A Wales Tale

It's a complete mystery to our naive selves that Brits would fly off to Bulgaria, Cyprus, and the likes, when we've enjoyed so many sunny days in Wales. I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but it's true.














We've also had the extraordinary fortune to have some adventurous souls join us on this ramble 'cross Europe. Here, Nathan and Virginie experience one of our "short cuts" through the English countryside, English nettles, English gorse, English brambles... brave souls indeed.

Communication must have been poor. Somehow, Helen and Tim weren't warned in time, and they joined us for a urban ride through the abandoned Welsh coalmine country and the down-on-their-heels towns to.... lovely Swansea by the sea.

Ahhh, Swansea. The smell of the sea, the cry of the gulls, the fresh breeze nearly broke my heart with the weight of dear memories (have I been in Ireland long enough to write like this?) But as I was saying to Hannah, Swansea has another side. Gangs of drunken, tattoed toughs lying about the boardwalk, glowering at the passers-by. And the guys were pretty scary-looking, too.

But still, the unbelieveable weather continued. We reached the coast with time to spare, so we did a victory lap around the Gower Peninsula. That night the whole gang camped on the tip of the peninsula, among British surfers waiting for waves. And waiting. And waiting.

The following night we made our way down a gorse- and heather-covered hillside (complete with crumbling castle) to a white sandy beach. Took a swim in the ocean, through a rock arch and back to the beach, and dried off in the heat of the sun. In Wales mind you. Told you, you wouldn't believe it.

Than back to Swansea. It was with no small amount of relief that we boarded an overnight ferry to.... Ireland. For a time, it really felt like our trip was almost over.