Day 108
Tal y Bont to Fairbourne: 9 miles
Thought of the Day: I have less than 20 miles to walk
Reason: Feels Awesome
Surprisingly Easy
So, after all the difficulties of the last week - the rain, the hard time I was having getting motivated, my walk through a naturist area without seeing a single naked person, somehow today my nine mile walk took absolutely no time at all. And that included having to stop off at my guesthouse room in Barmouth, and a visit to a church - somehow even with that it only took about two and a half hours to get from Tal-y-Bont to Barmouth.
I didn't particularly feel like I was jogging at the time, but when I started in Tal-y-Bont and shortly thereafter found myself on the sidewalk next to the highway, I very shortly saw a giant storm cloud out at sea, that seemed to be making it's way toward shore. As in the past, somehow my mind convinced me that what I needed to do was to try to outrun the cloud. And, also as in the past, I entirely misjudged what direction it was going and ended up just walking more quickly into the middle of an approaching rainstorm.
But all in all, the rain didn't last all that long - and watching a giant cloud pour in off the coast, with beautiful scenery all around isn't all that bad, even if I did get wet.
Regardless, I very quickly found myself in the 13th century Church of St. Mary and St. Bodfan in Llanaber. I'd known there was a church here, but hadn't known how much I'd like it. Sited as it was nearly on a cliff overlooking the sea, surrounded by an evocative churchyard, with views to Barmouth and Fairbourne in the south and the Llyn to the north, I almost forgot that I was effectively walking along the highway at the time. Once I crossed through the tiny gate through the churchyard, had a look at some non-ancient Celtic cross tomb markers, and went through the large church doors, I was truly struck by what a cute and unexpected little church this was.
Although the current church was built in the 13th century, the first church was founded here in - you guessed it - the 6th century. The founding was done by St. Bodfan, a Celtic saint of Bardsey Island origins. Although none of that church is left, the current church does boast two of the most ancient Christian relics in Wales - the Calixtus stone and the Stone of Aeternus and Aeturni, otherwise known as the Llanaber Stones. These date from the 5th or 6th century, and the latter is a memorial for a possible brother and sister, while the former has a Welsh-Roman inscription that some believe refers to the mythical 'King of Mona' (Anglesey). Either way, it's always interesting to see 1400 year old stones randomly placed in the corner of an out of the way church. Especially since one of them was discovered in the last 100 years, having been used as a ford over a small stream.
Further explorations in the church showed some wonderful wooden-beamed ceilings, some of which are from the 16th century, and some which are closer to the front of the church are well carved and gilded. There were also several ancient boxes that used to hold the church's important documents - and there was also a bell with a date from the 18th century on it near the pulpit, which was left entirely unexplained.
In any case, this was one of those 'what is this lovely little church doing here moments' and I left very happy to have made the visit.
An unexpected stop in Barmouth
The path continued along the road for a short while longer, eventually cutting down a path to the right that quickly ran into the Barmouth promenade. Unfortunately, after waving up to the flag up on the hill overlooking the town, I realized my phone was entirely full, so I needed to stop off at the room I was staying in to download photos, if I wanted to take anymore during the day. Conveniently, my room was right off of the prom, and so it couldn't have happened at a more convenient time.
Now, since I've been to Barmouth before (several times actually), I won't write a whole lot more about the background of this seaside town this time around. But since I've now been staying here a few days, I will take this opportunity to tell you about some things that happened this time around.
As it turns out, on leaving the Llyn peninsula I'd tried to find places to stay for the week it would take me to walk to Aberdyfi. Unfortunately, because of a festival in the area, it seemed like the entire Merionydd coast was full up. Even Barmouth, which as a seaside resort has a glut of accommodation, was relatively booked. But I did find one guesthouse that had two days available, and one that had several more, so having booked them online I arrived in Barmouth without high hopes given the fact that they seemed to be the last places available.
In the one case, I was right. In the other, I was wrong. In the first case, I was right to an extent that ended up with me ending up more angry at an accommodation, or any other type of service for that matter, than I have been before during my entire stay in Wales. Having finished hiking for the day, I arrived in Barmouth at the guesthouse concerned and gave the front desk my name. At which point, the woman behind the desk told me, without the slightest apology, or offer to help, that they didn't actually have a room for me. That they'd talked to the online booking agency and really I didn't know? Why didn't I know? She'd talked to the booking agency herself, and really, I should have heard from someone.
OK. So, mistakes are possible, and I understand they happen. But this particular mistake - i.e. not having a room that I booked, on a Friday night, in a town, in a region, that were both nearly entirely fully booked, and not being the slightest bit apologetic or even nice to me about it - well, no. I was not a happy camper. Asking her what I should do, she said contact Booking.com . She of course didn't offer me a phone, a phone number, or really anything else at all. She never said sorry, she just basically blamed me after asking my why I hadn't realized that the room I'd booked online several days before, and that I'd last checked about an hour beforehand, and was still showing up online as booked, and which I still had several emails saying in the Subject Line 'You have successfully booked', was not, in fact booked. Because somehow this was clearly my fault.
My suggestion that possibly the fact that I had spent every day of the last 4 months hiking the entire border of Wales, and I only had a few days left, and wasn't spending all my time calling to confirm the hotels I'd booked online, in particular when I had confirmation emails, got no sympathy from her (though the bartender in the back looked incredibly shocked and upset, to be fair). And that is how several groups of bikers who were trying to use the front desk for it's normal purpose of checking in, found it rather difficult to hear, and or reach the front desk itself, due to my calling Booking.com from directly in front of said front desk and speaking exceedingly loudly and gesticulating wildly when the poor Booking.com agent in another country was trying to tell me that an alternate booking was available 45 minutes away from Barmouth.
Despite all of this, and to the serious credit of the Booking.com customer service woman, I have to say that every cloud has a silver lining. Because it actually turned out that the cancellation policy of Booking.com turned out seriously in my favor - and I ended up staying in a far, far, far nicer place than the place I'd originally booked. Apparently it was entirely the fault of the guest house that cancelled on me, and as such the booker had to find suitable alternative accommodation for me. As I mentioned, the first thing they found was 45 minutes away - which is hardly suitable. But after some frustration on my part, they found the only other availability in Barmouth. At a place that was about three times the price of the original hotel - but the joy of it all is that because it was the original hotel's fault, I paid the original price, and the guesthouse that was exceedingly rude to me had to pay the difference.
And that's how I found myself in a rather gorgeous newly remodeled hotel with a tapas bar on the ground floor, reading a series of tongue in cheek books about hipsters, and remarking how the last time I stayed in a place like this it was in the Ace Hotel in Manhattan and for some reason there'd been a pencil sharpener in the room. And while there was no pencil sharpener, there was certainly a feeling that really this had turned out well after all.
But of course that hotel (the Tilman) was only booked for two days, at which point I was moving on to a small bed and breakfast that somehow only cost about 30 pounds a night with full breakfast included. And although my bedroom was a single on the top floor (and I can't seem to focus long enough on the many stairwells to figure out how many floors there are, except to say many, many, many) - the tiny bed looked directly out a tiny window which had gigantic sweeping sea views. And the breakfast was great, and the owners super friendly.
But back toward Fairbourne
And so it was in this hotel room that I found myself, still rather early in the morning, after I realized I'd taken too many pictures on my phone and so needed to download some of them before going on to Fairbourne. Having taken care of that, I continued on along the path, and toward some of my absolute favorite, and in my opinion some of the most stunning views in Wales.
When I'd last been here in February and tried to walk the Panorama Walk, the sea fog had been so thick that I couldn't even see across the Mawddach Estuary. Not so today. Although it had been cloudy and rainy earlier, it broke up enough that there were patches of blue all over, and I had a really beautiful walk across the wooden Barmouth Railway Bridge. Not only did I have the incomparable beauty of uninterrupted views toward Cadair Idris and Dolgellau to enjoy, framed by the small high gabled grey house jutting out to a point on the Barmouth side, but I also got to watch a train pass over the bridge, while on the bridge. While it shook a little, it was an occurrence that made me realize it's something that's been happening on that long, narrow, wooden bridge since 1867, and with views like that I hope the trains keep running, and the bridge stays in use, for a long time from now.
After reaching the other side, I got to an example of a train platform where the trains didn't run nearly as much as the used to - Morfa Mawddach. This apparently used to be the end of the Great Western Railway Line, the bed of which now forms the base of the beautiful Mawddach trail that I walked in January. But since that particular branch no longer exists, now this is one of those request platforms in the middle of nowhere, that is super helpful for walker and nearby homeowners, but usually makes you feel like you're being dropped off in the middle of a desolate swamp.
In this case, the swamp was a bit of a mudflat on the edge of the estuary, and the trail turned right across the railroad and followed through the flats on a raised, very straight trail. The views back toward Barmouth - over sand dunes, the estuary, and I think a still used ferry landing were still stunning. And the rest of the walk to little Fairbourne, huddled as it is between the sea and a sheer hillside, and protected from the Sea by defenses left over from WWII, was both easy and a highly recommended walk.
But all good things must come to an end, and so I returned to my little writers garret in the attic of the Leamington Guest House on the prom in Barmouth, took in more of the beautiful Barmouth views, and had Indian food for the second time in two days (because it was great the first time, so of course I had to go back to make sure they were consistent). And luckily, managed to get back to my room, full of Indian food, just before a giant hailstorm came raging in off the Irish Sea.
