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A journey around Snowdonia forms the basis for another short travel story from my jaunts around the British mainland. so enjoy or be annoyed. This is a memoir, so don't expect a full history lesson, but do expect a short one. Also I visit the North East of the Isle of Anglesey and the the famous Puffin Island.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
It was a pretty disappointing mid-April Monday when Mike, a friend of over 25 years, joined me on a four day hike around the stunning Welsh region of Snowdonia. This was to be my penultimate visit to the beautiful wilds of Britain in 2015, as a temporary illness has limited me to a chauffeur driven holiday. But I am determined to battle the pain and walk to the highest pinnacle of Wales, and apart from the Scottish Borders, it is also the highest point in the British Isles.
Along with England’s highest mountain, ‘Scafell Pike (978 m) and Scotland’s ‘Ben Nevis (1,344 m), Snowdonia (1,085 m) is part of the comfortably challenging ‘National Three Peaks Challenge. I myself have successfully challenged Scafell Pike, which is part of the Southern Fells in ‘The Lake District National Park. That feat was achieved inadvertently, way back when I was still at school. And to be quite frank I found the whole experience pretty boring. But when you are a fifteen year old virgin who is still in his masturbation years, walking the dizzy heights of a lump of prehistoric rock doesn’t really get your testosterone levels to orgasmic elevation. In fact I didn’t even know that I had walked the nigh on 1000 metre ascent until recently when an old school friend on Facebook reminded me of that trek in the summer of 76. I do remember the visit to the Lakes District way back then but I didn’t know that I had achieved anything of any significance. What I do remember of that out of school trip is that Carlton Turpin had collapsed through a combination of starvation, dehydration and the sweltering heat. He had forgotten to take his supply of life saving needs, and it was me who donated a water container to quench his thirst. I never liked Carlton, so why I saved his life for when he had apparent friends in the group is still beyond me. But the Samaritan in me did bring Carlton and myself a little closer, and he even invited me to his house shortly afterwards, but I still didn’t like him. As for Ben Nevis, that challenge has possibly disappeared along with my health.
Mike picked me up in his surfer dude van at around noon on the 20th April. He steers clear of any motorways that happen to get in his way, and that means that we get to take the scenic route all the way to the town of ‘Pwllheli, Gwynedd in North-Western Wales. This was to be a 140 mile drive through the extreme and utter beauty of mainly untouched prairieland. There was no M54, no M6, and very little in the way of A roads. This meant that our journey would take a few hours longer than the three it would have taken if he had driven the aforementioned routes. In fact it was 6.30pm when we arrived at reception that cold and windy evening.
‘Hafan y Mor Holiday Park, which is a Haven franchise, is a replica of most Haven caravan parks in Britain. I have acquainted over thirty of these parks over the years and I could possibly tell you who the leisure company is as soon as I enter the complex. Haven always seem to have a pond for fishing and a 9 hole golf course. Parkdean never has a fish pond, but do have a 9 hole golf course. And John Fowler’s parks are always surrounded by woodland, with no pond and no golf course. Also, Parkdean and Fowler’s grounds are usually lit up with a compendium of floral delights that are extremely well looked after. Whereas Haven don’t have any colourful delights, except for a hanging basket outside the reception. I’m afraid to say that Haven is more a replica of an urban council estate in comparison to most other holiday parks. But it is a place to lay our hats for a few days, and as long as there aren't any children about the place, we should be quite safe from ASBO infection.