Cardiff, Wales
The train whisks us quickly from bustling London into the green landscape of southern England, through the heart of modest cities and past numerous quaint villages. We’re on our way to the storied countryside of Wales.
We arrive in Cardiff and enter yet another new linguistic world. This is the final month of our 4-month meander through Europe and we’ve dealt with numerous languages and dialects already. We’ve come to Wales to experience the culture, the people, and now another new language, although we soon realize that any real facility with Welsh is not in our immediate future. We never ever get a real grasp of the pronunciation during our stay in Cardiff.
We drag our bags from the railway station through the streets of town and find lodging at 62 Cathedral Road; it’s a solid and elegant townhouse, nestled under spreading trees, and with an abundantly flowered entry garden. The gracious owners checked us in to a large comfortable room with triple-glazing, just in case the modest traffic outside got noisy. (It didn’t.)
We’re in a neighborhood of fine older row-houses built of stone, each with a classical entry, each set back from the street, with trees and flower gardens in front. It’s an excellent location for walking to the center city and to any number of historic attractions.
There are at least four very good pubs and eateries settled into similar townhouses within a block of our lodgings. On our first night in Cardiff we enjoy the cosy pub right next to our quarters, although in a rare break from pub tradition we opt out of a tall draft. A glance at the impressive dessert menu decides us on a good red wine instead.
And in the morning, the establishment just across the street at Cathedral 73, with the bright yellow Rolls Royce parked by the door, serves up an excellent breakfast. We’ll not lack for excellent and nearby food choices.
(We never did actually see the ‘Cathedral’ itself, but we’d already seen so many others on this trip.)
On another morning, and on a nearby corner, we find a place called Coffee #1. It’s a sunny day, so all the outside tables are taken, but the cosy interior is a great place for a large cup of sturdy coffee and a pair of delicious ‘Welsh Cakes.’ We’ll return to Coffee #1 for Welsh Cakes and coffee several more times during our stay.
Almost just behind our lodging place lies the vast greenery of Bute Park, and we spend plenty of time wandering its verdant paths; it’s our best route to the nearby center of Cardiff. Along the pathway that skirts the River Taff we peak over a fence lining the grounds of the venerable Cardiff Bowling Club (est. 1878) for a bit of the day’s action on the greens.
We cross the River Taff bridge and enter the lush gardens of Bute Park. We’re heading to the sprawling grounds of Bute Castle for a day of exploration. The back door into the Castle is no longer in use, so we’ll find our way to the street and through a tunnel to the other side.
The Castle’s street side entry is flanked with the famous ‘Animal Wall’ and its collection of creatures escaping from the castle confines. They were featured in a 1930s cartoon strip that suggested the animals came alive at night – a scary prospect for the sleeping children of Cardiff!
Cardiff Castle, with its extensive grounds, is an extravagance worth experiencing. It boasts numerous Gothic modifications and additions over the centuries. There’s even a huge trebuchet designed for tossing horrible objects over the wall at besieging enemies. It recalls that old Monte Python skit where the French are flinging various items at the English, although without a trebuchet.
Much of this opulence, and the soaring main castle, owes its existence to coal. At its peak, the Bute family was among the wealthiest in the world. During the Second World War Cardiff was one of the largest coal exporting ports on the planet – and hence an important target for the Luftwaffe. The experience still resonates in Cardiff today.
We’re first drawn to tunnels within the high surrounding walls overlooking the city. The tunnels served as a bomb shelter during The War; the Warden’s Station remains intact, bunk beds line the corridor, and old posters hang on the walls. And there’s a soundtrack, complete with whistling bombs and explosions to recreate the sensation of huddling for protection in these dank quarters. In Cardiff the Second World War is not that distant and abstract concept held by many Americans. Here they vividly remember the terrible screaming bombs and their friends who perished. It remains part of their personal history.
We emerge from the tunnel into the daylight and climb to the pathway along the wall. The bright red flags of Wales festoon the battlements overlooking the city beyond. And behind us the towering 12th century Norman keep stands proud on a hill upon the green below, the site of an old Roman fort.
We do plenty of walking on our travels, but climbing to the Norman keep challenges our aging knees. With fellow intrepid climbers we assault the narrow stairs en masse. Within the keep there’s a tower accessed by another narrow stairway where the last holdouts would resist to the end. Through portholes we see the grey hulk of Cardiff Castle, the futuristic Millennium Stadium, and the distant hills.
The Castle itself contains a treasure of fine furniture, stained glass, art, sculpture – and beautiful books, books, books. The names of classical authors are designed into the wallpaper. Ah, for endless time in which to recline with a snifter of fine brandy, and enjoy an ancient book, or several, from these shelves. I think I’ll never be so lucky.
Wales is the homeland of Dylan Thomas (the ‘other’ Dylan), one of our favorite, and notoriously well-lubricated, poets. Yet the hallowed shelves in Cardiff Castle seem not to have any of his work. Well it’s their loss. It’s unlikely we’ll be going to his home down the coast in Swansea, but at least we’re nearby. His long poem, “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”, is a perennial favorite of mine.
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On another morning we’re again at Coffee #1 for a ‘refresher course’ on quiche, fruit, Welsh Cakes, and their bracing strong coffee. One must prepare well for the daily toil of wandering this ancient city. And especially its imposing fine art museum.
This is the day we’ll visit the neoclassical National Museum Cardiff, one of Britain’s best museums, for another hit of the fine arts. Among their many works are significant pieces by Monet, Sisley, Renoir, and Van Gogh. Important Welsh artists like Gwen and Augustus John are also well presented.
There are paintings of famous battles and other events that resonate in Welsh history. The WWI battle of Mametz Wood is flanked by a stark and touching written work that brings the lie to notions of battlefield glory.
And the works of the British Army officer and war protestor Siegfried Sassoon are given their due. After serving with valor he, along with Wilfred Owen and others, came to realize the corruption endemic to warfare and worked strongly to oppose it. His poetry is memorable for its stark depictions of trench warfare.
On another morning we arranged to meet with our Brit friend Luke Waterston, an award-winning author who’s been widely published in Lonely Planet, Rough Guides, the Guardian, BBC Travel, and other sources. His first novel, Roebuck, a bracing read about an historical adventurer in Brazil, has been recently released to fine reviews. Luke spends much of his time in the Andes and the Amazon Basin, so we were happy to find him nearby.
After coffee, I take Luke on a long walk through distant parts of the city, beginning at the northern end of Bute Park. It’s more than a bit odd that I’m leading this trek, but for all Luke’s travels, plus his vast knowledge of Britain and so many other countries, he’s never made it to Cardiff before. So here I am, the Yank, pretending to be knowledgeable about this old port city. Yes it’s odd, but I managed to fake it well enough, and Luke seemed to enjoy the irony of it.
We’ve seen so much in our stay, yet Cardiff Harbor still awaits. So on another fine day, we board an excursion boat in Bute Park and ease our way downriver to the port.
It’s a weekend and we’ve arrived in the middle of a party as Cardiff celebrates its long history with the sea. There are jugglers and musical artists to keep us amused. The old Norwegian Church, with its herring-themed stained glass, is now an arts center and serves up a tasty lunch. And there’s a massive coal bucket sitting on the dock as homage to the industry that built this city.
And there’s a simple memorial to a lad of 15, one of many young men of Wales who’ve been lost at sea over the years. As well, there’s a warning to others not to dismiss these stormy British and Irish seas. There’s a dangerous world just off these shores and sailors must always be prepared for the worst.
Other memorials are found in various parks and other places in the city, like quiet Alexandra Gardens just behind the Museum. Most monuments commemorate the wars that have cost this community so dearly. But it’s touching that they even have a 2016 memorial to the victims of the Thalidomide tragedy, a horrible event that many have long forgotten.
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There’s still much to see and experience in the streets of Cardiff. The Brit spelling of ‘Wahaca’ brings a chuckle (nobody in Wales can pronounce Oaxaca?), but we enjoy their slogan, “La vida es corta; El precio no importa” (“Life is short; The price is not important”). We didn’t try the tacos, even though it was “The Year of the Taco” – according to somebody, somewhere.
And how could we not get a picture of the smiling lady at the laundromat wearing a “Great Dorset Chilli Festival” T-shirt? She was a bit amused when we told her ‘chile’ is spelled with only one ‘L’ and an ‘e’ on the end. Texans misspell it with an ‘i’ on the end, but even they don’t spell it with a double ‘L.’
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After many days of rich wanderings through Cardiff, it’s time to move onward again. On our last night we enjoy another fine dinner and good wine in a quiet bistro before retiring again to our comfortable bed at 62 Cathedral for the night.
The morning dawns overcast and drizzly, the very sort of notoriously proper UK weather we've actually seen little of on this trip. We don broad hats and rain jackets, and roll our bags just a few blocks to a long-distance-bus stop located nearby in Bute Park. And we’re off yet again, this time to our last stop in England, the charming village of Bath.