Dol Einion, Tal-y-llyn, Gwynedd

13 July 2018:  As the sun falls lower in the sky, and now only the very top of the rounded mountain visible from my window is kissed by the sunshine, we are mentally prepared for our departure tomorrow.  As it happens we have had two excellent days of touring using this as a base, and could easily have filled another. However the facilities have not improved and the price was not dropped when we paid our hostess this afternoon, so we would be slow in recommending this CS to others. Unless they were intent on climbing Cader Idris on waking in the morning and were free enough to spend hours conversing with our fascinating hostess. This incredibly fit woman is a formidable conversationalist for any who may debate her ideas and ideals, and at this age she is entitled to a few. So all in all, we will have mixed feelings as we pull out tomorrow morning.

Today we were out onto the road soon after 9 am despite having slept late. Our route took us south toward Machynlleth, that travelled on our way here, although the road in reverse was much more attractive; perhaps this had something to do with the fact we had been both towing and searching for our destination on Wednesday.

We continued south, still duplicating our northbound route, until we turned onto the B4353 near the mouth of the Afon Dyfi, and headed across the vast flat lands that border the estuary. Turning south when we reached the coast, we soon arrived at Borth, an insipid seaside resort, hemmed in by the sea on one side and the vast peat bog on the other. Holiday camps packed with static vans abounded and it was there I realised what it is that particularly turns me off these places; they have no trees, shrubs or hedges. There are simply rows and rows of “caravans” all looking the same from a distance, although I accept there will be some that are very comfortable and well-designed if one were to call upon the occupant.

We stopped for a photo opportunity from the sea wall, below which the stony beach stretches out for some distance, as does the High Street, both subjected to the weather fronts that arrive in from the Atlantic Ocean all too often. 

We continued on down this coastal route, a yellow route on our map, winding its way across sheep farms that sit high above the cliffs between Borth and Aberystwyth. As we descended to Aberystwyh, we agreed that the town offered promise, and was certainly worthy of several hours of exploration, and to that end we found a spot free of charge for four hours at the end of the promenade; this fact alone made us feel very warm and fuzzy toward this seaside township sitting midway along the Cambrian coastline.

We learned that Aberystwyth was considered to be the “Brighton of Wales” as early as 1797, and to its credit it does have a pier, which we checked out ever so briefly as we passed by. This incredibly ugly structure does house all the noisy multi-coloured hideous games and machines that other British seaside places have, although to its credit, it is all inside the building, so one has only to bear the exterior view.

The promenade pier was built in 1865 and the pavilion added the following year. In the following year the Cliff Railway was built in Constitution Hill with new theatres, cinemas an concert halls appearing during the early 20^th century. A bathhouse graced the seafront from as early as 1800, soon after pleasure gardens had been laid out around the castle. 

Nearby is the Old College, a John Nash designed turreted villa dating from 1790, which was later significantly extended in the 1860s, as a hotel to accommodate the anticipated tourist numbers when the railway arrived. The venture failed and in 1872, the complex was sold to the fledgling university, whose property it remains.

Aberystwyth is also known as “a place of learning”, home to the National Library and the Aberystwyth University, one of the United Kingdom’s most prestigious educational institutions. 

Until the second half of the 19^th century, education in Aberystwyth was provided by religious classes and private schools, but as most people here were nonconformists, the desire to set up a non-denominational school grew in the town. In 1871, Aberystwyth became the first town in Wales to elect a School Board, which led to the building of the town’s first nondenominational school with places for six hundred children.

Along with the establishment of the University and the nondenominational school, Aberystwyth met another educational milestone when the first Welsh language primary school was opened here in 1939.

We wandered about the town, along dirty pavements and beneath the screeching cries of the seagulls, then made our way up to the castle ruins on the rocky headland at the end of the Promenade. The 13^th century castle was built by Edward I as part of his conquest of Wales, now  little but outcrops of walls and other remains making for great imagining. From here one has wonderful views back along the promenade to where we had left the car, or in the other direction to South Beach.

We decided that we had seen there was all there was for us in Aberystwyth, returned to the car and set off up the Rheidol valley. We drove up along the southern edge, high above the river and high above the railway line that runs from Aberystwyth along its narrow gauge as far as Devil’s Bridge, rising 600 feet in the process and has done so since 1902. Then it was for more utilitarian purposes, to cart out lead from the mines up in the valley, although the entrepreneurs always had in mind to swap lead for paying tourists.

We stopped along the route, beside drought dry farmland and zoned out  sheep, to eat our lunch. The brown of the pastureland has become more yellow with the passing of the days, despite the showers of rain that passed over yesterday. Distant views were lost in the heat haze but were still a treat over our sandwiches and pains au raisin picked up at Morrisons.

Devil’s Bridge had been noted on the map three years ago when we came through this part of the country in the motorhome, so I was delighted that we had the time and the inclination today to check it out. Folk legend gives the bridge its name, and the bridge gives the village its name, but the eye catching attraction is the three stacked bridges across the River Mynach, one on top of the other. The first is a stone foot bridge dating from medieval times, the second another stone construction to carry wagon traffic built in the early 1800s, and the current one built above in the early 20^th century. 

Directly below the fast flowing river, or at least in flood time, the water has carved a series of rock bowls, and these and a decent view of the bridges can be accessed by a walk through a coin operated turnstile, at £1 per person. We did consider squeezing into the one space, however the iron quarters are not made for fatties, and certainly not for a couple, no matter how cosy they wish to get. 

Devil’s Bridge has been a popular tourist destination for over two hundred years and was formerly part of the Haford Estate hence the name of the hotel that feeds and waters many of the tourists who have to walk past.  If one wishes to walk more extensively through the wooded area below the bridges, a vigilant ticket attendant will sell entry for £3.50;  the Mynach Falls and woodland walks are all thrown in. We did not bother, but did return to the railway station to check out the facilities here. Had we hung about until 3 pm, we might have been lucky to see the arrival of the steam train, although this would not have impressed my fellow traveller much; he hates the smelly things.

So instead we drove on, now north east onto the A44, across wonderful landscapes, rural and mountainous, then turned north onto the B4518 at Llanidloes, heading across a “mountain road” but one with two lanes marked and an excellent surface. About three miles up this road, we turned into the Llyn Clywedog, the reservoir built on the River Clywedog back in the mid-1960s to control the flow of water into the River Severn, preventing flooding in winter and supplying a regular supply in the summer.

The lake itself is more than six miles long, sixty six metres deep at its maximum and has a surface area of 615 acres. Below the dam wall, Britain’s highest at 237 feet, are the remnants of the Bryntail lead mine which we carefully poked about, lead poisoning not on the wish list. This was a bonus to our route, neither the lead mine nor the reservoir on the itinerary.

Further on, now at some elevation, we turned left up a minor road marked white on our map, and came over even more mountainous land, eventually dropping directly down into Machynlleth. We pulled into a park to briefly consider a return to the excellent little art gallery there, MOMA Cymru, the Museum of Modern Art, Wales, but checking our guide book saw that it would close in twenty minutes and by the time we walked back into the town we would be left with little time to enjoy our visit. We pressed on, soon back at our camp.

This afternoon several walkers have arrived and set up camp in various corners of the coarsely scythed field; the primitive facilities will be pushed to the limit. This would not normally bother us, because we are at an informal camp, but paying £20 per night is above the norm. And this is our discounted Club rate; these casual guests will be paying £25 each at the very least.

On the plus side, we have not been subjected to the impossibly noisy aircraft this afternoon, although they have been known to come by soon after dark. The only noise is the farm machinery passing by as it moves from one hay field to the next, and nightfall will soon put an end to that.