A mammoth walk. Sun. Sea. Sand. Dreadful types.
Being fully refreshed and sufficiently sunned, stopping off at the Spar for some stuff for the evening meal, the wife and I began the perilous ascent back to the campsite. A fair while had passed and Aberdaron was becoming quite busy as awful types and dreadful types all vied for a space on the rapidly overcrowding beach. The dreadful types not wanting to put anything back into the community that they were visiting, dumped their hideous vehicles willy nilly on the narrow country lane into the village.
I imagine that the next time I go to Aberdaron there will be an amusement arcade, a nightclub and frightful types. Such is the problem with geographical popularity.
The return to the campsite took a similar route to that which we had taken to get to the beach. My memory of previous sojourns returning like the blisters on the back of my heels. By navigating a couple of fields and avoiding Farming types we would be able to cut about 30 minutes off our journey. This we did and we were rewarded by a spectacular glimpse of a pistyl or waterfall.
Eventually we arrived back at camp. Where upon we feasted on local meats and produce obtained from the local Spar shop. For desert I enjoyed a locally produced banana yoghurt (the yoghurt was locally produced not the bananas) which gave me the taste to try the other flavours which were available. (The next day I bought the other flavours which were available and all, let me tell you, were astoundingly creamy but not bitter in the slightest and phenomenally low in fat).
Shortly after dusk and dinner, I was busying myself reading Buried by Mark Billingham when I espied, on the far horizon a reddish glow. WTF! I thought and scrabbled for my binoculars in the event that the horizon was in some sort of conflagration. Presently I realised that it wasn’t an inferno but Mr Moon who had come to say hello.
The next day we journeyed to Pwlhelli for lunch. In the vinyl gingham tabled café I had Welsh Rarebit and the wife enjoyed a baked potato. After lunch and a quick visit to Llyn Wines, the Aladdin’s cave that is a beer shop, we drove back to camp. It was still early so we wasted time by cycling to the top of Braich-y-Pwll to absorb the view. I say we. I mean I. The wife could only manage 1/8th of the ascent but not wanting to be beaten by a silly hill I rode as best as I could up to the top of Braich-y-Pwll. The views there are astounding.