A Little Time in North Wales

Waiting for our ferry to Wales was the first time homesickness really began to hit me – I actually started counting down the days to going to home in my personal journal. My future homecoming was really more of a love-hate relationship throughout the trip: I would have been happy staying in Europe for weeks, months, even a year. Yet, I missed my mom, I missed the conveniences of home and the familiar, and I even missed Mexican food. My reflections also included: chagrin at not being able to stop at the Irish Writer’s Museum in Dublin, listening to Ms. Frankel describing the black-tie McDonald’s on Wall Street, replete with doorman and grand piano – I wish I had remembered to ask her if the prices were any higher, worrying about trying to visit my friend, college, and my poor laptop that died (well, technically, that I murdered on accident – I plead reckless endangerment, your honor) shortly before I left.
But we finally boarded the ferry and our trip to Wales began (and I also officially started missing the wonderful Irish breakfasts). This ferry was not the tugboat, everyone standing by the rails ferry. Indeed not – this ferry was reminiscent of a luxury ocean liner, stocked for a month long voyage. In addition to at least three restaurants on the foot passenger deck as well as a coffee shop and a bar, there was an arcade room and a movie theatre. There were at least seven other decks, though I am unaware of their exact purpose except for one must have been the car lot and at least one must have had private cabins, as they were advertised about the ship. Despite all of these attractions, I spent the trip having a snack and sleeping. While I was still conscious, I saw a huge wall of dense fog roll over the boat’s windows – and there the fog stayed until we were in the Welsh harbor. It was a little eerie, I must admit.
After a relatively uneventful journey of somewhere around four hours, we arrived in Wales, to a harbor jam packed with boats. After the luggage loading fiasco that became commonplace and introductions to our bus driver and guide, we jetted to a beautiful cottage-like restaurant by the sea. Just outside of the building, down steep cliff that ended in a breathtaking view of the seemingly endless ocean, stood a huge white lighthouse, which from all appearances was still functioning. My first impression of Wales was lovely countryside, good food, friendly people - what else can you ask for.
After lunch we spent the afternoon with our guide outside of Bangor (the nation’s capital). He was an exceedingly patriotic man and a professor at one of the Welsh universities, and informed us the Welsh are related to the Britons, not the Celts. He also shared extensive knowledge on the Welsh language, which is the oldest language in Europe still spoken:
Lian means church, and is usually followed by a saint’s names, used in the naming of places or cities
Welsh lacks the letters c, j, v, x (So no Chelsey, I am afraid), yet there is a total of 29 letters – including letters such as ll.
Welsh is also the national language in southern Argentina because of a colony there started by Welsh religious exiles.
Our first activity of the day was the Trefignath Burial Chambers, which consisted of three types of burial chambers common throughout the early history of the island. The first and simplest burial mound is from the Neolithic age, the second from the Bronze Age, and the third from the Iron Age. He explained how the chambers had progressed physically, and what this meant about the progression of the culture and religion that built them. He also explained the rather funny tales that Ireland’s patron, Saint Patrick, was from Wales, and the Welsh patron, Saint David, was from Ireland. Finally, I must admit that every time our guide – or any other Welsh male, for that matter – spoke, all I could hear was Sean Connery going, “Bond, James Bond.”
We hopped back on the bus to travel to Bangor and passed over a traditional bridge built of stone in the 1900s, versus the new suspension bridge built for today’s higher volume of traffic that was built parallel. Before we arrived in Bangor, we stopped in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
This town used to claim the world’s longest city name but that title was usurped by a South American city – however, that city has no railway station, and so the villagers are happy to proclaim their “world’s longest train station name” to tourists. The name means "The church of St. Mary in the hollow of white hazel trees near the rapid whirlpool by St. Tysilio's of the red cave".
Farther down the road, we saw the highest peak in Wales, The Snowdon or Snowdonia, the second highest in the UK behind a Scottish mountain, Ben Nevis. Our guide shared some local legends with us, including Druid legends and about this particular peak being the home of King Arthur, his court, and Merlin, all of whom supposedly still lie in wait on the mountain. It reminded how much myth and mystery are an integral part of the entire UK’s culture and literature, not just Ireland.
In any case, we finally arrived in Bangor and to our hostel, a rather imposing building that had all the promise of a horror-movie bloodbath backdrop. The inside was little more inviting, but the proprietor was an exceedingly interesting and helpful Australian woman who loved to travel and had actually been to Arizona, the Four Corners, and Joshua Tree Park in California (the first European I had met to have been to my home state). She shared she had moved to the UK about six years ago, lived in Scotland for about three and a half years, and moved to the Brighton, England area before moving to Wales – all of which she summarized as a “gypsy lifestyle.” All in all, the hostel was reasonable and safe, and more than likely a helpful experience if I return to Europe as a college student and am in need of cheap lodgings.
After some downtime in the hostel and FINALLY being able to call my mother, we took off to a local community center to meet the Full-On program volunteers, who were going to lead us in the rather ominous abseiling (or repelling) off Penrhyn castle the next morning. I had been dreading this activity since receiving our travel itinerary – I didn’t think I was going to be able to overcome my fears and repel, and I was tired from travel and time changes and didn’t think I would be able to put my all in the inspirational Full-On program. I was certainly in for a surprise – as soon as I stepped into the small gym and met the program members (young New Zealanders), I really listened to what they had to say about how you are in control of your reactions to people and situations. It was a very empowering night, and I truly think it changed me for the better. Also, I was more than ready to repel down a castle, I was excited for it!
The next morning came early of course, and we packed up our suitcases, had a light breakfast from anaticipation, and headed off to the castle. Before our climb up to the about 80 foot tower we were to repel off of, we strapped on our extensive gear and separated into smaller groups to be taken up the steep and winding staircase within the castle. We also got a little history: Lord Penrhyn built the castle from his shale mining fortune and hired his servants full-time (almost unheard of in that day), half of the time in the castle and half of it on the grounds, to avoid word of his wealth from spreading into nearby Bangor.
My group’s time to go to the top of the tower came, and after what seemed like endless waiting I was on the top of the tower strapped into various lines attached me to the castle and one of the gentlemen running the program. When he said lean back on the line, I did – then he said keep leaning until I was dangling off the edge with my center of gravity far into space. Needless to say we had a bit of a, discussion, but with his support (he must have been so tired of dealing with screaming girls by the end of the day), he finally got me off the edge of the castle and slowly repelling down. About 10 feet further, I had to again take a leap (or step) of faith into completely dangling by two bungee cords and sliding down to the ground. Time seemed to fly until I got to the ground, shaking but proud of my accomplishment. Another gentlemen from the group was unhooking us from the repelling apparatus, during lunch we learned he is one of the sons of the family who currently owns the castle, and actually grew up there. What a neat life!
http://fullonp2p.com/ <- More information on the Full On program.
And off to England!