Tywyn to Aberdyfi: Or tales of dignity lost

True to form, I had been rather dismissive of Tywyn as we trudged, in the heat, towards the end of our walk the day before. This is a bad habit of mine: transferring my feelings on to the unsuspecting places we visit on our walk. My throbbing feet, aching knees and rumbling stomach gang up on my limited brain and peer-pressure it, like teenagers having a bitch-fest on snapchat, into thinking too critically of places.

(This is true and I feel much the same. By the time you get 'there', wherever 'there' is, you are tired. The thought of 'there' has been dangling in front of you, mirage like, for a long day and somehow the reality of the place never quite matches up to your heat addled imaginings. However good the café is, it is never quite the Cath Kisdson-ed oasis with perfect scones you had in mind. The pub might well serve a good pint but the garden might not be up to scratch. In short, a day's walking turns me into an over tired toddler and nothing will reallysatisfy my unreasonable demands. On one level I think this is because I half expect a brass band and parade to mark our sweaty entrance into town and feel, on the same level, that we have been swindled out of the recognition we deserve. In other words, I'm an irrational megalomaniac after 12 miles.)

However, up and out early, we walked down the hill to Barmouth train station and hopped excitedly on the train to Tywyn - we both love a little train journey. It was a pleasant day, with a light breeze, I was refreshed and ready to go, and Tywyn revealed itself as a likeable sort of traditional seaside resort with a good beach, and once again I had to revise my views. The buildings on the prom were impressive and there was a happy buzz about the place as families were getting their windbreaks and cool-boxes out of their cars ready for a day of cricket and gritty sand sandwiches on the beach, and cyclists, skateboarders and runners made the walkway busy even though it was quite early. (She's quite right, it was lovely and the weather was perfect for walking, sunny with an on shore breeze.)

The town of Tywyn is home to the Cadfan stone. This is a pillar inscribed with the earliest known example of the Welsh language. St Cadfan and his monks settled in the area because of a healing well which is in the church. Cadfan was another of the monks who came to Wales from France (though he MUST be related to St David somehow!). The town is also home to The Magic Lantern Cinema which is one of the oldest picture houses in the UK https://www.tywyncinema.co.uk/about . They have been screening films for over a century and have documents to show that they showed news reels about the Boer War. Another advantage of Tywyn for us was that the day started with a walk along an easy promenade and continued along the beach backed by dunes, around the headland to our destination, Aberdyfi.

Tywyn to Aberdyfi has a 'book value' of only 4 miles so this was going to be the short day that we had expected from Barmouth to Llwyngwril. We had decided to walk into Barmouth town centre and take the train to Tywyn, avoiding the long diversion inland to cross the river and would get the train back from Aberdyfi which is blessed with two stations, giving us the luxury of choice at the end of a short, flat walk in the sunshine. There was some discussion of having a pint at the end of the walk as a reward. A perfect walking day. The oasis of Aberdyfi was already dangling in front of me. You'd think I would have learned by now.

We walked down the promenade and walked past the Neptune Hall campsite. Holiday makers were sitting outside their caravans which looked well loved, some tending tiny patches of flowers or tidying up decking areas. They were all happily indulging in what welsh people call 'a potch'. That is, they were doing a job that needed to be done but nothing too onerous and they were having fun completing the task it in slow time. Potching is a wonderful thing. It was obvious that people loved the place, with easy access to the beach and the sea beyond. We plodded on and eventually came to a rather usefully placed picnic table and set up Mrs Oram's mobile café, with the spotted table cloth and fine bone china cups. It was a glorious day and it was a great place to stop with the luxury of a seat. The tea set deserved it as much as we did.

We had not long poured the drinks and unwrapped the mini Snickers (is it any wonder that we never lose any weight?) when we were joined by a lovely woman who arrived with three small children who looked like her grandchildren. The children ran down on to the sand with the granny cautioning them not to go into the sea and the older child was tasked with keeping an eye on the other two.

'Well', she said, 'That's a very nice picnic you have there!' I could tell that Rhian was inwardly flinching at the use of 'nice' but she restrained herself. (I don't care too much if people I don't know use the word - it's when my pupils and my BFFs use it that I am less than happy!). (She is so demanding!)

We got chatting and the woman revealed that she and her family had been coming to Tywyn from the Midlands for their holidays since their childhood, and she was there with her daughter and the three grandkids. She told us about her dad, and her husband and how much they all loved the place, until I developed a bit of a lump in my throat and had to look out to sea and pretend some sand had blown into my eye. The place was a haven for her through her life, her troubles and her good times. She was clearly very happy with her grandchildren and she left us both feeling very happy too. We packed up the picnic and set off feeling optimistic.

As we left the promenade area, just before we started to walk along the sand dunes, we saw this collection of painted stones. Some were in memory of people now gone, who had loved their holidays in Tywyn and with the sun shining on us, with a beautiful beach and a clear blue sea, I could understand why.

The next section involved us walking parallel with the beach but not on it, as the path was among some sand dunes that stood at the back of the beach.

'I bloody hate walking on sand dunes' said Rhian

'Me too!' My good mood was evaporating a little.

Sand dunes seem good in theory but in practice you slip into the soft sand, with your ankles twisting from side to side. The path can be narrow which makes it hard to get into a good rhythm and the constant fear of tripping over marram grass roots means that you spend a lot of time looking at your feet rather than the view. Plus the dunes often obscure the view and shield you from cooling breezes.

'I'm always worried that I will trip on marram grasses' I said, 'But they really do stabi..'

'Don't!' Rhian said. 'I'm too hot for talk of sand dune formation!'

I was tempted to press to test but she looked too hot so I decided to leave that conversational gambit. (Blessed silence!) After quite a long stretch of dune walking we finally dropped own on the wide expanse of the beach which led up to Aberdyfi. Once we were on the hard sand walking became much easier and enjoyable.

'Can I talk about sand dune formation now?' I asked, hopefully.

'No'

'But we have a nice, onshore breeze to cool us down.' I said

'Still no'. She can be hard at times.

'So what shall we talk about then?' (Quite why we have to keep up this talking business all the time I don't know. What's wrong with companionable silence?)

There was a long pause.

So what was your most embarrassing moment then? It must have been Keygate when we walked Pembroke'

'On no, I've had much worse things happen than that?'

'Really? You astonish me!'

'Oh yes. my life is chock-a-block full of major league cock ups. Keygate was small potatoes in comparison.'

'Go on then, tall me about one of them'

'Ok. do you remember the old Co-op drapery in Treorchy in the 1970s?'

'Yes, grand old place selling bolts of cloth and spools of thread?'

'That's the one. With a wonderful old glass and wood counter that the staff stood behind. My mother always used to shop there'

'Mine too.'

'Well, one Christmas my mother bought me a pair of jeans from there. Not much choice of places to buy clothes in Treorchy at the time and she would never have gone into the jeans shop on the high street as it was way too trendy'

'Yes, it sold Brutus AND Levi jeans, far too trendy. Wranglers were my favourite."

'So she bought me a pair from the Co-op drapers and I didn't like them much.'

'Not Wranglers?'

'No, not Wranglers. So I took them back and asked if I could exchange them. I asked the woman behind the counter if that was OK, she said yes , it was fine and I so asked her where the changing room was. She pointed at a small door at the back of the shop and I picked up some jeans to try on and headed off through the doorway. I looked around, it was the oddest changing room I had ever seen but there was a small standing mirror among the bolts of material and so, surrounded by the smell of new cloth, I took off my trousers and tried on a new pair. I did the twisting and turning thing, trying to see how well I looked. It really was a very odd changing room. There were some chairs on the side of the mirror and a desk. I whipped off the jeans and was standing there with them round my ankles when a flustered looking, middle aged man walked into the changing room.

I yelled at him that this was the changing room. He told me no, this was his office.

I had my trousers round my ankles in a strangers office. In the Co-op drapers.

I was so shocked I asked him if he was sure.

He nodded and gestured helpfully to another door, past a pile of cotton cloth. I entered the room and found it blessed with more mirrors and far fewer office supplies. There you go, my most embarrassing moment, beat that one!'

"Well, that was quite embarrassing, I will admit".

I too have numerous excruciating moments that I have to banish quickly from my mind because they make me cringe all over again. One of them happened on a trip to Wales from Eltham one half term when Nick was working and I was taking the kids, aged 2 and 4, to visit the family. I had set off early and navigated the M25, hit the M4 and decided we needed a comfort break at Reading services, the posh one with the M and S shop for buying Percy Pig sweets and a bag of luxury chocolate peanuts for me. But first, a visit to the toilet.

Now, squeezing two small children and myself into a ladies' loo cubicle is not easy, and I had learned the dangers of it the previous trip when Alys had been unable to resist waving her little hand over the flush button while I was still sitting on the loo. So, I thought, this time, let's see if the baby-changing room with added toilet is free. Plenty of room for the children to wait for me. We pushed the door, and it was empty. Phew! I was busting!

I shut the door, letting Sam and Alys wander around the spacious room. I headed to the far back of the room where the toilet was up on a pedestal, truly throne-like. Relieved, in more ways than one, I relaxed. When, slowly and creakily, the door opened and a woman's head appeared. I was rooted to the seat in abject horror.

"It's in use!" I shouted, making Sam (the more nervy of my two children) jump out of his skin.

"Well you should lock the door then!" said this woman, staring at me.

"I thought I had! Do you think I want someone walking in on me on the toilet?!" I yelled, embarrassment and fury engulfing me all at once. I was quite restrained, considering the things I wanted to say. Wisely, I felt, she hastily shut the door and Sam went and locked it. Something I had clearly neglected to do originally. I still flush (!) bright red whenever I think about it.

We were laughing at our stupidity over the years as we rounded the headland and could see Aberdyfi ahead of us. We were walking along the wide sands which curved around the coast up to the Dyfi estuary, there were increasing numbers of people walking dogs, playing cricket, flying kites and generally having a lovely time. As ever, the last mile seemed to last forever and the town gradually grew closer and closer, stepped back from the beach and the Dyfi estuary. This had been such a lovely, easy walk, in the sunshine and on the flat. On the other side of the estuary we could start to see Ynys Las and Barmouth that were on the Ceredigion part of the path. Beyond that the coastline stretching towards Aberystwyth.

There was Aberdyfi at last, our oasis on a hot day. All we had to do was find somewhere to have a well earned pint and wander to the train station. We had lots of time and we weren't going to get stuck for hours in a place with nowhere to sit in the shade, not today. We had learned the error of our ways.

'Aberdyfi has two stations, shall we walk down to the second one? Take in the sights of the town, stop and have a drink and then get the train back to Barmouth?'

'Sounds like a plan to me.'

Aberdyfi was a lovely place. There were lots of brightly painted guesthouses and cafes. We spent a little time pottering around the harbour, popping into shops and then walked down to to the Penhelig Arms Hotel which we figured was close to the lower train station. The inside was lovely, painted a seaside blue with lots of warm wood panelling and we rested our feet while enjoying a nice cold lager. It has rooms and would make a smashing place for a short break. I made a mental note to come back some time. The views over looking the estuary were outstanding. °HOTEL PENHELIG ARMS ABERDYFI. It was a great place for a rest and it was with some sadness that we got up, and set off for the train station. We walked down Penhelig Road and expected to find the station. Nothing. The road eventually took us out of the town and I started to think that we must have gone wrong somewhere.

'This cant be right,' said Rhian. 'Lets double back'

'Good idea.' We back tracked along the road, enjoying the view down the river to the sea, a little more tired now. We asked a lady in her garden if she could help us find the station and she sent us back to the pub. Still no train station. Feeling a little stressed, we headed up the hill behind the pub and while we could see the railway line, there was no sign of the station.

'Well, where the hell is it?'

We were walking along a tree-lined path with the railway line just a few yards from us on our right and yet no sign of a station.

'No idea', I said. 'It must be further up in the town. But don't worry, we have time'. For all I tried to sound calm I was getting more than a little flustered. I had become used to the idea that we couldn't find iron age hill forts but this was bonkers. How the hell could we fail to find a train station? We picked up our pace, got back to the centre of the town and scouted round the side roads that led up towards the track. Still nothing. By this time I was getting worried. Time was ticking on and we knew that the trains only ran every two hours. With more than a little desperation I popped into a flower shop and asked the owner if she could help us. She looked a little surprised that two adults couldn't find a train station in a town that had two of them but gave me some directions.

'Right, Rhi, we need to walk back to the first station.'

'The first one?'. Rhian looked horrified. We didn't have time for this.

'Yes.' And with that we headed off, back through the rest of the town, breathlessly wondering to each other how the hell we had managed this. Time was getting really short now, almost as short as my legs that were struggling to keep pace with Rhian. We passed all the lovely inviting tea shops and walked up a dusty road that was worrying lacking in anywhere to sit if we missed the train. At this stage we had less than five minutes until the train departed. Rhian was putting on a pace and I was trotting behind her. Three minutes. She got even faster. Two minutes. We were going to miss the bloody train again! It was hot, I was tired and thirsty and we were going to miss the bloody train again. Finally we saw the sign for the station and turned in, sure that we must have missed it. Sweating and miserable we half ran towards the platform to hear the announcement. 'We are sorry to announce the late arrival...' I almost cried with relief. We were late but the train was later.

'Polo mint?' said Rhian

'Yes , that would be lovely'. The train arrived, roasting hot and very busy but we managed to get seats and sat back, relaxing.

'Well, that was exciting.'

'Wasn't it just?'

'Do you fancy fish and chips on the walk back to the flat?'

'That sounds like a great idea but I fancy a pint first.'

'God, so do I!'

So much for a relaxing day with an oasis at the end.