All night the rain fell and the wind kept buffeting Eileen; it was a mighty quick dash to the bathroom in the morning! We turned right out of the campsite, intending to park by the sand dunes and take a stroll over the sand to the sea. But sitting in the car-park, with the rain still beating on the windscreen, we cancelled that stroll. We drove up to Harlech instead, pulled on the raincoats, yet again, and found our way round to the castle.
The castle looked very gloomy and neither of us fancied walking around inside the ruin in the rain. It was difficult just taking a photo without the camera lens getting wet. Knowing that the weather was not going to improve all day, there seemed no point in going inland to look at mountains, so we drove around Traeth Bach to Porthmadog. We checked out the Welsh Highland Railway timetable and bought tickets for the next day, then we drove further along the coast to Criccieth. We can both recommend the tasty steak and ale pie in the Prince of Wales pub, but a stroll along the beach was definitely not recommended in the rain. So we tracked back to Porthmadog and checked in to Tyddyn Llyn Touring Park; our first campsite with no vowels. I’m not sure if it was the foul weather, or the ½ litre of cider at lunchtime, but at 5pm we both fell asleep for an hour stretched out on the sofas.
When the alarm rang at 6:30 the next morning, I was glad we’d had the nanna nap the day before, because I was still really sleepy. But, at least it wasn’t raining and we had a special train to catch. Carrying our raincoats, instead of wearing them, yippee, we strolled in to Porthmadog. Twenty minutes later we were standing on the platform waiting for the 9:35am train to Caernafon. The Welsh Highland Railway is a steam-hauled, narrow gauge (two feet), railway that runs for 40kms from the coast at Porthmadog, across Snowdonia, to the Menai Strait at Caernafon. For you steam train enthusiasts out there, our outward journey was in a third-class carriage pulled by a red train with the number 138 on the side and on the way back we were pulled by a blue train, the number 87 from South African Railways NG/G16…..
It was a very scenic ride and, looking around the carriage at the other passengers, everyone looked our age or older, but they all looked like a lot of big kids, smiling and enjoying their day out on a steam train. So sweet. The top of Snowden was covered in thick cloud rolling on and off the peak and I have to say, I was glad we weren’t rambling up there again today; I don’t need to stand on the top of Snowden a fourth time.
We passed cows, horses, sheep, little Welsh ponies and fields still so green they almost glowed when the sun occasionally found its way through the clouds. While tootling along through the countryside, Rodney pointed out that we had been on a lot of trains this year. I wouldn’t exactly say we’re up there with commuters, but we’ve been on four Swiss trains, one in Italy, one in Germany, two in England, one in France plus a velorail (does that count?) and this train in Wales; they’ve all been lovely rides.
We arrived in Caernafon, twenty minutes late, ate a hot meal in a café called ‘Wal’, strange name, and then we wandered in to Caernafon Castle. The last time I visited this fabulous castle was one month after Prince Charles’ investiture as Prince of Wales back in 1969. As is always the case when you become a grown-up, the castle seemed a lot smaller than I remembered. But I did recall running around the ramparts, up and down spiral staircases inside the towers and I fondly remember how much fun it was being inside a romantic fairy-tale of a ruin.
Unfortunately, we only had an hour and a half spare, definitely not enough time to absorb all the history, the museum, and to walk around the whole building and up every turret. We had a train to catch at 3:30pm and I’m not sure my legs could have climbed every tower now that I’m a grown-up!
Sitting in our third-class carriage, we watched the little train being filled with water, huffing and hissing the steam all around. We finally set off for Porthmadog fifteen minutes late; seems it’s not just commuter trains that run late. I wrote up my notes as we chuffity choofed across the beautiful scenery. Sitting in a carriage nearer to the front this time, we could really hear the engine working and the steam spitting. There was also a lot more soot finding its way in through the gaps in the windows….
Back in Porthmadog, we walked back to the campsite discussing whether I was slowly turning in to a train-spotter, eeks! We had showers to remove the soot and snuggled down to another cosy night in Eileen, with the chuffity choof sound still in my head.
