The first week of February saw me purchasing tickets left and right. Roundtrip to Paris and Rattery…my bank account took a substantial dip. In this spirit of travel, I also agreed to a trip down south departing on the 5th. What were a few pounds next to breaking from the city (even if only for a night and a day)?
Cardiff was our destination, though this was not reached until nightfall (due to a series of mishaps starting with a missed bus). The locals wouldn’t have us in frowns, though. A waitress went so far as printing us departure times for the Newport train; train security advised against roundtrip purchases; and a gent on said train carried my carry on to the front of the station. Gotta love the Welsh!
Though it was getting into the wee hours, the Queens Hotel’s showers provided an incentive to stay up. Now, I promised honesty, and much as I love my dorm-like setup, all of us find the showers lacking. Not only does the nozzle shoot a stream of chilly water every which way, should you try and turn the temperature up, the shower (more often than not) shuts off completely (for fear that we might burn ourselves). To echo the colorful sentiment of a fellow sufferer: “Dear Dinwiddy showers, everyone that lives here is in college. If the water gets too hot, we know how to turn it down. Fuck you and your anti scald technology.”
Thus, the hotel’s perfect pressure and steady warmth made the trip worth it right there.
The next morning came too soon, but grumbles that usually accompany such a time of day were silenced. Why? Big Pit. The mine tour was the reason for the Cardiff stop off in the first place. Though no one else left the bus with us at Pontypool, we were quickly assured we made the right choice once strapped into mining belt and helmet (complete with bulb). In no time, we were 300 feet underground with a former miner as guide. His humor would do the Disneyland Jungle Cruise operators proud and made the dim chambers (when we turned off our headlamps, it was dark as pitch) metaphorically lighter. His tales, however, made the humanitarians of us queasy. Statements like horses were kept in the shaft to pull the carts and eventually went blind (poor lighting) and children were tied up by their arms so as to let in horses and the right amount of airflow were met with grimaces. Still, I’d highly recommend a walk in a coal miner’s hat and belt (though the latter is rather heavy on the hips).
With a bus ride back and a suitcase collected, we doubled back to Cardiff. A pub style lunch later and another bus (this time the hop on, hop off) was missed. Not to despair! I played troubleshooter this time and had us to the Bay in 10 minutes. Boats bobbed near us on water turned quicksilver, and the Bay itself made a suitable substitute for the ocean I had been missing. Ducks inquired about handouts but soon left, dissatisfied. The highlight was a beaut of a swan (pictured) less than an arm's length away, seeking like the ducks had. It may have been unhappy with our lack of crumbs, but its presence enabled many up, close and personal shots.
The day was brought to a close at a favorite chain of ours: Café Nero. Chai for me, mochas for others…all in all, coming from California to Cardiff, I was charmed (contrary to what the local boys warned!).
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