Builth Wells

Last night we both agreed how nice it was to be in Marge with no agenda whatever the weather. Earlier in the day we'd been contacted by the estate agent who sold us our home in Poole saying he had possible buyers for it. Could we live in Marge a while? Food for thought. Shame about last nights rain. There was Welsh country dancing on down at the pier. Free entry. Just joking, not for us.

The only positive we could take from the rain that had fallen all night and was still trying early this morning was that we would be rewarded with a spectacular sight at the waterfalls we were to visit at Devil's Bridge later today. All the waterfalls we'd visited whilst in Scotland last autumn had been a little underwhelming, so we had high hopes for today. Firstly, we had to leave Aberystwyth. The exit roads were narrow, lined with parked vehicles. No chance Marge, turn left instead. For once we were happy to find ourselves behind the bin lorry. If that could get through, so could we. 

A twelve-mile drive over the hills took us to the small village of Devil's Bridge. Busy, we managed to squeeze Marge into a parking space. Eight pounds later and we were in amongst trees dripping with rain. Fortunately we had the foresight to wear walking boots and take our walking poles with us, others felt sandals and trainers would suffice. No. There were a lot of steps and rocks with sharp edges to negotiate. At Jacob's ladder Angela surprised herself, looking down it was, no way, but after seeing there was a handrail she decided it could be done one step at a time, just don't look down. At the half way point she looked up. Mistake. Deep breath, continue.

The falls were impressive, the roar of the water deafening and the power from it as it tumbled over the rocks quite frightening at times. 

By mid afternoon we were on our way over the Cambrian mountains, stopping at one point to photograph the view, not expecting to see a fridge dumped just over the fence. There are no words.

The sun was out and as Marge bowled along, we felt very much alive. Our destination was LLandrindod Wells, a spa town where we thought about overnighting at the lake. But it just didn't feel right there so we moved onto Builth Wells. Once again, the flag of Wales was prominent everywhere. On our travels today we'd seen inflatable daffodils tie-wrapped to someone's front fence. Very patriotic.

Finally, we'd like to thank Buith Wells town council for allowing campervans, motorhomes, cars towing caravans and lorries to stay overnight in their car park right beside the river Wye. You can stay overnight for one in seven days which is reasonable. We spent money in the town, (yet another Chinese takeaway), one of the lorry drivers went into town for a couple of hours so he also spent money. If this council 'get it', why can't all of them! 

Aberystwyth

Today we needed to cover a quite a few miles so tomorrow we were best placed to cross Wales via the Elan valley rather than over the mountains. However, we'd only been travelling for around half an hour and we'd already stopped twice.

The second time at Newport, a pretty little small coastal town. What a stunningly beautiful place. Nearly all the properties along the waterfront were on holiday let. Busy with families, we thought what a fantastic place to make memories. We certainly loved it. Sitting a while whilst we drank hot drinks and ate cake. But we couldn't linger. Places to go Marge.

Leaving Newport with its slate-coloured sand, large bay and beautiful views to the holidaymakers, we journeyed to Aberaeron, a real tourist hotspot. But £4.80 to park Marge for an hour in the same space as the cars were paying £2.40 for was a bit steep. Come on! About to give up on the town and its charming colourful Georgian houses we came across a free, yes free parking space right in the town centre. Nice one Marge. 

A quick walk around Aberaeron and we were off again. Next stop Morrisons, just outside Aberystwyth where fifteen pounds spent on fuel allowed you to top up with water from a tap on the side of the kiosk. Fifteen pounds, we wish. Marge cost us just over fifty-one pounds. Next stop, St. Michael's church Aberystwyth, right on the seafront, twenty-four-hour parking for vans for four pounds, and the gates to the car park are locked overnight. Result.

Before tonight's forecast rain set in we took a walk out past the nineteenth century university, around the castle ruins and along the seafront and into the town. But what a miserable place. Described in the guide book as the 'Biarritz of Wales' in Victorian times we felt it had defiantly lost its charm. By six o' clock the heavy rain and wind forecast arrived. We couldn't believe we'd basked in warm sunshine and now this. Wet and wild Wales Marge.

Goodwick, Fishguard

Marge sat in a mizzle last night, we comforted ourselves by cooking sausages. Yes, don't they smell nice. Form an orderly queue at the window fellow campers. A full house last night, four of us in total. The much-needed rain continued through the night, pulsing onto Marge's roof, sometimes waking us. This morning the cloud low. We hoped the forecast for an improving picture was correct.

Fortunately, just after we arrived at St. Davids, Britain's smallest city the weather settled. Blue sky cracked through the rain clouds and the sun slowly appeared. Angela has visited St Davids before when she was a teenager. Her recollection of the visit was her mother leaving the bed and breakfast they were staying in still wearing her carpet slippers. A church service was taking place inside the cathedral, so we walked around the outside, the chords of the organ seeping out from under the thick wooden doors. A further fifteen-minute walk took us to St. Non's Head and the chapel where St. David was born.

The views along the coast were stunning. Caves and rock shattered crags beneath a baize of green wet from the earlier rain glinted in the sunshine.

Then we drove on to the burial chamber at Carey Sampson, where we were rewarded with yet more stunning views along the Pembrokeshire coast. 

Tonight's stop is Goodwick, Fishguard. The car ferry sails from here to Rosslare in south east Ireland. Tonight's sailing leaves at eleven forty-five and we wish we could be on it. Ireland is on our list of places to take Marge. We have our guide books ready, we just need to make time. Looks like it'll be next year Marge. We have many other vans with us tonight from Europe, and we think they will probably board tonight's vessel, at the same time we are sure some of the vans arriving from Ireland will stay the night here with us.

Tomorrow we must decide how much further up the west coast we will drive as we need to cross to the west soon to begin making our way back south. As for today, we've been distracted by one thing. The Women's England football team playing Germany. Thank god. What a result, our nerves were jangling. Well done girls.

Trefin

Last night we were parked up in the perfect spot to watch a sunset. Sadly, the cloud thickened and we were left disappointed as all the other people who turned up to view it. We watched anyway as the sun slipped towards the west.

As you do, we saw a man walk down to the beach with his bird of prey, allowing it to fly loose. The crows however were having none of it, swooping and diving at the imposter. Man, and bird soon left.

The night passed peacefully, with the sound of the waves pushing through the rocks as our lullaby. This morning the weather had changed, although warm, rain threatened. We left Freshwater West, and the bags of plasterboard somebody had felt O.K. about dumping at the end of the layby.

Opposite a national trust sign declared the area of one of outstanding natural beauty. Right! A young couple arrived just as we were leaving, the man hastily removing his drying underwear from the dashboard. Don't be coy, look we're all doing it. 

Pembroke was our destination. We needed food shopping and internet signal. A burst of rain dampened both Marge and our spirits. We found the town a little miserable and after sourcing a nearby overnight stop left with no regrets. 

The village of Trefin, famed for being the home village of Cerys Matthews, former lead singer with the band Catatonia, sits on the coast just above St. Davids where we will back track to tomorrow. The overnight parking area can easily accommodate four vans. One was already here when we arrived, and shortly after a lady in a French registered car arrived.

The rain now over the distant higher ground we walked down to the nearby rocky cove, our feet slipping on the wet rocks. Never a good idea at our age.

Seeing some standing stones up above the cliffs we decided to take the safer option and walk along the coast path stopping to sit a while and take in the views. Nearby flowers spurted from rocks which scattered grass nibbled by grazing cattle. A splash of colour on the harsh landscape.

The day has passed quickly, and we are hoping the weather settles by the morning. But hey, we're in Marge, in Wales and that's good enough for us.