Off to Aberystwyth to visit a much loved relative, not seen for some time.
Not fans of seaside towns, if we expected anything at all, we expected it to be dull, miserable, grey and wet. Instead it’s charming, uplifting, pretty, a lovely place to live.
How wonderful when you find that your expectations were too low.
Six hours drive each way, two tanks of petrol, hotels for three nights. Worth it? Definitely.
We stayed on a farm. A very well looked after farm. A working farm just outside a delightful the little market town with an unpronounceable name, Machynlleth (we think it is Mack Hun Lith).
The window in our lovely room looked out on lush green pastures, happy chickens, a herd of sheep and newly washed laundry all over the lawn. Poor you we commiserated with the farmer’s wife. Strong Wind? No, says farmer’s wife, new puppy. He thinks it’s funny to drag sheets off the line.
Well said we you have to admit, it is.
It was all lovely. And what a breakfast. A Full Welsh Monty. Lovely.
Aberystwyth is lovely. Clean. No litter. Picturesque. Hotels and houses painted in bright colours. Flags along the promenade fluttering in the sea breeze were lovely too although we were surprised to see those of Sardinia and Brittany.
Slot machines, the plague of sea side towns, are discreetly hidden inside the pier building. If you want to see ugly you have to look for it.
The sweep of Cardigan Bay where dolphins play, was beautiful on the sunny day we were there. The twinkling lights on the blue green water reflected back to the blue, blue sky and back down again. You could be in Monte Carlo.
Unlike most seaside towns which die in winter its 10,000 University students means Aber is buzzy all year round, long after the summer tourists have gone home.
The Rheidol Valley Railway is lovely too with breathtaking views from the train of dinky little farms, sheep playing follow my leader, horses gazing at their blankets drying on the line. This part of Wales is beautiful. Beautiful.
Best of all, said relative was hale, hearty and happy. And how could he not be. Waking up every day to an ever changing seascape, bracing walks along the Prom to buy essentials for body and soul, breathing in fresh, unpolluted air. Lovely. Lovely. Lovely.
Post by Pamela Shields
Pamela, a Graduate and Tutor in the History of Art, trained as a magazine journalist at the London College of Printing and has been a freelance writer for over twenty years. She has a passion for history and has published several books on various subjects.
Roytrs 
Posted on Nov 18, 2018 by scribbling4bread
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