Tag Archives: coast path

The Last Days- St Cast le Guildo

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For our final site and last couple of days before departure from Bretagne we’ve chosen St Cast le Guildo, a stone’s throw from St Malo and Dinard, both of which we’ve stayed at and visited, St Malo being fairly well known to us. It’s another glorious stretch of Bretonne coast and moves us nearer to our departure point of Caen.

The site is perched high above the sea. We choose a pitch ovelooking a vast bay where the tide recedes to expose a huge field of oyster beds, beach tractors working quickly at the low tide to harvest the oysters before the beds are once more submerged. The site is another being newly refurbished with an impressive, lofty bar/cafe [not yet fully open].

The campsite’s position, high above the town means a steep walk down to the seafront and commerce and a hard climb back up. But, keen to maximise our last days we wander down in the late afternoon sunshine to scope out the bars and restaurants. The seafront faces a broad stretch of sandy beach and like Dinard, there is a seawall walkway around to the harbour area.

The small town centre square has a sunny area laid out with tables and chairs from two or three bars, busy on this weekday evening with groups of friends and families. After a beer we select a restaurant- part of a hotel- and are shown to a table, although there is only a handful of fellow diners. It’s clear when we begin to make choices that much of the menu is ‘off’, at which point we should really make our excuses and leave, but we opt for simple fare and make the best of it. Then it’s a slog back up the steep hill to the campsite.

Next day is bathed in warm sunshine, perfect for a walk around the coast path. The views are magnificent and the meandering path is flanked by a huge variety of wildflowers, a magnet for speckled brown butterflies. The first stretch of path plunges down then quickly begins to climb a steep and rocky hill. Once we’ve reached the top it’s merely undulating rather then steep.

At last we reach a point above St Cast’s harbour with a panoramic view of the surrounding coast, then it’s a short stroll down to the port, which is a proper working base for fisherman, and where the dockside has a few promising restaurants and bars. We reward ourselves with a beer before slogging back up to our site- but not before inspecting the restaurant menus.

Later we return via the town route to get dinner. The restaurant is quiet, with only a handful of early evening drinkers besides ourselves, but we sit down and order. A little later a family arrives and the two young daughters tuck into plates of crevettes with gusto, which is a sight to behold!

The climb back up to our site is the last, as we’ll be off up to Caen next day…

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my website: janedeans.com or my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook

Rhos and Return

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The second site on Anglesey is Rhos Park, on the edge of a village called Pentraeth, which lies on the Easterly coast of the island. The park is being taken over by a big company and straight away it is clear that it is tailor made for statics and permanent caravans. In fact, we are to be the one and only tourer on the site throughout the stay and the sole campervan, occupying the one hard-standing pitch on the entire site. Our fellow guests here are mostly from nearby Liverpool and surrounding areas, rather than Wales, which we have found to be commonplace on Anglesey. As Friday progresses the site comes alive with revellers making the most of the long bank holiday weekend, bringing their children, dogs and carfuls of paraphernalia.

We get lucky here with a convenient pub a short stroll along the main road, although the road is busy! The pub serves acceptable pub grub, too.

We still have sunshine for walking the coast path here, at Red Wharf Bay and it’s a huge contrast to the path at Trearddur Bay, following the bay at ground level and requiring a fair bit of leaping and avoiding streams and puddles under our feet. I’m glad of my new walking boots here! But it’s also wonderful fun and feels intrepid. At last the path rises up through a wooded area and emerges by a crazily busy pub, which we by-pass, heading up and around a vast rocky outcrop and through some more woods, onwards until we climb up from the beach at Bellech in great need of a cup of tea. Bellech is gifted with several fish and chip shops and a Tesco Express, but no coffee or tea shop- or at least, none open by 4.30pm. Foot-weary, we locate the bus stop and ride back to site. Then it’s down to the pub for a beer and a meal.

It’s warmer next morning. We make our way down to the bay again, intending to follow the path in the opposite direction, but the afternoon is hot, we’ve walked for about seven days and the path lacks the thrills of the other way, so we abort and opt for a rest day! Back at Rhos our neighbours are packing away and disappearing and we’re set to move again in the morning.

We have a look at Beaumaris, on the Menai Strait overlooking Snowdonia. It’s an elegant, pretty town and thriving, in stark contrast to Holyhead. It has a pier and also a beautiful castle with a moat. The tall, terraced houses overlooking the water boast well tended gardens. The busy High Street offers all kinds of treats for tourists including Italian delis and swanky hotels and we leave with some delicious pasties for our lunch.

After crossing the iconic Menai Bridge we have a scenic drive through Snowdonia, although it appears that half the population has opted for a day out in the national park. There isn’t so much as a bubble car space left anywhere to park, let alone a campervan, so we have to be content with a wait for a coffee stop until we’re almost out of Snowdonia.

We travel all the way down to Tewkesbury, where a pub stopover with a cheerful landlord awaits. We can stay overnight in the car park if we have a meal, which is not onerous!

Next week we’ll be off on the next trip…and to more islands…

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook

Anglesey. Beauty and the Beast.

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We leave soggy Porthmadog on a much sunnier day and make for our next location on the Llyn Peninsula, Aberdaron. It’s a scenic drive, wilder than the journey so far, with rolling hills populated mainly by sheep, the few communities spread out and not large. Our site is a field, lies at the top of a steep hill and is on a working farm, but has wonderful views out across the bay. Having set up, we venture down the steep hill to the tiny hamlet of Aberdaron, a collection of dwellings, a couple of pubs, a couple of shops, one or two cafes and a bakery, divided by a rocky stream. On this bright Saturday evening the tiny village is teeming with people, sipping beer, eating ice creams or having coffee in the late sunshine. It’s too busy for us to get a table outside and we are sternly directed to a table in a back room where we have a beer in solitary splendour- not an uproarious experience. Then it’s a steep slog back up the hill to the van!

Next day is…wet, slowing enough for a drizzy stroll down to the village and around in the late afternoon. Next morning is…wet. But the in the afternoon it dries up and the sun is out, meaning that we can stride out along the coast path which has access opposite the site. It’s undulating and green, the views beautiful. There is an exploding profusion of wildflowers after all the rain. We walk as far as the headland, where Bardesy Island can be seen and wander back through the lanes.

En route to the next destination we decide to see Port Meirion, a strange, Italianate village famous for being the location for eccentric, 60s TV series, ‘The Prisoner’. The yo-yo weather has turned warm and sunny again, which is ideal for a visit to this place- so touristy that tickets for entry must be bought! It is all pristine and immaculate so perhaps the ticket price is valid. The vast car park, however is free and an ideal spot for lunch, after which we are off again and after a quick look at Carnaervon, which has an impressive, gigantic castle.

Then we cross the Menai Strait to the Isle of Anglesey, a UK spot I’ve never visited, which adds to the enjoyment. We head for our site at Blackthorn Farm up in the corner of the island. It’s fairly isolated, although well-placed for walking the Angelesey coast path. Almost all of the fellow guests here have permanent, sited caravans and visit for holidays, as we see when the weekend comes.

For our first full day we set off to walk to Trearddur Bay, the coast path a marvellous walk past rocky chasms and across buttercup meadows. It’s beautiful [and for me, unexpected]. The sun shines, the path is undulating but not gruelling and we arrive to Treaddur where a few dozen people are enjoying the vast beach. There is a lifeboat shop, an ice cream van and almost nothing else for tourists, which is just fine by us. We trek back via the road and by the time we’ve returned we’ve walked eight and a half miles.

There’s no Holy Grail in the shape of a nearby pub or restaurant. Next day we opt for a stroll into Holyhead, Anglesey’s main town and port, and a gateway for ferries to Ireland. The route is along a pretty lane and then a footpath across fields. The walk is the best part, poor Holyhead revealing a town which is in dire need of revitalisation, as the depressing High Street shows, with more than half of shops redundant. Holyhead is not pretty, with row upon row of pebble-dashed terraces leading down to the dismal docks.

Next day we’re off to our second Anglesey site at Pentraeth…

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook

Autumn Getaway 2

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When I am kept from sleep by a dull ache in my hips and knees I wonder why I’m so enthusiastic about walking the Cornish coast path and then I remember that a time is coming when I won’t be able to.

We move on from Batallack, near St Just, to a site with wonderful, dramatic views at Trethevy, near Tintagel. Tintagel always sounds as if it should be a settlement for an elven community and it transpires that there are Cornish influences in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. It’s breezy but dry, as once installed, we set off to walk into Tintagel, short in distance and long in time. The descents and climbs begin quickly with a sharp drop from our camp site into a deep ravine and across a footbridge then up the other side with steps and slopes until we reach a gentle, upward field.

We reach the top of the field where a glimpse of a turret suggests Tintagel Castle but is, in fact a grand hotel, then we round the rocky headland and drop down again, this time for a view of the footbridge across to the castle, now a ruin and accessible only by reserving tickets from ‘English Heritage’. Foiled again, by our ineptitude in booking ahead!

We aren’t devastated. It’s another steep walk up to the village [on the road this time] passed by shuttle runs of land rovers taking sightseers down to the castle and back and those of us who walk it feel smug, if not achey, from gaining the top under our own steam.

We’ve a couple of hours to kill in Tintagel village, which we fritter by having tea then meandering in and out of gift shops and picking up a few things, which helps the local economy in these straightened times.

For once, we’ve been prepared and booked a table for dinner at the excellent ‘Olde Malthouse Inn’, a lovely old stone building in Fore Street. The meal is delicious enough to merit being Husband’s birthday dinner, even though there is still a couple of days until this milestone is reached. There is a relaxed ambience and we are not too out of place in our muddy walking gear. But we are saved from braving the soaring and plummeting coast path home by an elderly, jovial taxi driver who proudly declares he’s never set foot on the coast path.

Next day it’s our last walk, in the opposite direction to Boscastle, famously devastated by floods in 2004. The walk is mostly undulating but punctuated by steep steps in places. We climb to the coastguard lookout in a white tower, where it feels like the top of the world, then down into Boscastle’s tiny harbour, now restored and lined with tourist shops.

Further up there are cafes, pubs and a smattering of shops. It only remains to find the bus stop for our return to the site, where a visiting fish and chip van is the main attraction of the day!

Goodbye Cornwall, for now. But we’ll be back!

    Autumn Getaway

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    I’ve returned from time-travelling travel to present day travel for this week’s post.

    It occurs to me that we, [that is to say, Husband and myself] have not got the hang of this Covid thing at all. Yes-we are practised in the art of mask-wearing. Yes-we wash our hands lots. Yes-we keep our distance [not from each other, you understand]. Yes-we don’t throw big parties. But we haven’t got to grips with planning ahead, reserving, booking and being organised.

    We have come west to Cornwall, via Dartmoor in Devon, where we stayed at a pub campsite and took advantage of the hearty meals on offer. Our departure was delayed due to Biblical quantities of rain which penetrated our house roof [again]. But that is another story. The rain has turned from relentless deluge into squally, intermittent showers punctuated with gusts of wind, a marginal improvement, although I wouldn’t volunteer to swap places with the occupants of the two tents on the site.

    We head off in the morning, making for St Just, beyond Penzance, which is towards Cornwall’s ‘toe’ and on the Atlantic coast. But we aren’t in a hurry and having picked up home-made pasties in a farm shop we attempt to park in Launceston without success then find a picnic area where we can stop, make coffee [a distinct improvement on the kiosk Nescafe from yesterday] and continue on our way. After a blustery drive we stop for a break and spot a castle perched on a hill, poking up behind a field. It is, of course, St Michael’s Mount, twin of French Normandy’s Mont St Michel.

    It’s years since I visited St Michael’s Mount. We decide to take a detour. When we reach Marazion, the tiny town that faces the mount, the car parks are choc-a-bloc and having been denied access to the National Trust park we have no choice but to pay a steep £8 to park in the ‘alternative’ one.

    Then we battle our way across the cobbled causeway towards the Mount, sandblasted and peppered with rain, but when we get to the threshold there are NT staff in masks checking tickets and there is nothing for it but to turn back. We fight our way back across the causeway, mercifully still not breached by the waves and have a stroll up through Marazion, which, though pretty enough is upstaged by St Michael’s Mount sprouting from the broad beach in a dramatic fashion.

    We return to the car park where we feel smug making a cup of tea to utilise our £8 fee.

    We head off to our pre-booked site at Batallack, near St Just and a few strides from the coast path. The owner is amenable, the site pleasant, with a smattering of occupants.

    Next day is cloudy but dry as we set off to walk along the coast path towards Pendeen, where we can get a bus back to the site. As soon as we reach the path the scenery is rugged, rocky cliffs falling steeply down the sea and peppered with the remains of chimneys and wheelhouses from all the old tin mines, all of which have been at least partially restored. The path dips and rises, providing some stiff climbs and descents. In one cove the rocky cliffs are striped with green where arsenic has leeched from the old mines.

    After a couple of hours a dank October drizzle sets in, soaking us as we climb steeply up towards the road to Pendeen. We reach the village, legs aching, and scan the main road for a bus stop. The map app on Husband’s phone has disappeared so having spotted a car park sign I make the assumption this is the village centre and we make for it, nipping into the village pub to confirm we’re en route. Sure enough there is not only a bus stop but a shelter! and a few minutes later the double decker ‘coastal breezer’ comes around the corner to take us back to our site. Bliss!