North Wales: Harlech

The challenge of getting to Harlech was that I first had to get to a town called Pwllheli. In Welsh the w is a “oo” sound, and the double l is sort of like “hl” but not really. Needless to say, I was a bit worried about this, but Pwllheli was the bus’ final stop and the driver seemed to understand my pronunciation okay. From there I got a train down to Harlech. Now, you can see the castle from the train station easily enough, and there is a staircase/ramp deal up the hill, but it’s closed pending some safety-review nonsense. Instead, I had to walk up a street to the town. It was probably more dangerous to go that way than to go the way that had been closed for safety reasons.

Harlech is the only of the castles I visited that’s on a substantial hill. It’s not the highest point in the town, though; there’s another hill a bit behind it, and while walking around I saw that on the second hill there was some kind of walkway that I needed to investigate. At the bottom there was a sign saying that it was a wood and that the owners welcomed people to walk in it. After a few minutes I realized that I was walking in the woods in the UK. That was a happy moment.

Harlech is most famous for the song about it that supposedly dates from a siege of the castle during the Wars of the Roses. “Men of Harlech” was featured to great effect in Zulu. I thought maybe they’d play the song somewhere in the castle, in an exhibit or something, but no dice. Luckily I was prepared with my iPod, and stood at the top of the tallest tower and listened to Charlotte Church’s version and thought about armies marching toward the castle and about how beautiful this place was.

In Harlech I finally counted how many steps were in one of the towers—131. I would estimate I went up at least three towers in each of the four castles, and if 130 is the average number of steps in each tower, that equals 1,560 stairs climbed. In Caernarfon on Monday I was fairly worried about falling to my death on some of the stairs, but by the time Thursday rolled around I was slightly less concerned. In all of the castles, at least some of the steps in the spiral staircases had been replaced, and that wasn't necessarily reassuring; it just made me wonder how sound the rest of the old, unreplaced steps were.

There was something at Harlech that I've never seen in any other castle that I can think of, movie castles not included, and that's a staircase on an interior outside wall. In one corner there was this set of stairs that curved with the corner. It was rather narrow, but at least I didn't have to worry about hitting my head on anything.

One thing that struck me about all of the Welsh castles was how many birds there were in and around them. There were pigeons and gulls at all of them, and even ravens in Harlech. Beaumaris even had this "Pozor seagull" sign posted with all the other warnings ("Watch your head," "Do not slip and fall to your death," and one that looks like "Ice cream headache" but is really "Let your eyes adjust to the dark"). I think one of the reasons it was so noticeable was because there aren't a lot of birds around Tisovec for some reason.
Part of me looks at every place I go to and asks, “Is this my home?” Right now I’m preparing to leave Slovakia and go…somewhere else, and at the moment my biggest criterion is that that somewhere else will be an Anglophone place, but I don’t know much other than that. I know that I have a positive visceral response to the UK that I don’t have to Italy, for example, but I’m not sure if that’s enough to try to make a life in a place. On the other hand, I did just move to Slovakia sight unseen, and that’s worked out pretty okay. Even if I don’t ever move to Britain outright (and I shouldn't, because I'd eat cheese and drink cider until it killed me), I’ll certainly go back to visit again. Berwick-on-Tweed, Forest of Dean, Canterbury, I’m coming for you.

Every morning on spring break I woke up to hear seagulls outside, and every day I got to stand and smell the sea nearby. I spent a whole week waking up happy and being happy for the rest of the day. That's what I call a holiday.

North Wales: Beaumaris

Wednesday I learned something about buses in the UK. Even if you’re standing at a bus stop, waiting expectantly for your bus, it won’t stop unless you hail it. I failed to stick my arm out properly at the stop in Bangor, and ended up missing the bus to Beaumaris that I meant to get on. Luckily, I was across the street from a supermarket, so I was able to look around there and buy some cheese and a dandelion-burdock soda. Going to the supermarket made me want everything, especially all the different kinds of cheese, and cider, and sweets. My one regret about this trip was that I couldn’t try every kind of cider Morrisons supermarket had on its shelves. I’m also glad I got on the later bus because the driver was funny. Whenever someone pushed the button for a stop he’d call out and ask where they wanted to stop, and let one woman off right in front of her house.

Beaumaris is on an island—specifically on Anglesey (Ynys Môn in Welsh), the island just to the north of Gwynedd. There are at least two bridges, including the Menai Suspension Bridge and the Britannia Bridge, and at least one rail line that connect the island to the mainland. I was pretty excited to go to Anglesey, because it’s in our social studies book, and after pointing to it on the map for three years it was cool to go there.

Beaumaris Castle looks short and squat from the outside. It’s got a moat part of the way around it, with a couple of swans squelching through the mud…it looks like a little backyard playhouse castle. Once you get inside, though, it seems a normal size. Beaumaris is built on a concentric plan: there are outer walls, and then a set of inner walls. Although it was never finished (part of the reason it seems so short), it’s called Edward’s most technically perfect castle.

Beaumaris is the one Gwynedd castle whose chapel is intact and open to visitors. It was not a very big room, and set up as expected. I think the thing that most caught my attention was that the interior was whitewashed, although most of the castles' exteriors were completely whitewashed as well. Besides the whitewash, the only remaining decoration was the nice Gothic arches, like in the doorway at left, as well as blind arcading on the side walls. On each side of the chapel was a small room slightly higher than the chapel itself, with a window into the chapel. These, if I recall correctly, were for the use of the king and other important people.

I did break down and go in a church in Beaumaris. I didn’t mean to; it was just there, and I only meant to walk around the churchyard but the church itself was open, and the nave dated from the early 14th century, and I couldn’t stop myself. Inside there was an alabaster tomb of a nobleman and his wife, and a stained glass window made with fragments of medieval windows destroyed during the 16th or 17th century. There were also some good misericords on the stalls near the altar.

If Caernarfon was my favorite castle, Beaumaris was my favorite location. Standing atop the walls, one can see sheep pastures on one side and the Strait in the near distance. It really was charming. None of the pictures do it any sort of justice. Looking back at the mainland, it put me in mind of Middle Earth, with the snow on the mountains above the green hills and the clouds around them. I swear LotR used to be on YouTube, why can't I find it now that I want to watch it?

For lunch I had bara brith and tea. Bara brith is a Welsh specialty. It’s a kind of fruit cake. I’d really hoped to eat something featuring leeks, but I wasn’t able to find anything. Then for a snack later I bought a scone stuffed with fresh whipped cream and jam, and I ate that staring at the nature. For my final act, I charged up a little hill that I’d seen a man walking his dog on earlier that day. The hill went up to a little cliff overlooking the strait. Then I ran part of the way down, just because. Me and my well-traveled umbrella, running down a hill in Wales, dodging cow pats.

North Wales: Conwy

Conwy suffers in comparison with the others because it was the worst weather all week. I’m not complaining in the least; the weather in general was fantastic for the middle of February in north Wales. I took my big blue-plaid Roman Christmas Eve umbrella and my new rain boots all the way to the Wales; the boots stayed under my bed all week, but I toted that umbrella every place I went. Because of this, it didn't rain significantly for the entire trip. But Tuesday was the one day that the sun didn’t come out for very long.

The major difficulty with traveling by bus in a place you’ve never been is that it’s hard to know where you are and where you ought to get off. There were a few stops in Conwy, and I kept waiting for the one that would be closest to the castle until we passed it altogether. Conwy is right on the edge of the Menai Strait, and the next stop was on the other side of the bridge, so I got off there. It gave me an opportunity to see the town from a different viewpoint than I would normally have had. And I'm a fan of bridges in general, so when I realized I'd gone too far I thought, 'Oh, the horror, you'll have to walk across that bridge.' Conwy, like Caernarfon, is a walled town, but it still has most of its walls today. They go from the castle up to a high point in the town, and then back down to the water. A few stretches of the wall were closed, but I think I covered most of it. There are only three places where you can ascend to or descend from the wall, and I had to walk along it for a minute to get to one of them. The section up to the high point, where I took the picture above, was pretty steep. The town inside the wall wasn’t huge; about 300 people probably lived there. It was granted a charter, giving it certain rights that other towns wouldn't necessarily have had, by Edward I in 1284. I joke about being old, and sometimes I really do feel quite old, but Conwy has 699 and a half years (give or take, for calendar changes) on me. It's pretty amazing that not only are these places still standing after all this time, but that they let people like me, whose enthusiasm occasionally outruns their common sense, tromp around on them.

The most interesting thing about the castle for me was probably the great hall. It wasn't just a long, perfectly rectangular room. It had a bend in it. In the picture, the great hall runs along the left side, and you can see the kink. The other thing that I noticed at all of the castles was the fireplaces just hanging in the middle of the walls. Of course, when the castles were complete, these fireplaces would've been attached to floors, but nowadays they're suspended in midair, a good distance above head-height. I've mentioned before that I don't have a very good imagination for how things would have looked in the past, so it was easy for me to forget that where there is grass now used to be indoors.

On the bottom floor of one of the towers there was an exhibit about castle chapels that was moderately interesting. Unfortunately, visitors couldn't actually go into Conwy's chapel, which was the next floor up. Some of the things I read in the exhibit I remembered the next day, when I was at Beaumaris and could go in the chapel.

For lunch I had Welsh rarebit, which was basically cheese on toast, but tasty. Look, it even came with a little salad. (I find that I appreciate salads more after having lived in a place where they sort of don't exist.) And I had tea with it, of course.

And because I know this is the question you've all been asking all along, here is what a Welsh police car looks like. Okay, it's really not that shiny, but the flash went off and lit up all the reflective bits. Please note that this is indeed a bilingual car. Also, I smudged the numbers on the plate, just in case anyone had any bright ideas about making their own counterfeit Welsh police car.

North Wales: Caernarfon

Here is the précis of this whole trip: CASTLES! Castles castles castles.

Two years ago it was Northern Ireland. Last year it was England and Scotland. This year it’s Wales, and I’ve now been to all the nations of the United Kingdom. This was also my first major trip all by my lonesome, and it was quite the success in that regard, too.

So I went to Wales for two purposes: to fulfill my spring break destiny, and to visit the castles of northern Wales, the area known as Gwynedd. I didn’t go to all of the castles there, but picked what I felt were the four most outstanding of them.

(I flew into London and took a train to Wales. If you’re near Euston Station and you’ve got some time, the British Library is about two blocks away. I went to see the Treasures, which include the Lansdowne Chaucer, a Gutenberg Bible, the Magna Carta, Beatles lyrics written by John Lennon, a Shakespeare quarto, the Luttrell Psalter, and many more fabulous literary works. And it’s free. I highly recommend it. I feel compelled to warn all readers that London is ridiculously expensive to be in even for a short time. A ride on the Tube in Zone 1, where most of the interesting stuff is, cost £4. The coach from central London to Luton Airport cost me £16 on Saturday morning, and if it hadn't been 2 AM I would've been irate. As it was I just got on and sat there thinking, 'It doesn't even cost that much to get from Tisovec to Bratislava.')

The castles all share a common background and some common characteristics. They were built during the reign of the English king Edward I (called Longshanks) in the 13th century and were designed by a Savoyard called James of St George. The castles built by Edward’s decree were known as the “Iron Ring” of defense against uprising by the native Welsh, which included the rebellion under the famous Owain Glyndŵr.

I knew that people in Wales speak Welsh—I teach kids this very fact, and in one Rick Steves video podcast he shows people on the streets speaking Welsh. (The first half of the video was filmed in Caernarfon, and I was totally all the places they showed. I think the guy from Cadw who talks inside the castle sold me my ticket.) But I assumed that the majority of people who used Welsh as their first language were some old people, and that everyone else would speak English. I was quite incorrect there. Gwynedd is the main Welsh-speaking region of the country, sort like the Gaeltacht in Ireland. Of course everyone speaks English as well, but I was surprised to hear teenagers speaking Welsh to each other. Welsh is not the easiest language, and I was nervous about having to pronounce names of towns to people.

When I first saw pictures of Caernarfon Castle I was quite amused. It looks as if it’s made of Legos, and clearly a castle such as a one that could be made of Legos is the archetypal castle. I chose to stay in Caernarfon for the week and travel to the other towns, most of which were only about an hour away by bus. The hostel I stayed at was around the corner from the castle and right inside the city wall. It couldn’t have been in a better location.

My first impression of Wales is this. I got off the train in Bangor on Sunday night and then had to take a bus to Caernarfon. I was hoping that the bus station/stop would be close to the train station, which it actually was, and readily apparent, which it wasn’t. I looked at a map outside the station, then looked around the station itself, but to no avail; so I decided to ask for help. A woman was waiting in front of the station with her two kids, so I showed her the bus schedule and asked if she knew where the bus would be. She, in turn, asked where I was going, and where particularly I was staying in Caernarfon, and then said, “We’re going to Caernarfon. Do you want a ride?” When her husband brought the car around they had room and told me about the town. They even dropped me off right at the hostel. Thus, I concluded that Wales rocks.

On holidays, my general M.O. is to get up and go out in the morning, be out all day, and then retire for the night. My first day I had a look around town to get the lie of the land before going in the castle (besides, it hadn’t opened yet). The night before, the Very Nice People had mentioned that there was a hill behind their house that had good views of the castle and town, and without trying hard at all I managed to locate the park. It was a small hill, this Twthill, but it did have the best views of the town, the Menai Strait, and Snowdonia.

Caernarfon may have been my favorite castle. Of course, this could just be because it was the first I visited, but I really liked the angles of the walls and towers. Inside the castle there are a few exhibitions: a video on Edward I’s castles and especially Caernarfon, an exhibit on the Princes of Wales with emphasis on the most recent investiture there, and the Royal Welch Fusiliers Museum.

In 1284, Edward I’s son was born in Caernarfon. Soon after his birth, Edward II was presented to the people of Wales as their prince who could speak no word of English (say what you will about Edward I, he was not a stupid man by any means). With the birth of Edward III’s son, the Black Prince, the heir apparent to the English throne has always received the title Prince of Wales; but it wasn’t until the 20th century that the investiture ceremony took place in Wales again. David Lloyd George, one-time MP for Caernarfon and later Prime Minister, suggested that the future Edward VIII be created Prince of Wales at Caernarfon Castle, and in 1969 Charles was also given the title there. There is a large slate dais in the middle of one of the inner courts (it's the dark round spot in the photo above) that was the site of Charles’ ceremony, and will be where the next Prince of Wales will be invested as well.


Although Caernarfon was built as a walled city, and large portions of the wall still exist, they’re not open to walk. They do lend to the overall ambience of the town, though. Close to the castle is Hole in the Wall Street, lined with cafes and restaurants, and Castle Square, with the post office, a church, multicolored shops, and a statue of Lloyd George. In this photo, Hole in the Wall Street is on the opposite side of the wall; Castle Square is in the foreground; and Twthill is in the top right corner.

I had takeaway from a fish and chip shop for dinner: a steak and kidney pie, chips, and mushy peas. Was it my best Valentine's Day ever? It may well have been.

Ctibor

Introducing the results of our latest group project: Ctibor (or Borko, as he's affectionately known) is this year's medovina. Led by the chief distiller, our headmaster's older son, we started him back in November, I think, with a few gallons of honey, some yeast, some spices, and a 20-liter or so glass jug. Then a few weeks ago we added more honey and some straight alcohol to make him stronger—although after he sits for a few more weeks he's supposed to get even better. On Wednesday night we divvied him up into whatever bottles we could scrounge. Mine happen to all be the same, but there was quite the motley collection of old vodka, Jagermeister, wine, and vinegar bottles. That's my share of about three liters, and for that I paid 10€, most of which went toward buying the honey. It's a deal any way you shake it.

Na zdravie, Borko. You are beautiful as well as delicious.