Goodwick, Fishguard

Marge sat in a mizzle last night, we comforted ourselves by cooking sausages. Yes, don't they smell nice. Form an orderly queue at the window fellow campers. A full house last night, four of us in total. The much-needed rain continued through the night, pulsing onto Marge's roof, sometimes waking us. This morning the cloud low. We hoped the forecast for an improving picture was correct.

Fortunately, just after we arrived at St. Davids, Britain's smallest city the weather settled. Blue sky cracked through the rain clouds and the sun slowly appeared. Angela has visited St Davids before when she was a teenager. Her recollection of the visit was her mother leaving the bed and breakfast they were staying in still wearing her carpet slippers. A church service was taking place inside the cathedral, so we walked around the outside, the chords of the organ seeping out from under the thick wooden doors. A further fifteen-minute walk took us to St. Non's Head and the chapel where St. David was born.

The views along the coast were stunning. Caves and rock shattered crags beneath a baize of green wet from the earlier rain glinted in the sunshine.

Then we drove on to the burial chamber at Carey Sampson, where we were rewarded with yet more stunning views along the Pembrokeshire coast. 

Tonight's stop is Goodwick, Fishguard. The car ferry sails from here to Rosslare in south east Ireland. Tonight's sailing leaves at eleven forty-five and we wish we could be on it. Ireland is on our list of places to take Marge. We have our guide books ready, we just need to make time. Looks like it'll be next year Marge. We have many other vans with us tonight from Europe, and we think they will probably board tonight's vessel, at the same time we are sure some of the vans arriving from Ireland will stay the night here with us.

Tomorrow we must decide how much further up the west coast we will drive as we need to cross to the west soon to begin making our way back south. As for today, we've been distracted by one thing. The Women's England football team playing Germany. Thank god. What a result, our nerves were jangling. Well done girls.

Trefin

Last night we were parked up in the perfect spot to watch a sunset. Sadly, the cloud thickened and we were left disappointed as all the other people who turned up to view it. We watched anyway as the sun slipped towards the west.

As you do, we saw a man walk down to the beach with his bird of prey, allowing it to fly loose. The crows however were having none of it, swooping and diving at the imposter. Man, and bird soon left.

The night passed peacefully, with the sound of the waves pushing through the rocks as our lullaby. This morning the weather had changed, although warm, rain threatened. We left Freshwater West, and the bags of plasterboard somebody had felt O.K. about dumping at the end of the layby.

Opposite a national trust sign declared the area of one of outstanding natural beauty. Right! A young couple arrived just as we were leaving, the man hastily removing his drying underwear from the dashboard. Don't be coy, look we're all doing it. 

Pembroke was our destination. We needed food shopping and internet signal. A burst of rain dampened both Marge and our spirits. We found the town a little miserable and after sourcing a nearby overnight stop left with no regrets. 

The village of Trefin, famed for being the home village of Cerys Matthews, former lead singer with the band Catatonia, sits on the coast just above St. Davids where we will back track to tomorrow. The overnight parking area can easily accommodate four vans. One was already here when we arrived, and shortly after a lady in a French registered car arrived.

The rain now over the distant higher ground we walked down to the nearby rocky cove, our feet slipping on the wet rocks. Never a good idea at our age.

Seeing some standing stones up above the cliffs we decided to take the safer option and walk along the coast path stopping to sit a while and take in the views. Nearby flowers spurted from rocks which scattered grass nibbled by grazing cattle. A splash of colour on the harsh landscape.

The day has passed quickly, and we are hoping the weather settles by the morning. But hey, we're in Marge, in Wales and that's good enough for us.

Freshwater West, nr: Angle

 

Where will you take us today Marge? That's the joy of travelling for you, we never really know where we'll go, who we'll meet or what will happen during the course of the day, and where we will spend the night. As other vanlife people say, 'the greatest part of your trip is the stuff you see and do along the way'.

So let's set off Marge, first stop, Carew Castle, a Norman castle that was transitioned into an Elizabethan manor house. In its grounds, the only tidal mill in Wales. Busy with families, we decided to take time for hot drinks before walking around. Pushing the boat out. Yes Marge. Oh, by the way after this we're taking you up onto Castlemartin firing range. Just saying.

We had to drive across the range (checking first the road was open) to St. Govan's Head where we walked down to St. Govan's chapel set in the cliff. John walked down further over the rocks whilst Angela sat just below the chapel directing people as to the best path back up. Born leader. From close by explosions and automatic gun fire could be heard. Don't panic Marge!

Onward Marge. We need to find an overnight spot, they're becoming few and far between now. After dismissing nearby Pembroke we drove back up onto the range to Freshwater West where we would be able to park up in a large layby set back from the road. The car parks and all other parking was a no go, although there were lots of surfers vans there and we thought they'd probably risk staying over without being fined.

The view is spectacular along the coast to Linney Head and St. Ann's Head. We walked onto the beach, a vast expanse of sand where the surfers played one end and rock pools amongst volcanic rock the other. Across from Marge is a seaweed drying shed, one of many which would have been in the area. This is where seaweed from the nearby beach would have been dried before being sent to Swansea to be made into lava bread.

Penally, Tenby

Today was John's birthday, bunting adorned the parking area this morning in honour of this day. Nice one Angela. :)

Our drive today took us to Tenby, a harbour town and resort with thirteenth century town walls and a castle overlooking the town from a headland off the beach. The towns sandy beaches make this a popular holiday destination and the beaches were busy but not overcrowded. 

Marge parked in a space specifically for vans, although no overnight allowed of course, we walked into the town, ate birthday pasties and ice cream and sat a while to take in a view, reminiscent of West Dorset, across Carmarthen Bay to a patchwork of fields back on the Gower Peninsula.

Down by the harbour we visited the new lifeboat station and the fisherman's chapel, pretty but not a striking as the one at St. Vaast le Hoque near Cherbourg in France which we think is stunning.

Our time in Tenby passed quickly and we left the town in search of our overnight stop, The Paddock Inn at Penally, a five-minute drive away. We'd phoned ahead to reserve a space in the car park and table for our evening meal. Arriving at six, the pub was busy with locals and as it was a nice evening we decided to sit outside. All good. Perhaps not. We ordered our food at ten to seven and it arrived at eight fifteen.

Not good. Oh well it tasted nice and John will remember his birthday for the spicy Ethiopian dish of Doro Wat he ate. Angela played it safe, fish, chips and mushy peas. 

We are expecting tonight to pass quietly. Music is wafting up from the nearby holiday park, a little different from last night when we were entertained with eighties music from the other van near us. Not what you would expect from a man in his late seventies, early eighties who was hard of hearing so he pumped it up a little. 

As for Marge, she's on top form. Powering up hills and running like a dream. Don't make us regret saying this Marge please.