'Persistently grey,' Gill concluded as she peered out of the bedroom window. The observation came as no surprise as I had just spent half the night of dozing fitfully to the accompaniment of periods of pitter patter interspersed with a periodic plop as drizzle gathered into pools then dripped off the end of the awning cover. For me a sleepless night proffers an ideal opportunity to run through my entire back catalogue of psychosomatic episodes, inevitably leading to rumination about the time it would take for an ambulance to reach the remote spot we are parked in. The lack of mobile coverage would make it impossible to call one anyway, so there is no chance at all of me surviving my imagined impending heart attack. So when woken next morning by Gill's sad reflection about the weather, whereas she felt downcast I was positively joyous having survived yet another close run thing with acute hypochondria.
If the rain stops our plan for today is to cycle to Penmon Point, Anglesey's eastern tip. It's only about 3 miles from the site, we did the exact same thing the last time we stayed here in 2013. It's a bit lame to simply replicate what we did previously, but the effect of six months of house arrest depresses the spirits, just getting out and about is such a novelty that seeking new experiences feels like a step too far. So we are staying at the same site and apparently destined to do exactly the same things.
The site has developed somewhat over the past seven years specialising in statics and seasonal pitches more than tourers, nevertheless you can see that the new investments have been planned carefully and benefit everyone. The upgraded facilities for tourers are well designed and the place has maintained the eco-friendly atmosphere we noted previously. Its location in a little valley screens the developments, and despite the scores of statics dotted about it's hardly a blot in the landscape and the patch woodland at the rear of the place is peaceful, shadowy and full of birdsong.
In the event the trip to Penmon point might as well have been new territory because none of it looked familiar at all, which is odd, this corner of the island is lovely, it should be memorable, a rolling wooded landscape with spectacular views of the mainland all the way from the Great Orme near Llandudno to Bangor and the Snowdonia massif beyond, today looking dark and threatening as rain clouds bubbled up.
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Unlike our last trip we didn't make it all the way to the lighthouse. Instead, after frequent photo stops along the way, we became sidetracked by the remains of St Seiriol's priory.
The church is still intact. It dates from the twelfth century and looks Norman, but isn't of course because Wales at that point was an independent Kingdom.
Some of the monastic buildings have been incorporated into the grand house which abutts the church, the other structures are ruined. Of these the large stone dovecote built in the sixteenth century is the best preserved.
Perhaps the most evocative part of the complex is an ancient spring behind the church. St. Seiriol is a semi-legendary figure from the sixth century associated with early Christianity in Wales.
I suspect like many of these sacred springs the veneration of this place reaches back even further, since pre-existing Celtic deities were often reinvented as saints.
We must have passed by here on our previous visit, but we remembered nothing about the ancient site. Strange how some places resonate and remain familiar yet others slip your mind completely. There seems no logic to it.
For example, our trip into Beaumaris yesterday became an exercise in déjà vu purely by accident. One gloomy day in February I made a list of places we might visit in the UK once restrictions were lifted - short trips to attractive places with a nice, well reviewed bakery, since in all likelihood pubs and restaurants would open at a later date than shops. It was a good plan but it didn't come to fruition as many of the small rural sites I had earmarked chose not to reopen until restrictions on opening sanitary blocks were lifted. Consequently we have had to plan our socially distanced mini-breaks around club sites and larger park home sites able to attract visitors with on-board facilities, a niche market it has to be said! As for our pursuit of that delicious pastry for lunch, we have been forced to take pot luck.
The results so far do not bode well so far as British bakeries are concerned. In Devon we were served an inedible pastie in Woolacombe. Wales though takes its cakes and pies seriously, we had high hopes of Beaumaris's 'Central Bakery'. The place took a bit of finding, it is indeed in the town centre but hidden down a side street. It looked very traditional. In our enthusiasm to seek out the Principalities finest pies Gill forgot to put her mask on, her very first transgression in over twelve months of law abiding social distancing. We had hardly passed through the door when the shop assistant barked, "You must wear a mask!"
Gill, apologising profusely, immediately reached into her bag to make amends. At which point the feisty woman behind the counter in her very best school ma'am voice advised us that Gill should, "go outside to put the mask on then come back in." Now this was quite clearly a very silly overreaction, community transmission of Covid is minimal hereabouts it was obvious simply looking at the pair of us that the chances are were we had both been vaccinated, and there was only the three of us in the shop. Nevertheless, we duly marched outside, looked at each other, raised our eyebrows and without exchanging a word decided to find our lunch elsewhere
Opposite Beaumaris's toy-town pier two places offered lunch al-fresco, The Bulkeley Hotel and The Pier House Cafe and Bistro. We chose the latter on the basis that Beaumaris's mafia of albatross sized seagulls seemed intent on harassing the diners at the Bulkeley, whereas those at the Pier House seemed unaffected, probably because most tables there had a kerbside ambience. We were faced with Hobson's choice, choked by traffic fumes or splattered with droppings.
Even before we were seated we realised that yet again we seemed fated to re-enact our previous visit, yes this was the place where we had a pleasant, leisurely lunch seven years ago; 'Good food, chaotic service' I tagged the photo that I uploaded at the time. The only thing that had changed since then were the particularities of front of house mismanagement. Back in 2014 service was provided by a couple of inept teenagers, today one guy was trying serve the dozen or so outside covers, He seemed frazzled, wrong-footed by the complexities Covid related regulations and mixed up about his priorities. The upshot was that we sat down in warm sunshine but by the time our melts arrived a chilly breeze was whipping through the straights and the mountaintops across the water now were wreathed with rain clouds.
As for lunch itself, the menu today is certainly more ambitious than before, more modern showing a bit of southern European influence combined with a commitment to using local produce, all of which has to be lauded. Good, but not exceptional was the verdict on my Welsh rarebit, and if tempted to slip into Jay Rainer mode, then perhaps a little under seasoned, a bigger dash of Worcestershire sauce on the rarebit would have been welcome. Also if you want to elevate your offer then accompanying the main dish with a handful of plain crisps and a few sprigs of rocket and floppy bits of pepper as a salad is simply disappointing. In the end the menu probably offered too much choice, most places where we have had really delicious food have focused on a handful of dishes cooked with skill and panache, the wider the choice the greater the chance of mediocrity has been our experience.
After lunch we attempted to shop for some essentials, an unusual mix it has to be said, paella rice and contact lens soaking solution. We were fairly convinced that Beaumaris's high street was not going to deliver on this, which it didn't, but not before we had explored the small Spa supermarket, ascertained that the pharmacy did not sell lens solution and the opticians was operating on an appointment only basis. It did give us the opportunity to wander around most of the town centre. Arty crafty junk shops seemed to predominate; most were execrable, however 'Celtic Corner' went beyond the merely dreadful, its window display was positively disturbing, an odd mixture of air pistols, hand crafted replica metal swords and deaths head knuckledusters.
We like Beaumaris, aside from the place's spectacular location, the town itself is a pleasing mixture of Regency and Victorian buildings on the high street and interesting colour washed terraces beyond it.
The small pier is picture postcard cute, the ruined castle on the edge of town impressive and foreboding in equal measure.
We walked by the monument heading back to where we had locked the bikes. I stopped momentarily to take a photo, but we did not hang about, the mountains now were veiled in rain and it was heading our way. It took less than 15 minutes to cycle back to the campsite, As we turned into the gate it began to drizzle, then once again continued to rain intermittently until next morning. Our verdict on Beaumaris, beautiful location, pleasingly quirky ambience. It's not so from home, I can imagine us coming back.
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