A Deserted Paradise.
I’m
slightly reluctant to tell you where I went a week ago. I can tell
you there were deserted beaches of white sand, high dunes and clear
cool aqua water; I can also tell you there were palm and Cyprus
trees, bent slightly from gentle coastal winds; I can share with you
a place that is difficult to reach but worth the six hours of travel
from London; an undulating land of friendly, welcoming and generous
people, speaking an ancient language; a land of green valleys, poets,
castles and pubs that evoke a childhood nostalgia to simpler happier
times. On our first day, my friend and I lay on the hot sand of
a beach backed by lush green trees, only five minutes from the
house we were staying in, and we snorkelled and swam, we ate
sandwiches and licked ice creams, we laughed and watched dogs chase
each other as they jumped in the waves, we read books and picked up
pebbles, and we both thought... My god, Wales is lovely.
Yup, you can take your 9-hour flights and you can gently put them somewhere where even a tropical sunset can’t reach because I am converted. I pledge allegiance to the stay-at-home holiday.
I have always been a fan of our amazing British coast. I have talked before of wonderful trips to Devon, Cornwall and Dorset; of the north-east’s stunning Northumberland coastline, the Isle of Wight and the outer Hebrides. I spent many family holidays in these places growing up, so they are familiar and comforting. A cold damp croft in North Uist with an outside loo and a freezing loch to swim in, doesn’t say ‘luxury’, but it is one of my happiest holiday memories. It also, of course, depends greatly on who you spend these holidays with. Family friends and best friends can turn disastrous accommodation and weather into hilarious adventures. It’s who you’re with, that make the memories warm.
Every year, for the last 12 years, I have spent a week in June with my best friend Dave. We usually stay in my families’ house in the Lake District. It’s not coastal but it does overlook one of the prettiest lakes in the area, so there is still water involved. We are both in love with this house. We have had family holidays here for as long as we can remember and I have mentioned it quite often, as a place of reunions and family gatherings, in previous blogs. This year, however, the house was booked and so we had to think of alternatives. My family and I had been to a friend’s house in Pembrokeshire, twice before. Each time it bucketed down with rain and the beautiful Welsh coastline was blurred into a haze of blue and green, but we always bundled ourselves up in layers of waterproofs and headed out regardless. Last September, however, we went there for my Father’s birthday. On the day of his celebration we headed to the beach, and it stayed dry. Hallelujah. It was glorious. For the first time, I could see how Wales might be an absolutely stunning summer holiday destination, if only it would stop bloody raining. So, with the memory of one fine day in September, locked in my head, I decided to take the risk and book it for Dave and my annual June jaunt.
For 5 and a half days the weather was perfect. The sun shone high and bright in a bold blue sky. The light and heat turned the sand white and fluffy, and made the water seem like a snapshot from the Mediterranean. We couldn’t contain our excitement. We smiled, and oohed and aahed with breathless excitement every time we came across yet another deserted cove or tidal river, having driven through high-sided grassy lanes, following fine lines on the well-used ordinance survey map (excellent map reading by the way Dave!). And even though we still would have had an amazing time if the rain had come and the wind had blown, we were very glad it didn’t.
We have had weeks and weeks of rainy holidays over the years. It doesn’t dampen our spirits, it just changes the dynamic. The jigsaw puzzles come out, the comfort food is cooked, DVD’s are watched and red wine is consumed. But when the sun is out, the BBQ appears instead; blackened chicken and sausages are eaten, salads are made, white wine and cider with ice (don’t judge me!) are drunk; flip flops replace sturdy walking boots, and the wind is gentle and salt-laced as it blows around your ankles rather than trying to sweep you off a mountain top!! We drove to calm bobbing-boated inlets and ate fresh crab sandwiches; we visited pubs in remote villages and the staff actually seemed pleased to see us and chatted and laughed (remember I’m used to surly London bar and restaurant staff); we went to galleries and castles and people would recommend other places to go; swimming and snorkelling replaced damp mountain walks, and long al fresco picnics in small sandy coves, replaced harried soggy sandwiches under a rain-sodden hood.
I do understand why millions of Brits go abroad for their summer holidays. They want guaranteed weather. They want to know, for a fact, they can get away with packing only a few bikinis, a kaftan, a pair of shorts and some sandals, and not get caught out. The amount of luggage you have to take for a holiday in the UK, just in case the weather is unpredictable (always), fills an entire car. Before I had Gigi, aka the Golden Goddess, aka my gold car that resembles an 80’s minicab, I had to travel by train. It was a nightmare. Imagine carrying everything in one suitcase, for all opportunities. Packing for a temperature range of 20º to 90º is tricky. Thinking of every meteorological eventuality is a massive challenge. Then add towels and linen to that (if you are in a rented cottage), books (yes, real books… I’m still not Kindle-kind!), toiletries and everything else you want for a comfortable break away and you utterly exhausted before you even get on holiday.
So, you have to be flexible, you have to be willing to take the chance. And when you do, and if the weather Gods are kind, you will not regret staying home and exploring our wonderful country. The Pembrokeshire coastline is truly stunning but I urge you not to all go at once, and please don’t tell your friends, we don’t want to ruin it!
Yup, you can take your 9-hour flights and you can gently put them somewhere where even a tropical sunset can’t reach because I am converted. I pledge allegiance to the stay-at-home holiday.
I have always been a fan of our amazing British coast. I have talked before of wonderful trips to Devon, Cornwall and Dorset; of the north-east’s stunning Northumberland coastline, the Isle of Wight and the outer Hebrides. I spent many family holidays in these places growing up, so they are familiar and comforting. A cold damp croft in North Uist with an outside loo and a freezing loch to swim in, doesn’t say ‘luxury’, but it is one of my happiest holiday memories. It also, of course, depends greatly on who you spend these holidays with. Family friends and best friends can turn disastrous accommodation and weather into hilarious adventures. It’s who you’re with, that make the memories warm.
Every year, for the last 12 years, I have spent a week in June with my best friend Dave. We usually stay in my families’ house in the Lake District. It’s not coastal but it does overlook one of the prettiest lakes in the area, so there is still water involved. We are both in love with this house. We have had family holidays here for as long as we can remember and I have mentioned it quite often, as a place of reunions and family gatherings, in previous blogs. This year, however, the house was booked and so we had to think of alternatives. My family and I had been to a friend’s house in Pembrokeshire, twice before. Each time it bucketed down with rain and the beautiful Welsh coastline was blurred into a haze of blue and green, but we always bundled ourselves up in layers of waterproofs and headed out regardless. Last September, however, we went there for my Father’s birthday. On the day of his celebration we headed to the beach, and it stayed dry. Hallelujah. It was glorious. For the first time, I could see how Wales might be an absolutely stunning summer holiday destination, if only it would stop bloody raining. So, with the memory of one fine day in September, locked in my head, I decided to take the risk and book it for Dave and my annual June jaunt.
For 5 and a half days the weather was perfect. The sun shone high and bright in a bold blue sky. The light and heat turned the sand white and fluffy, and made the water seem like a snapshot from the Mediterranean. We couldn’t contain our excitement. We smiled, and oohed and aahed with breathless excitement every time we came across yet another deserted cove or tidal river, having driven through high-sided grassy lanes, following fine lines on the well-used ordinance survey map (excellent map reading by the way Dave!). And even though we still would have had an amazing time if the rain had come and the wind had blown, we were very glad it didn’t.
We have had weeks and weeks of rainy holidays over the years. It doesn’t dampen our spirits, it just changes the dynamic. The jigsaw puzzles come out, the comfort food is cooked, DVD’s are watched and red wine is consumed. But when the sun is out, the BBQ appears instead; blackened chicken and sausages are eaten, salads are made, white wine and cider with ice (don’t judge me!) are drunk; flip flops replace sturdy walking boots, and the wind is gentle and salt-laced as it blows around your ankles rather than trying to sweep you off a mountain top!! We drove to calm bobbing-boated inlets and ate fresh crab sandwiches; we visited pubs in remote villages and the staff actually seemed pleased to see us and chatted and laughed (remember I’m used to surly London bar and restaurant staff); we went to galleries and castles and people would recommend other places to go; swimming and snorkelling replaced damp mountain walks, and long al fresco picnics in small sandy coves, replaced harried soggy sandwiches under a rain-sodden hood.
I do understand why millions of Brits go abroad for their summer holidays. They want guaranteed weather. They want to know, for a fact, they can get away with packing only a few bikinis, a kaftan, a pair of shorts and some sandals, and not get caught out. The amount of luggage you have to take for a holiday in the UK, just in case the weather is unpredictable (always), fills an entire car. Before I had Gigi, aka the Golden Goddess, aka my gold car that resembles an 80’s minicab, I had to travel by train. It was a nightmare. Imagine carrying everything in one suitcase, for all opportunities. Packing for a temperature range of 20º to 90º is tricky. Thinking of every meteorological eventuality is a massive challenge. Then add towels and linen to that (if you are in a rented cottage), books (yes, real books… I’m still not Kindle-kind!), toiletries and everything else you want for a comfortable break away and you utterly exhausted before you even get on holiday.
So, you have to be flexible, you have to be willing to take the chance. And when you do, and if the weather Gods are kind, you will not regret staying home and exploring our wonderful country. The Pembrokeshire coastline is truly stunning but I urge you not to all go at once, and please don’t tell your friends, we don’t want to ruin it!
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