Kate's Adventures in Wales

Well, I have made it to Wales. It was a close thing. I woke up on time but left late, of course, and made it to Bristol Parkway in time to print my tickets... I got to the platform and then realised I had forgotten to print my RETURN tickets, and as I did not wish to be stranded in Flint, I had to go back. The turnstile attendants were amused at my running back and forth, but I made it back to the platform before the train doors closed.

From Bristol Parkway I rode to Birmingham New Street and then back another direction to Stafford, where I switched to a train to Crewe. From Crewe I travelled to Chester, and from Chester I rode to Flint, the final destination, where we arrived on time at twenty minutes to twelve.

I paused to collect a sandwich at a shop in town, and then began my three-mile hike to Pentre Halkyn, and the hotel where I’m spending the night. It was a lovely walk past blooming gardens and open fields with some stunning views* back over the bay. I stopped at the top of a hill and had a conversation with some sheep on a hill. I don’t know what I said, but they seemed excited about it.

My 12:30 I was regretting having packed my laptop into my backpack. There’s something about lugging that and a rolling suitcase up and down a series of hills that makes everything feel heavier. Still, the scenery was lovely, and the air was fresh. By 12:55, My shoulders had begun to ache in earnest, and I was wishing I’d learned how to Apparate. Then it began to sprinkle. Fortunately, I sighted a town just a couple of hills away, so I carried on and arrived, breathless and slightly muddy, at the Springfield Hotel.

The hotel is a converted country estate, and after staying so many hostels, I appreciate the level of comfort. Clean, comfortable, well-decorated, stocked with instant coffee and an electric kettle, and I have a private, fully-functioning bath. Oh yes. (I’m not kidding though, I’ve only been here about ten minutes and I’m ready to recommend it to anyone.)

It’s now raining lightly but steadily. I intend to put on my new wellies and have a hike on to Ysceifiog for some sightseeing. Here goes!

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So it turns out that Google directions doesn’t warn you about things like hills. Wales, as it turns out, is mostly hills. The road I took out of Pentre Halkyn went up and away from the village, allowing me a beautiful view of what I’d walked all morning. Ahead of me were several steep hills and lots and lots of sheep. Many of them were kind of wandering free, their backs marked with spray paint. All the new lambs were bleating plaintively and chasing their bored-looking mothers about. Not far from the village centre is a quarry, and many of the vehicles on the road appeared to be quarry trucks, with some farm vehicles thrown in for variety.

I conquered a minor snafu with my directions, but then the rain began... Fortunately, I had both wellies and umbrella, so on I trudged. And on and on. I had nearly made it to the turn-off to Ysceifiog when a car full of geologists pulled up and offered me a lift into the village (They’d seen me by the quarry, which they’d been out to explore) and dropped me at St. Mary’s, the largest village landmark.

Seeing as Ysceifiog is only about three blocks big, from St. Mary's it wasn’t long until I was out of Ysceifiog and out along the northern road, winding through the countryside. The rain picked up again as I followed this road down a steep hill and up yet another, but the worst of the rain passed as I was under some trees, which was good. Eventually I wandered into nice weather, at which point I turned around and followed it for a while. The hills, which had been misty before, cleared up and shone a brilliant green in the sunlight. At the crest of the most recent hill I briefly explored a footpath next to a sheep field where there were a couple of little black lambs running around. They were precious!

The rain picked up again so I continued into the trees back down the hill and explored another footpath running alongside the stream. There were some interesting stone foundations alongside the creek, which dad suggests could be from a mill or something similar. The climb back up the ridiculously steep hill was taxing, but didn’t deter me from another wander through Ysceifiog.

The returning trek to the hotel was an adventure: in trying to get back to Pentre Halkyn, I took a wrong turn and went a few miles out of my way... then it was back up and down past the Pentre Quarry and finally back to the Hotel, where I collapsed. Walking twenty miles really takes it out of ya! After some room service and a bubble bath, however, I feel quite refreshed. Tomorrow I intend to read up on these villages at the local library – we’ll see how that goes. Then it’s home again, home again, for revision and some final coursework. Woo!

*Pictures to follow. I forgot my camera cable.

Vendredi, Samedi, Dimanche

With three weeks’ worth of time at our disposal, Lauren and I have whisked ourselves off to Paris for a ten day stay. We left Bristol coach station at about 6:15 Friday evening to arrive in London just before 9. There were two coaches leaving for Paris at 10:30, but of course ours was delayed. It was there in the coach station that I gathered my first impression of what to expect from the French – they are incapable of queuing. After seven months with the British, this was a difficult adjustment, one I’m still getting used to four days later. When the coach finally pulled in, there was a mob of people wrestling to be first onto the bus, though it certainly wasn’t going to leave without anyone. The result was that Lauren and I were separated for the nine hour journey to Paris.

The coach itself wasn’t too bad except that the driver announced as soon as we were on board that the toilets were out of order. At this point I realised that in order to avoid having to use the toilet on the coach I hadn’t drunk much all day... nor had I brought anything to drink with me on to the bus. Nothing makes you thirstier than that realisation. On a bus packed full of people, it is bound to be crowded, and there are also a number of interesting smells – there seemed to be a number of strange ethnic foods on board, and at least one person

Our first interruption came about fifteen minutes into the trip when a little girl decided that she needed to pee. With the toilets out of order, there was nothing we could do but pull over to a petrol station and wait a few minutes. Then it was south to the point of crossing. The British border control boarded briefly, selecting only a few passports to verify and then waving us on. The French border, maybe 100 yards farther along collected every single passport to check, which took a good half an hour. The coach then had to queue for twenty minutes as we waited to board the vehicle train to French soil. It was 2:30 by the time we were parked inside the train car.

The sensation of being in a parked bus on a moving train was very strange, but I slept until we made it to France and disembarked. Two passengers had boarded the wrong coach to Paris, so our route was altered slightly to run past Charles de Gaulle. The sky was beginning to lighten as we approached the city, and we arrived at Gallieni station (named after this guy) fifteen minutes early, 7:15. From there it was a short ride on the Métro 7 to its intersection with line 3 at Opéra, and an even shorter ride to Cadet. We emerged to find rain, but fortunately, Gina’s door was only half a block up the street. Gina met us at the door of her building and helped us wrestle our bags into the lift. We proceeded to crash in her room for recovery naptime.

At around 2, it was decided that we were all rested enough to dare venturing out, and after quick showers, Gina guided Lauren and me around her neighbourhood on a brisk walking tour. We first stopped at the enormous and magnificent Église de la Madeleine which was being prepared for Easter services. From there we made for a well-known “salon du thé” called Angelina, founded in 1906 and famous for their hot chocolate. After our little stop we wandered across the street and across the Jardins des Tuileries in front of the Louvre, and then on to the quay by the Seine. We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling along the river, snapping pictures of the bridges and people-watching. We passed at least one couple enthusiastically macking on the riverbank – Paris, city of romance.

There were lots of tour boats out on the river, and lots of people, tourists and Parisians alike, walking along the banks of the Seine. Up along the street, a level above the water, little stalls fold out where people have books, postcards, and art prints to sell. One of them also featured old Disney comics. I stopped every few feet for more pictures of the Île de la Cité, trying to identify buildings that I’d only ever read about. I’m looking forward to taking closer looks at the Notre Dame de Paris and the Sainte-Chapelle, and maybe even the Conciergerie, where many a famous prisoner was held before being executed. Soon we made reached the Pont Marie metro station on line 7, which we took back to Gina’s place. Gina’s flatmate Caroline joined us for dinner at a sushi place just across the way – ordering sushi in French was definitely strange at first. Bed was preceded by cookies, milk, and harmonising over Caroline’s ukulele (played by Gina).

On Sunday morning we woke up fairly early to make it to mass at the Notre Dame de Lorette. It was performed in French, but the rituals were familiar. It was interesting to hear how the prayers were both similar and different to what I know in English. After mass Lauren and I returned to Gina’s to collect our things and check into our hostel, a six minute walk from the Cadet metro stop. We arrived during the hostel’s lock-out hours, so we dropped off our suitcases with reception and went for brunch at Breakfast in America, a diner-like restaurant specialising in American breakfast food and hamburgers. After forty-five minutes in a queue (the place is popular!) we were seated. Lauren enjoyed a breakfast burrito and home fries and I opted for pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon. All of the waitstaff there speak English, and at least one of the girls who served us was American – I could tell because she said “awesome” when I handed her my debit card, a word I haven’t heard anyone else use that way since I left home!

After brunch Lauren and I returned to the hostel to settle in. The place is called Woodstock, and it’s brightly coloured and cheerfully decorated. The rooms are set up with bunk beds, three to a room, and the one we’re in includes a sink and a shower. There are two toilets and a kitchen off of the centre courtyard, and the hostel has a friendly cat that sits on our doormat. Hanna from Sweden was in when we arrived, and we were later joined by Iona and Christina, both from Edinburgh. Lauren and I walked down the street to Monop’, a grocery store, for some simple foodstuffs (fruit and cheese, mostly) and settled in to watch half of Chalte Chalte before bed. We got to chatting with our bunkmates after that, and were soon joined by Laura from Brazil, our sixth and final roomie for the night. We turned the lights out at around 12:30, the end of our first weekend in Paris.