Unable to sleep, I was trolling though a variety of sites, as Daryl slept soundly beside me. The local youth were out on the town and were still partying on at 2am, while the neighbouring old women, were chatting very loudly until well into the early morning.
We arrived about 9pm just in time to check in and go for a walk on the pier. After unloading our gear, we went straight back out to a light splattering of rain. Feeling adventurous and tired of being cooped up in a car, we decided it wasn’t very heavy and a walk would be ideal. Maybe we’d find a little pub on the journey and stop for a wee tipple. Our hotel was situated overlooking the bay and the pier was lit up like a Christmas tree. Admiring the view, especially the 250 offshore wind generators, we were not prepared for the increased rain and promptly got drenched. Within minutes the heavy cloud had rolled in blanketing the view and it was clear we needed to get indoors. Thankfully our hotel had a bar and it was open. Arriving back, we were dripping and the host simply laughed and offered us a drink. We spent an enjoyable hour or so chatting with the chef/barman and then another couple arrived, also involved with ownership of the hotel and we listened to their tales of travels in Australia. By 11pm Daryl was wilting and I needed dry clothes.
As previously noted I couldn’t sleep, lots on my mind, so the internet was my best friend for a few hours. It was then that I was rudely brought back to earth when an email came through from the owners of the Whittington Wharf, narrowboat hire company, asking if we were ok. They hadn’t heard from us and they expected us to pick up the boat two days before. Momentarily stunned, I read the email again, and I sensed we had somehow royally stuffed up. Quickly scouring back through old emails, I found the original booking from March and it corresponded with their date. Our date, on the itinerary we wrote from home, checked and cross referenced at least a dozen times said the week later July 23 (the date to return the boat).
What a muddle. What a potential disaster. We had planned the whole trip around this week. Daryl had talked a so much about this trip and somehow we got it wrong and we were now across the country. While I quietly panicked, Daryl continued dreaming and when he rolled over, I took that as a sign he was waking up. Nudging him, I told him we were supposed to be on the canal boat, repeating it to ensure he understood me, he quickly bolted upright with an expletive or three. Now that I was sure he was awake, also hoping I was now annoying the loud ladies next door, I explained the email and subsequent issues it created. Sleep, to say the very least, did not come easily again and before I knew it, five thirty was ticking over and the sun was up. It was shower time.
Previously, our phones had again been playing up and turns out I had no credit to make any calls, this was problematic as I needed to call the narrow boat company. First things first, breakfast and then the EE phone company. Solving the rumbling tummies and phone credit by 0830am it was time to see what our options would be regarding the canal trip. In my head we would have three options:
1. Suck it up and drive back to Ellesmere that morning, collect the boat and loose three days from our week.
2. Loose our booking and our money.
3. Have a new booking and pay.
Apologising as best as possible, for being stupid, the owner of the narrow boat company was just wonderful. He could not have been more helpful. After an exchange of a few phone calls including the car hire company, we had a plan. A very good plan. We could hire the boat from the upcoming Saturday to the following Saturday, at no extra cost. Daryl’s eyes lit up like a kid with a new toy train at Christmas. The new plan meant returning the car a few days early to a different location, moving our dates for London back a few days and squeezing in Liverpool before heading back to Karen and Charles’ place in Ellesmere to get our washing done and organise ourselves to get on the boat.
What a rush, what a muddle, but in the end all is well in the world. We managed to get ourselves to the Orme Tram car, famous in Llandudno as the only cable car in the UK to take passengers to the top of the mountain and back. It was well worth the hilly walk to its station. We were also happy to miss the very large school group that started ascending the hill as we disembarked. Requiring two trams to get to the top of the mountain, once you get there the views are spectacular, but beware the roaming goats. Hoping to catch the chairlifts back to the bottom of the hill we were disappointed to see it closed due to strong winds. The young girl, working at the chairlift entrance, clearly spent so much time putting on her makeup that morning that she was too exhausted to be polite or helpful to enquiring customers.
Once again, we contributed to the local Llandudno economy, not only with the purchase of morning tea, but also another suitcase. Seems we have filled the ones we brought over. Our new suitcase is already full! Making swift arrangements while enjoying tea and cake, we booked our accommodation to Liverpool, our next destination. The Beatles Museum was in our sights for the next day. Before that however, we had two stops to make. Firstly the Conwy Castle, built to effectively keep out the Welsh. Built by Edward I, during his conquest of Wales between 1283 and 1289 it reportedly cost in the vicinity of £15,000! This 13th century castle is huge and rustic. We explored this ruin, set in the middle of the town, with its crazy history and marvelled at the architecture, sound building practices, allowing it to still stand today and the treachery and deceit of the men and women of the era. Ironically, it is now the Welsh that charge the English and other foreign visitors money to visit this castle. Visiting a small market, we saw a few crafty displays and more interestingly a large seagull knock a woman’s bowl of nuts to the ground that she was holding in her hand. Before the nuts hit the ground the seagull’s friends and enemies were swarming around the shocked ladies ankles. After finding a tea rooms for another late lunch we stopped by another National Trust treasure, a merchant house named Ty Aberconwy House, hidden amongst the many tourist outlets. Downstairs was a store where I found some more treasures, but upstairs was the restored home as it would have been in the 15th century when it was owned by a wealthy merchant. Aware of the time, we made tracks but not before travelling to a nearby town that boasts the longest name in the UK, and the world. "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch" translates to "The church of Mary in the hollow of the white hazel near the fierce whirlpool and the church of Tysilio by the red cave". By my count this name contains 58 letters, and it seems my cousin, Karen, can say it as smoothly as warm custard. We tried - no hope!
Destination Liverpool was on the agenda for the sole purpose of visiting the world famous Beatles Museum. We arrived right on opening time and with pre-booked tickets skipped the growing entry line and quickly escaped from the rain. The next two and half hours were spent back in the 1960s where life was much different to now. The stories, the audio interviews, the video footage, the displays, both photographic and materialistic, were inspiring and well worth the entry fee. I was left questioning so many things that they alluded too - why the manager died so young, what led to the replacement of the original drummer with Ringo, the impact of wives and the eventual beak up of the world famous band. Not sure where those answers might be found to the interested commoner, but I suspect no-one apart from the individuals concerned will ever know the whole truth. In the meantime, we continue to enjoy their music and the music of their individual endeavours including bands such as Wings, The Travelling Wilbury’s and audiobooks like Thomas the Tank Engine.
Afterwards we had the most expensive brunch to date and wandered the Docks, again in the rain. Searching for the statues of the Paul, John, Ringo and George we found it near the Liverpool museum, some way from the Docks. Dripping wet, a stranger took our photo in front of the life size statues and we did the same for them. At least they had umbrellas, clearly we did not. The Docks themselves have been morphed into a tourist zone now, filled with restaurants, cafes, and souvenir shops but it is easy to imagine it filled with workers and boats hauling cargo from one bay to another.
Returning our hire car to Liverpool, Daryl and I then set off on our next adventure, the English/Welsh rail service to Gobowen. Carrying all our cases, filled full to bursting, we lugged them down stairs and onto the train platform. Somehow we managed to get them onboard the train for the first leg, Liverpool to Chester. As luck would have it, we sat next to an elderly gentleman who chatted away for the duration. Having been born near Oswestry, he now resides near Chester. We spoke about places we had been and then planned to go. He provided some thoughtful suggestions and bid us good luck on our journey. As he departed the train to collect his car, I quietly hoped he was going home to someone special, he seemed like such a dear man. We alighted at Chester, and miraculously found our way to the right platform for the next service. When it arrived, we were surprised to see it only had two carriages and there was an awful lot of people waiting to get on. Not backwards in coming forward, when necessary, we made our way to the yellow line, bags in tow. The train stopped with doors right in front of me and I quickly hauled suitcases on board and found a spot for them, Daryl passing me a new one in swift succession. We were a well oiled machine. The train was overflowing with passengers and many were left standing. Feeling impressed by our efforts, I quickly became concerned when I realised they weren’t announcing the stations. Neither Daryl nor I, had a clue which order they went in, our bags were jammed in behind ten others and each stop was only a few seconds. Troopers that we can be, we craned our necks as far as possible to catch a glimpse of each oncoming town to work out which would be our stop. You should have seen us jump into action as we saw Gobowen in our sight. Obviously we got our bags, and got off the train in sufficient time. Next part was a taxi ride and again luck was on our side. A driver, in a station wagon, (we would never have fit in our luggage in a sedan), was there waiting for passengers. A jovial fellow, obviously local, he found his way to the cousin’s home with no hassle and shared some tips and tricks for us as we explore Wales, his home country.
We were much relieved to arrive ‘home’ and found ourselves welcomed by the cat and relished the opportunity to take our shoes off, get out of the rain make a cup of tea and rest up. Ever accommodating, Charles and Karen, provided not only a bed, great dinner location ( delicious food, lots of clocks), breakfast, good company and transportation to the canal but also became chauffeurs again as we needed to post some more postcards and then get supplies, from the local supermarket, for our impending water adventure.
Wicked William was waiting for us, patiently and well prepared. Let’s hope for smooth sailing, even if only on the Welsh canals.
Until next time,
N
No comments:
Post a Comment