How do you Solva problem like Helen? Part 1: Whitesands to Solva

Please note: English place names and given names have been changed to protect the innocent, poor things.

We woke feeling reasonably well the next morning, not too hung over after our celebratory meal for our first day of walking without major incident. No-one had fallen over, no-one was injured and we hadn't got lost once. We had a good breakfast and headed off to the next stage. We needed to drive to the seaside village of Solva, park one car at the harbour and drive on together to Whitesands Bay where we would pick up the path. I parked in Solva and got into Rhian's car and we headed off to our starting point.

The morning found us walking on a section of the path that, for me, remains the most lovely and to this day, my favourite. My sister-in-law, Sian, mentioned in our last blog, remembers it for very different reasons, having inadvertently stuck her foot down a pothole and broken her leg while walking this stretch - though she still talks fondly of it and it hasn't spoiled her love of walking. Hopefully no such mishaps would befall us. But it was to be quite a memorable day. (Terra Incognita to me and I was really looking forward to it.)

Beautiful Whitesands Bay where we were starting our walk. Because we had a longish walk of 13 miles ahead of us we had got there early and in spite of the wonderful weather we had the place to ourselves. You can see the headland we were going to walk around and Ramsey Island in the distance.

'How is the love life going then, Hel?'

I groaned. 'Oh don't ask, don't ask.'

'OK, I shan't then.'

'I didn't mean that, I was just trying to garner sympathy'.

Rhian snorted, 'Go on then, spill.'

'Three words to strike dread into any middle aged woman, "On Line Dating"'

She laughed again, 'Bloody hell, Hel, why?'

'Because I never meet single blokes in real life.'

'So how is it going?'

'Well you get to see lots of pictures of men holding fish, which isn't that much of a turn on. And then you see some even stranger things.'

'Strange how?' She was looking interested.

I got out my phone and flashed a photo at her.

'That's Lemmy from Motorhead', she said, 'Isn't he dead?'

'Yes, and frankly he didn't look that good while still alive."

'Any other possibilities?'

'There were a couple wearing gas masks but I deleted them.'

'Wise'.

'And one bloke who sent a landscape. I don't think he actually is that craggy.'

'So no possibilities?'

'Well I have a couple of dates with a bloke.'

'No fish?'

'No, he's amusing. And cultured. And makes me laugh.'

She laughed, 'Cultured and he's seeing you? Hasn't he realised that your veneer of polish is wafer thin?'

'I'm faking it till I make it.'

'And he's not Lemmy?'

'Thankfully not,' I laughed.

With that we pulled into the carpark at the Bay and got out, heading towards Solva, 13 miles away. It was a beautiful day.

We left Whitesands Bay and headed up towards Point St John. The path went around the headland and in the distance we could just see the life boat station of St Justinian. A few hundred yards ahead of us we could see three figures. As we got closer we could see it was the Three English Chaps that we had met the previous day.

"Ahead of us already," I sighed. "Ah well, it's not a competition." (I have to disagree here, Path walking is ALWAYS a competition.)

St Justinian's is a very narrow bay and has two life boat stations. St Justinian is said to be buried here. He got fed up of the other members of his monastery and went to Ramsey Island. He must have really annoyed people, as some of his followers lopped his head off . He then picked up his severed head and walked back to the mainland. No such goings on when we visited.

As we walked through tiny St Justinian's we overtook the Three English Chaps, (ha!) and I was beginning to think of them as the Long and the Short and the Grumpy. They were looking at the Life boat stations while we took the lead and walked down towards Pen Dal-aderyn and soon we had the most wonderful view of Ramsey Island (Ynys Dewi, of David's Island in Welsh). In high season there is a ferry from St Justinian' s to the island. It was such a glorious place and we sat for a while on a rock soaking up the sunshine and the astonishing view. It couldn't get much better than this. Helen took her boots off and toyed with her toe condoms, gel-lined socks and blister plasters while I looked around us at the glory that is Pembrokeshire. We hadn't walked far but it was good to stop and contemplate. In spite of her podiatry problems Helen was loving it too.

'Look!' shouted Rhian, 'Dolphins!'. They were rising in the Ramsey Sound, with the island behind them and the stunning blue waters of St Brides Bay stretching beyond. This was just marvellous. We had wanted to see dolphins ever since we started the walks in Cardigan and has never been lucky enough. We sat and enjoyed them until they swam away through the section of sea known as The Bitches, which seemed apt. I reluctantly got my boots back on and, wincing from the pain in my ravaged toes, we started the walk.

The path took us round the headland and after a little while we could see the small beach at Porthlysgi Bay and the Island of Carreg Y Esgob. My toe condoms had shifted and I was in a lot of pain.

'I'm sorry Rhi, but i have to stop and do something about my feet'. She made sympathetic noises and waited while I re-dressed my feet.

'Bollocks, ' she hissed, 'It's the Three English Chaps! They are going to over take us.'

As the men approached she called a cheery hello and asked them if they had seen the dolphins. This was one way of reasserting our dominance over the situation.

Grumpy was the first to speak, 'I think you will find that they were probably porpoises' and looked smug.

This was fighting talk.

Rhian gave him a steely look, 'OK', she said, 'Did you see the cetaceans in the sound?'

I was profoundly impressed by her grasp of taxonomic nomenclature and keeping her temper. I spend a lot of time with you, my dear.

Short looked amused by the exchange, 'Yes, weren't they wonderful?"

Long asked us how far we were walking, and where were from, typical walkers' chit-chat, and we explained what our plan was, where we came from and all the usual details of mileage and parts of the path we had already covered. We like to do this to try to establish the bragging rights if we can. People can be very dismissive of two clearly unprofessional women walkers of our age. In turn he told us that they were friends and colleagues who worked in London as accountants.

"I'm an actuary, actually," said the, I felt, somewhat pedantic Grumpy.

They were on a chaps' walking holiday for a few days only and extolled the beauties of North Pembrokeshire.

"Have you visited St David's?" Helen asked. "The cathedral is small but perfectly formed, and worth a visit."

Short said that they had, smiling warmly at her, I noted. "Yes - coming from Lincoln you have a pretty impressive cathedral."

"Yes!" exclaimed Helen, going on to expound on the glories of its Green Man. (It really is stunning and I am known to wax lyrical about it to the unwary. My daughter once listened to me doing this to an American tourist and said, in a very resigned way, 'You just cant stop yourself , Mum, can you?')

As she talked Grumpy got his binoculars out and gazed seaward, while Long checked his watch and fished in his pocket for his OS map. Short, meanwhile, became animated as he suggested that if she wanted to see a really impressive Green Man she should visit the church in Lower Swell, his neck of the woods. She said, "That sounds interesting!" and he laughingly said, "You can have my phone number and give me a call when you're in the area!"

Long gave a little cough and glanced at Grumpy. I looked away to hide the smirk that crept unwillingly to my lip. Lower Swell, indeed.

Grumpy said, "Well, good to talk to you ladies, but it's time we headed on!" Long began to walk ahead and Short reluctantly dragged himself away from us, saying, somewhat longingly, I thought, "See you later I expect." He smiled into Helen's eyes and ignored me completely.

As they walked off I said, "Well THAT was an interesting chat! They seemed very pleasant," inviting further discussion of what had obviously been an attempt to chat Helen up.

"Yes," she said, "though Grumpy wasn't very friendly, was he?"

I looked at her. Surely she had realised? Perhaps she just didn't want to talk about it. I tried again. "Short was though, wasn't he?"

"Yes. Seemed very interested in churches."

At this, I nearly choked on my yoghurt covered raisins. I was about to open my mouth and ask her direct whether she had noticed his attempts to exchange phone numbers and his excessive laughter at her somewhat feeble jokes, (Excellent jokes, I will have you know) but she had turned to look out to sea and spotted those cetaceans again which distracted both of us from conversation. I left it at that. She couldn't be that dozy. She was just being coy. I wasn't going to pander to that kind of nonsense and so decided to let her broach the subject when she was ready. (The cetaceans were very distracting and I was having a wonderful day in spite of my toe condoms.)

The thing about Helen is that she is a friendly, gregarious, very funny and entertaining conversationalist, and she has a warmth that draws people to her. She is also wearing reasonably well for someone of our age. (Ha!) I could see that Short was feeling the attraction. He was single (he had made that clear early on in the conversation!) and seemed eminently less scary than Lemmy and the selection of other weirdos, narcissists and downright creeps she had shown me earlier. I thought, she is hugging the thought that she had met somebody normal, really likeable and obviously discerning in his taste to herself and would talk about it later, over a restorative glass of cava.

It never occurred to me that she had actually been completely oblivious to what was blindingly obvious to the rest of us.

Perfect. Just perfect. I can't imagine anywhere more lovely. I think I could retire down this way. This was the view from the cetacean conversation. The juxtaposition of the natural beauty and the needless pedantry made it all the more amusing. That said, I like a bit of biological pedantry myself. Researching this section showed me that Grumpy was probably right. It was far more likely to have been the Harbour Porpoise than either the Short Beaked or Bottlenose Dolphin, Grumpy was an accurate, pedantic bastard!

We dipped down onto the beach you can see at Porthlysgi Bay and then had to climb back up onto the top of the cliffs. It was getting very hot and we were very happy to see the inlet of Porthclais ahead of us. Not only was it beautiful, there was a National Trust café there and we were longing for a sit down and something cold to drink.

This is Porthclais. You can just make out the thin slice of the path on the far bank of the inlet. You can also see some people walking on the path, which gives a little indication of the sweaty miles we had covered. The inlet was formed by glacial action and we were looking forward to some glacial action at the café. We wanted ice creams.

We found some seats and did some inward sneering at the people who had arrive there by car and not WALKED ALL THE WAY FROM WHITESANDS, happy that we were the Queens of the Path. Damn, the Three English Chaps were there before us. More to the point, they were already tucking into cakes. 'We got the last cake', said Grumpy, 'Hope you don't mind', and looked very smug. Fighting talk, again - he liked a challenge, this chap.

'No crushed nuts today?' I quipped.

Long smiled. Short laughed is an open an friendly way (He was obviously too outgoing for accountancy) (blind to it, she was, apparently - he didn't laugh at my jokes) and Grumpy, the actual actuary, gave me a look that suggested he was calculating the odds that two middle aged women would fall off a coastal path and finding them too long for his liking. We sat and ate some ice-creams chatting to Short and Long while Grumpy stared into the middle distance. We finished before them and felt we had to leave before them in spite of the heat and the stabbing pains of my feet. Taking the last cake was the last straw and the race to Solva was now on. The honour of Wales and our flagging egos depended on it.

The path passed some old lime kilns and climbed up out of the inlet. It amused me to tell Rhian that this area had been where St David had been baptised by St Elvis (she has a link to Elvis) and we passed some time pondering on the collective name for a group of Elvises. (It's Elvi - those of us residing in the vicinity of the world's greatest Elvis festival know this) We were soon near St Non's chapel (Non the nun was St David's mother) and we were going to have a little diversion when we looked back and saw the Three English Chaps.

'Bollocks, they are gaining on us'

'Bugger St Non then, lets crack on.'

'I think saying 'Bugger St Non' is probably a mortal sin, Hel.'

'Don't care'

We cracked on but they were gaining on us, cake fuelled and determined.

This is a photograph of the Three English Chaps. I only found it when digging out photos for this section of the blog. To my huge amusement I could see three small figures on one unremarkable snap. I enlarged it and there they were, in all their glory. I added the emojis to protect the innocent. The Long and the Short with Grumpy, we were ahead of them but only just!

Bathed in sweat, I was hurrying ahead at the point when Helen took this photo - childish, I know.

Even denying ourselves the delights of St Non's chapel wasn't enough to keep our lead and they overtook us as we passed a tiny inlet, inaccessible from the land, where a stunning yacht had anchored. It looked like something from a Greek island, with the sea a beautiful aquamarine. At any moment Pierce Brosnan and Meryl Streep would appear to massacre a classic ABBA track. I longed for a dip in that sea. We walked with the Chaps for a little while and Short chatted animatedly to me about sailing. He really was an outgoing Chap. (Sigh. Clueless.)

Eventually they pulled ahead of us and disappeared into the twists and turns as the Path took us past inlets and headlands. I had relinquished any hope of reaching Solva before them but I was too tired to care. It was beautiful but I was also getting very hot and tired. This was the hardest bit of the walk. We still had around four miles to go. Rhian sensed this and was attempting to distract me by chatting about the Three English Chaps but it didn't work that well. "Short seems very pleasant," I said again. I wanted to use the word "eligible" but decided against it. I didn't want to make it too obvious that I had noticed his pretty shameless flirting and I didn't want to embarrass my friend by referring too blatantly to something she clearly felt too reticent to discuss (or so I thought).

We passed Caerfai Bay but kept to the high path to save on another climb. Astonishingly we saw seals swimming a few feet away from children who were playing in the sea. To our delight and astonishment somebody was out in the bay, doing a handstand on a paddleboard. It was all so idyllic, this lifted us as we walked on and after another hot and sweaty hour we saw Solva in front of us. Looking down on that harbour is one of the best views.

As is often the case the last mile is the hardest and I started to count steps, guesstimating the distance to the next bend in the Path to help me keep going. Each step was agony and my legs felt like lead. Step after step and Solva didn't seem to be getting any closer. Finally we reached Zen (the point in the walk when the end is in sight, see the Carmarthen walks for further explanation), the pain receded and all we had to do was take one step after another. Life had become simple, just one step after another. Zen.

We reached the outskirts of Upper Solva and found that the locals had 'Yarn bombed' the Coastal Path signs. This time I'm the one with the 'Geological Chins' and Rhian looks happy. I just look relieved that I was still alive and able to move.

Solva is a very pretty old harbour and village that is nowadays also something of an artist's hideaway, with some interesting eateries and galleries and even a woollen mill. Cetaceans can apparently be seen in the harbour at high tide.

We dropped down to the Harbour and headed to Lower Solva and the car park. Plus there was a rather nice pub there and we had promised ourselves some cold drinks.

The place was pretty much empty and Helen eased herself down on to a bench in the cool of the bar while I went in search of lime and soda, and crisps. Things seemed a tad disorganised and I was disconcerted to find that they had no lime cordial. I know West Wales is remote but this was ridiculous! Thankfully they had blackcurrant cordial, and some ready salted crisps. As I returned to our table, face burning from the sun and the sun cream that I seemed to be allergic to, I glanced out of the window to see the Three English Chaps advancing towards the doorway of the pub.

"Yessss!!!!!" I exclaimed.

"What?" groaned Helen, surfacing from beneath the table where she had been ministering to her poor feet.

"We beat them to it!" I was crowing with delight as Long, Short and Grumpy came in and all three did a double-take to see us already necking back the refreshments. (I don't know how we managed this, I assume that they had a side trip to explore an Iron Age Hillfort but we eschew these since we can never spot them, even when we try hard.)

"Hello ladies!" Long said, and Short beetled over to speak to us while the other two stood waiting at the bar. He stood half-turned away from me, beamed at Helen and said, "Well done! We were just saying that we are really impressed with what you are both doing. It's not easy - we are just here for a long weekend, have to go home tomorrow, otherwise I would suggest meeting first thing to walk the next bit." The next thing he said was a bit left-field and I nearly giggled again. "Perhaps we should exchange business cards?" It certainly wasn't my business card he was after.

Helen said, cluelessly, "Oh I'm a teacher. I don't have one of those." I just stared at her, nonplussed. He looked crestfallen. Or like a puppy that has been told it's going for a walk and then nobody gets the lead. I felt sorry for him. Dear God, I never realised how hard-hearted my friend could be. She had just crushed this poor chap's hopes without a qualm. At that point Grumpy handed him a pint, and we all said our farewells as they went to sit outside to drink their pints and await the taxi that would take them back to their B and B. Helen turned back to her feet, and to her groaning in agony.

Returning to the chalet, it was only after a shower, a rest and some nibbles and wine did the topic of Long, Short and Grumpy arise. It was time, I felt, to speak my mind.

"He made it pretty obvious that he fancied you, then Hel."

"What are you on about?"

"Short. He made it pretty obvious he wanted to keep in touch with you..."

Suddenly I had all her attention. She stared at me. "You what?"

"Well he offered you his phone number about five times, and he even laughed at some of your jokes."

"You mean - "

"Don't tell me you didn't clock it? Somebody watching from several miles away through binoculars would have spotted his body language."

"Oh Rhian...no. Please tell me you are joking..." (I couldn't believe that she hadn't told me. This is, after all, part of the Best Friends Code, to look out for each other regarding relationships. I had asked Nick (Rhian's long suffering husband) to go out with her when we were buying crisps in a supermarket in our lunch hour in Form 4 in school! And this was all the thanks I got in return! I ask you!)

I topped up her wine and offered her another olive.

Here is the link to the song that I now forever associate with my friend Helen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5zioPOIFb4

I would like to say that this is all made up. But it isn't. It had all gone completely over my head. I drank the wine and blamed it all on my feet.

The beautiful end to the walk, Solva.

Diana Ross & The Supremes - You Can't Hurry Love.mp4 - Bing video