Back in an Alpine

Nearly 20 years ago we started caravanning in an old Sprite Alpine. She was a wonderful little ‘van, she had personality, and we took her all over Europe. The day I left her behind, in a scrap yard behind Birkenhead Docks, I felt I had abandoned her, that I was a wicked and unfeeling person. But she had to go. She was forty years old and her chassis was so tired and bent we had to manipulate the corner steadies to straighten her out enough just to open and close the door.

We bought on old Avondale, and she was okay, but suffered from damp. She did the trick for 10 years but the damp was always going to win. She was a comfortable ‘van but I have to confess I always missed the little Alpine and her quirky eccentricities.

But now she’s back, or at least her daughter is back. We have a new caravan and she’s an Alpine. Swift have been making Sprite Alpines for a few years. We knew we’d have one, one day, as soon as we stepped inside a display model at the Manchester Caravan Show in 2011. So we saved. Then in February we headed back to the Caravan Show and added a Sprite Alpine 2 to our family. And you know what? She’s wonderful. She’s called Sally. Sally Swift.

First outing for Sally was at Lady Margaret’s Park, near Chirk. Just one night, for a try-out, in early March, then a couple of nights at a CS near Winsford. It snowed both times but we were toasty warm. I haven’t blogged about any of the places we visited because we didn’t really visit, we just stayed in the van and made tea and toast (because the grill works) and cooked meals (because the cooker works) and had showers (because the water system works). And mostly we just sat around in our T-shirts looking out at the snow outside and swapping big melon-shaped grins.

This weekend, though, we’ve been out for real. We have been staying at a lovely Camping Club CS called Ty Mawr near Ellesmere. The site is right on the banks of the Shropshire Union canal, and the walking round and about is excellent, although we haven’t done too much walking since Sarah broke her foot doing “keep-fit”. It’s a good spot for crutches, though; not too many hills.

We’re only an hour-and-a-half from home, but we passed through a place called Whittington on the way. Whittington has a castle, and neither of us had ever heard of it before. It’s not a big castle but it is so picturesque. It has a moat and ducks, and so we came back to visit the next day, and they had a medieval re-enactment group doing violent stuff with swords on the lawn. And here’s the thing, it is owned, not by English Heritage or the National Trust, but by the community of Whittington – the only arrangement of its type in the country as far as they know. And the pride they have in their castle really shows. It is beautifully cared for and maintained, and the only charge is £1.00 for the car park. I would have helped out some more by patronising the tea shop and eating cake, but the tea shop was full. Next time, then.

But this leads me on to a growing feeling I have for small shops. The little market towns are being squeezed out by the big chains. It is desperately sad to see. All the character and interest is being lost. So many times I have paid for two hours in the car park only to find that two minutes would suffice, because there’s nothing left to see; all the shops are shuttered up and closed. Those that remain seem to be on borrowed time. So I’ve started a personal campaign of buying from indie shops rather than chains if possible, especially when on holiday. This is particularly so of tea and coffee shops. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fond of your Costas and your Starbucks et al, but if a little indie shop takes my fancy, (and they have to work hard for it, no plastic table cloths, tomato shaped sauce bottles or commercial radio blasting from a tinny transistor on the counter) if it looks inviting, then I’ll go there in preference. We came upon a little coffee shop in Oswestry, called Wednesdays. It had opened that very day. Nice shop, lots of comfortable seating, very friendly customer-focussed staff, gave us a special opening day half price offer. I hope they do well. Take this as a big plug. Wednesdays, Castle Court, Bailey Street. It’s up a little alley round the back of Wilko’s.

The problem with the chain shops is that when they go bust they all go bust, and they take their neighbours with them. It doesn’t have to be a reflection on the town or village they are in, these shops could be doing well in particular areas, often at the expense of the little indie shops that find it hard to compete. But then when they do crash they leave a big hole that can take the rest of the town with them. Woolworths are a good example. You can spot the smouldering crater in most small-town high streets that used to be filled by Woolworths. They’re quite distinctive, they’re usually re-occupied by thrift shops, and you can see the collateral damage that has been caused by their passing. It’s just my theory, but I don’t think you can blame the internet for everything. Big chains are just as much a cause. When you visit a town these days you are hard pressed to notice any difference between it and your own home town, wherever that may be. All the shops are the same. It is depressing. So go on, next time you’re somewhere new, find a non-chain shop and buy something. Help keep them afloat.

 Eek! I’m moaning a lot, aren’t I? I shouldn’t. I should just look out of Sally’s window at the rolling Shropshire countryside and the canal boats chugging past, and listen to the sound of zero traffic and... there, I’m smiling again.

Llanrwst

This weekend brings us to Llanrwst, and another temporary holiday site run by South Lancs DA. This one wasn’t cancelled. The weather was fine. No dramas on the roads, so limited story material, but I’ll just tell you about the walk we did on the Saturday which, it has to be said, was pretty spectacular.

  

We started by getting the train to Betws-y-Coed, from where we walked upstream alongside Afon Llugwy as far as the Miner’s Bridge, a steeply angled footbridge. We’ve crossed it before but today its name took on more significance later in our walk. This time we didn’t cross the bridge but angled straight up the hill to the right instead. 

Crossing the road we headed along a path through the forest that climbs steadily for about half a mile before twisting up through a rocky stream bed and emerging into meadowland reminiscent of Switzerland. There are fine views of Moel Siabod and of the Carneddau, all framed by pines and oaks set amongst meadows filled with wild flowers. It really is very special up here.

Gantry over the old mine shaft at Cyffty Lead Mine

The paths don’t quite match those on our map, but then it’s an old map, full of holes and frayed edges, maybe it’s time to treat myself to a new one. We headed for a group of cottages which the map calls Hafotypencraig, then took a path across the fields to an old mine working. This was a fascinating place, because up here, miles from anywhere, someone has taken the trouble to excavate the old mine buildings, fence them, and provide captivating information boards about it all. There is a gantry that bridges the main shaft and allows you to look down into the hole beneath your feet. It is a lead mine called Cyffty, and it dates back to the 1850’s. It is idyllic now. Perhaps not so much back in the day.

Artist's impression of Cyffty Mine in its Heyday (Chris Hull - taken from information board at the mine site)

We followed the road, now, heading for Llyn Geirionydd, then followed a path uphill past more mine workings, and on cresting the brow of the hill the view of the lake below was fabulous. We followed the path down the hill, diagonally, through deep ferns, then spent a few minutes sitting beside the lake.

Eglwys Sant Rhychwyn

The rest of the walk was simply a return to Llanrwst, with nothing much to offer, except then we came upon an old church, hardly signposted at all, which turned out to be 1000 years old and still in use. 

Eglwys Sant Rhychwyn was built in the eleventh century and is known locally as Llywelyn’s Old Church because Llywelyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd, worshipped here in the twelfth century. Pushing open the ancient twisted door and stepping inside it seemed it hadn’t changed at all in all the intervening years. There is a rack on the wall, a coffin bier, for carrying coffins around the hillsides. The stone font is the original font and still in the same place.

 I am not an old church person and I am seldom turned on much by history, but this felt old, and there was a real atmosphere about the place – a sense of deep tranquillity. It was quite wonderful.

We hit the road again, a steep downhill section for a long way, the kind of descent that makes your toes hurt as they are pushed harder and harder into the front of your shoes. 

Fairy Dell - undisclosed location somewhere in Wales

So we went off on another tangent and followed a footpath down through the woods. A stepped path down beside a woodland stream, an idyllic stream, the kind of setting where fairies might live. And of course, being manx, I believe in fairies and I know fairy dells. And if ever there was a fairy dell this would be it.

Did we see any fairies? That would be telling.

But I’m not saying where it was, either. 

Llanrwst

Staying at a temporary DA site in Llanrwst this weekend. Good lay lines. No rain so far. Planning a day walking in the mountains.
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It was a good day. No disasters so not much of a tale. But the walk was most excellent, there was history, scenery; lakes mountains and bogs, one of the best walks we've done for a long time. So as soon as I get my laptop in range of a decent wifi signal (I'm a bit slow typing on a phone) then I will post route details and photos.

Site Closed

One of the big events of our summer this year is the National Feast of Lanterns, the Camping and Caravanning Club’s annual rally. We’ve not been to it for a few years because the early September date always clashes with Mad-Week at the day job, when time off is banned. So when we saw that this year’s event is in the middle weekend of our summer holidays in August we couldn’t wait to get the cheque in the post. The NFOL usually has about 2000 vans and tents, there are marquees, trade stalls, arena events, and every night there is a cracking live show. It really is a brilliant weekend.

So we were devastated to get the email this week advising that the record-breaking wet British summer had claimed another victim. The NFOL is cancelled. We are disappointed; I can’t imagine how the teams of volunteer organisers must feel, some of whom have invested three years of their lives into this thing. It is very sad.

But we shrugged our shoulders, hitched up the van, and headed out into Britain’s wet wilderness for some caravan therapy. (Actually we had to change the battery before we left because it seems to be knackered. And the caravan side-lights didn’t work, but we didn’t need them, we’d be there before dark. But was this an Omen?)

We headed for a temporary DA site at Lyme View Marina. We’ve been before, good location, with a fine walk over the moors to the National Trust’s Lyme Park. You’d think finding it would be easy, but we made the mistake of trusting the SatNav. When she takes you the wrong way in a car you pull into a side road and do a three-point turn. No problem, it’s just annoying. Try it with a caravan on a single-track, with passing places, reversing into a farm gate. Wild.

It didn’t help that there were none of the usual direction arrows fixed to lamp-posts. The DA’s are normally very good about this. We should have suspected something. But we found a road to the marina ourselves, one that we recognised from last time, and we wound our way up the hill, over the canal bridge and into the boat yard that leads to the site. At the end of the boatyard, taped to a chained and locked gate, was a damp sheet of A4 with the words “Site Shut” in dribbly felt tip. So now we had our second lesson in extreme caravan manoeuvring. Boatyards are magical places, with anchors and chains and other vicious chandlery scattered at random, ready to gouge and tear into the tender flesh of caravan walls. It took us quarter of an hour to get out.

So, where to go now? Not back home, please; the rain had stopped and the chances of the first dry weekend of the summer were high. There were other sites we knew. Each number we called was answered by a machine, ‘at the tone please leave a message.’ We didn’t want to leave a message, we wanted permission to pitch, and before it went dark. Because the side lights still didn’t work and it was already 7:40 pm.

Third time lucky, the Caravan Club site at Buxton - Grin Low – could take us. Just a few pitches since it’s the first day of the school holidays. But we had to get there in twenty minutes. The SatNav said we could do it, but we know that our SatNav is calibrated for Lambourghini’s driven by suicidal maniacs, and we had the Pennines to cross. But we made it. Just. And even though all the cupboards had emptied all over the caravan floor by the time we got there, we felt our luck was changing. Even better, just as we pulled onto the site, the side lights on the caravan started working again.

North Wales Coast

We’ve brought the caravan to Abergeli, a temporary site we’ve wanted to try for a few years. The main attractions are proximity to home (only 40 mins) and the access to the North Wales coast.

It has occurred to me that I have, at different times, walked most of the north coast of Wales. It was never something I deliberately set out to do, it just worked out that way. We have done the walk from Colwyn Bay to Llandudno many times, it’s one of our favourites. We’ve also picked off Caernarvon to Bangor, and from the other side, Llanfairfechan to Bangor; Penmaenmawr to Conway and Conway to Llandudno. So apart from the short stretch from Llanfarfechan to Penmaenmawr we’ve done everything West of Colwyn Bay. So staying at Abergeli gave us the chance to chalk up another three or four miles eastwards.

The camp site is close to Gwyrch Castle. There’s no public access to the castle, which is a pity because from a distance it looks like a wonderful place. It is in the hands of a preservation trust right now so hopefully they can do something with it. I can’t help thinking the National Trust should get involved, it would be a terrific draw for them, given a bit of investment.

Our walk took us, about a mile, down to the coast. I didn’t expect much, to be honest, and to begin with the walk was indeed pretty dull. But it soon became varied and interesting and Sarah was amazed at the wealth of wild flowers we saw, especially the sea holly (pictured), swathes valerium, and hundreds of pyramid orchids. She was in her element and had her sketch book on the go every time we stopped.

There was a lovely little cafe/bistro nestling in a caravan park near Llanddulas along the way, and it was just in the right place for a rest and a cup of tea. The path continues along the coast until it drops onto the end of Colwyn Bay promenade and from then on becomes our often repeated walk along the bay, stopping off for lunch in the Forte cafe in Rhos-on-sea, before continuing on, over the Little Orme and down into Llandudno. It’s about 12 miles in all, and the great beauty of this route is that we were able to jump on a number 12 bus in Llandudno (after coffee in Waterstones) which brought us back to a stop right outside the castle gates, near our camp site.

An excellent day. Tomorrow I have my eye set on heading east, to Rhyl, because right now the game is on. The whole North Coast is within reach.

Hay Festival

I always worry a little about going away from home for a few days. But I take precautions: I double lock the house, I have a good alarm system and I set timed security lights.

I noticed my house keys were missing from my fancy snap-lock key ring. Ah, well, they'll be in the caravan somewhere. Then I got a call from my father-in-law. He'd been passing the house and noticed my bunch of keys lying on the driveway in front of the house. OMG! I lock the place up, make it secure, then leave the bloody keys outside for any passing brigands to collect, take away, then return later with his Luton van and colleagues to help with the heavy stuff. I think I need a new key-ring system.

It rained in Hay yesterday. When it rains here it doesn't do it by halves. Hay rain is serious, committed, professional rain. It rained all day and the ill-prepared, most of us, got very wet. Did I care? Well, not much. We had some good sessions at the festival site, especially Susan Greenfield, the neuroscientist, who, in just under an hour, managed to rewire my brain into buying her book. I swore, before I came, that I had more than enough books – at least forty must-read-next titles on my shelves. What I don't need right now is another one. But I am no match for a neuroscientist. Not only did I buy her book but I got it signed. An excellent read it is proving to be, too. I am most interested in her take on computers and IT and social media and how they will change our very identities. For good or ill? I'll finish writing the blog before I read that bit.

Today, Monday, was dry and at times, sunny. A lovely day. Two excellent talks at the festival, a fine meal at The Granary, and... well, I bought some more books at the Hay Cinema Book Shop. I am weak, I know, but I found a David A Hardy book of science fiction art, 'Visions of Space', for only six quid, and it is just fabulous. It's from the era of SF illustration that I most love, elegant cigar-shaped moon ships and Chesley Bonestell wheeled space stations. Wonderful stuff.

#Hayfestival

We're in Hay-on-Wye for our seventh visit to the annual literary festival. Things didn't start so well for us. We arrived in the evening, had a late tea, then set the bed up for an early night, and found that the locker where we store all the bedding was full of water. The duvet and pillows and pretty-much everything else was soaked. We salvaged what we could and spent the night with just one, single-sized, paper-thin blanket and a cotton sheet to protect us from the harsh mid-Wales June climate.

So this morning I set about tackling the problem. It was, of course, the water heater – the cause of so much woe in recent weeks. I thought I'd fixed it. It worked fine in Cheshire. I left Sarah to wring-out the bedding and drape it around the inside of the car, out of the rain, while I completely dismantled the water heater and scattered bits of it all around the field.

Turns out the 'O' ring, which connects the main tank to the wall fitting, had a kink in it. I smoothed it out, refitted the unit to the wall, connected up the pipes and switched everything on.
"I can smell gas!" shouted Sarah.
I sniffed around the gas fitting but could smell nothing.
"There's gas in the caravan!"
Nonsense. The gas fittings were outside by the... ah. I'd forgotten to reconnect the pipe to the unit inside the van.
So we opened all the windows and let the rain in while we ventilated the caravan. And I reconnected the gas pipe.

But everything seems okay now. Water heater is re-assembled. No leaks. No gas. Bedding is steaming away nicely inside the car.

All ready for our first event in the How-the-Light-gets-in philosophy tent, a discussion about time's arrow. This is what I'm here for. A bit of brain food. Escape from the real world.