have taken something pretty significant to get me into a better mood. Lucky for me then, that I was on Anglesey. And it was beautiful.
First, I crossed the Menai Straits Bridge, which I learned several key points about from a few signs scattered around. Apparently, for some time the post (mail) had gone from London to Dublin via Anglesey (look at a map Americans, if this doesn't seem to make sense - because it makes a LOT of sense), but they'd had to cross the shifting currents of the Menai Strait via several ferries. After the Act of Union in 1801 brought Ireland into the United Kingdom, traffic overall had increased, and it became abundantly clear that the unreliable ferries weren't managing all this traffic particularly well.
With a tremendous amount of ships going through the straits, however, the idea of a bridge wasn't very popular. But in 1816 it was built as a high enough suspension bridge to allow ships to slip underneath - and it was the first suspension bridge to take heavy traffic, and it was also the longest bridge in the world. Also, from first hand experience I can tell you it's really a lovely bridge, in particular on a sunny day watching a sailboat ease under the arches.
As I moved past Menai Bridge (the village) and the path went slightly inland, I found myself on quiet farm roads that went up hills allowing for stupendous views back to north Wales. I'm really having a hard time thinking of what to compare it to - being on the lower lying island looking south over water and into a series of mountain peaks - I don't know that I've seen that anyplace else. It was really beautiful.
And let's not forget the tapas - or the castle
And as I walked into Beaumaris it got even prettier - with a pretty little curved beach leading towards a pier overlooked by pastel houses. Followed by an adorable high street flanked by historic properties now hotels of the sort I can't quite afford at the moment. Then followed, of course, by the magnificent Beaumaris castle.
This is where I was meeting P, so we met up and when he made me guess where he wanted to go for lunch I immediately said 'The tapas place I walked past and immediately thought to myself this is where P wants to have lunch?' I understand his food preferences quite well at this point.
Anyway, it was relatively late for lunch but we were told if we could order within 5 minutes we could still get lunch there. So we did (and saw several other people after us turned away). And it was good. So I haven't been to Ultracomida in Aberystwyth in like 3 and a half months now, so I'm clearly going through tapas withdrawal, but The Midland didn't just have super-friendly staff, it was also delicious. Especially the asparagus.
After drooling my way through lunch, I decided we should take on Beaumaris Castle. This is the castle made for photography - with relatively intact turrets and fortifications sunk into a moat, the reflection is beautiful - as are the views toward North Wales from the walls.
Of course, the first thing we did was go to climb to the nearest turret - where I found a rather strange red warning sign that I haven't seen before. It was a person hunched over with two birds over him. I pointed it out to P, and we wondered whether we weren't about to be attacked by seagulls (in particular since seagulls really, really don't like me, I was once run off of a Norwegian island in the Arctic Circle by an attack seagull, and P recently had one poop right on his head as he was walking in the front door at home). When we got to the top of the turret, the cries of seagulls screaming 'Get the hell out of here' in seagull-ease were deafening, and it was more than obvious what the sign was about. The seagulls lived here and clearly they didn't want humans nosing around.
Getting enough of painful seagull screams at home (apparently the violent nighttime scratching on our roof resulted in a seagull chick being born and raised up there) - we went back down and learned a bit about the castle. As part of Edward I's 'Iron Ring' meant to quash Welsh resistance in difficult to quash North Wales, construction of the 'most perfect, everything is symmetric' castle was never completed because of Braveheart. That's the basic story. (Edward had to turn his attention to the pesky Scottish, basically). So the imposing walls were meant to be even more imposing, but they didn't get as high as they were supposed to.
Having amused ourselves seeking out the symmetrical guard-bathroom placement on the upper floors, P noticed that the kids had finally stopped playing in the 'build your own Beaumaris Castle' giant block set in the yard. So of course we rushed down there, with P noting that 'Those kids had no idea what they were doing.' And so we built a castle - the right way. And then played in it. Because we're real adult people.
And don't worry, only one set of other actual children showed interest in the castle when we were putting it together. And eventually we let them have it. After they'd seen we were clearly not finished putting it together ourselves and went to explore elsewhere until we seemed finished. But they didn't really know what they were doing either. Ha ha ha. We build much better castles than 7 year olds.
Anyway, we had a lovely visit to a lovely town. But I did wonder when someone asked me whether I was making a 'nationalist statement' by wearing my Welsh flag headband. I dodged the question by sounding particularly American and asking who doesn't like a flag with a dragon on it? But it was a strange thing to have happen - in particular in a town that in the 13th century had all its Welsh inhabitants forcibly relocated across the island to make way for Englishmen to build a giant defensive castle meant to subdue the local populace.
But rather than focusing on that, I decided to focus on the largest single-hinged door in Britain (at 13ft high and 11ft wide) and one of the longest serving courtrooms in Britain. And the views - did I mention the great views?
