Dream boat

On our way to Northern Ireland, our ferry docked at Dublin, so we'd decided to spend a couple of days. 

We last were here over 25 years ago. 

I remember the excellent range of public sculpture, all with nicknames. For instance, a very decollete statue of Molly Malone was known as the dolly with the trolley. 

I remember it rained so much our map dissolved into paper mache.

But most of all, I recall a little golden boat with spindly oars and rudder, glowing in the depths of the Archaeology Museum.

I have retained none of the facts about it. 

Date? Provenance? Function?

Yet every so often, through my dreams has sailed that little golden boat.

Usually when we re-visit a place, I want to see the attractions we missed the first time.  But in Dublin, I wanted most to revisit the little golden boat. 

It was a large museum and I was impatient, so on arrival, I asked a custodian for 'the little golden boat' and she marched me straight there.

'Ohhh. Hello again.'

There it was, luminous in its case.

So now I know it is part of the Broighter horde, dating from the first century BC and that it was found in County Derry. I noticed this time that it is surrounded by other pieces of gold from the horde including a magnificent torc.

But also I know that ten years from now I will have forgotten the name and date and other contents of the horde.

Yet the golden boat will still be meandering through my imagination.

Away Again?

Not long after returning from walking the Pembrokeshire coast and we are off again, this time to Northern Ireland. Nigel had booked travel and hotels.

'Um why are we going away again so soon?'

In fact, Northern Ireland is a trip I've been lobbying for for years. Although in our youth this land was all over our TV screens, torn by violence and civil war, this is a moment of comparative peace, an opportunity to enjoy the beautiful landscape, wildlife and history. 

It turned out Nigel had made the arrangements while I was in grief over the death of my mother as a gift to me.

But why now?

The trip will coincide with our 40th wedding anniversary - a chance to celebrate.

So although I feel a bit sheepish about going way on holiday again, I think I'll just say 'Thank you very much, Nigel.'

Chuffed

Finally we reached Broadhaven where we were to stop our walk and return home. 

We had to admit that our hike had a couple of gaps in it, but one thing that made our happiness complete was the wildlife.

The Pembrokeshire coast didn't disappoint. The flowers were lush, the insects extraordinary and we even saw on the path (at different times ) a fox cub and an adder.  A very fond memory will be standing on the clifftop watching a seal colony including several playful pups. 

However, my favourite is always the birdlife. There was a nesting colony of guillemots, some fulmar, ravens and kestrels, and a peregrine which glided and then stooped on its prey. All around were stone chats, linnets, larks. 

Best of all, we lost count of the number of choughs. We have come to characterise them as 'fun' birds because of their cocky call 'keeaw' and their playful way of flying.  They are generally out and about in pairs and busily probe the short turf on the cliffs with their long red bills. 

All in all, despite my failure to walk the complete path, we were chuffed.

Chough drawn by me

Wet, wet, wet

On a coast path, you are very exposed to the weather. Even worse, you can see it coming from a long way off, the cliffs whiting out as the rain storm approaches.

And Wales can certainly be damp.

On our Pembrokeshire trip, we had been so lucky with the weather.

But on our penultimate day, our luck ran out. 

The forecast said the vigorous rain would clear in the afternoon. It didn't.

It was like walking thirteen miles beneath a power shower. 

My boots were sloshing and Nigel, walking just behind me reports seeing froth coming out each time I took a step. I maintain that it was caused by the fabric conditioner in my socks. 

When we arrived at the Cambrian inn at Solva the concierge was very nice about mopping up the puddle we left in reception and gave us an industrial roll of blue tissue paper so we could sort ourselves out in our room. 

When we walked on the next day, our gear was still decidedly damp, but it didn't matter - there was only one day left of walking and the sun was shining again.

A not-so-well-deserved break

Last year, when Nigel and I walked the South Downs Way, we met another couple who were undertaking the same walk. They said something which stopped us in our tracks:

'We're not walking tomorrow.  It's our rest day.'

So one could take a rest day. It simply had not occurred to us. 

'We're going to have one of those next time.' 

So this year on the Pembrokeshire coast path, the plan had been to walk for five days, then take a break when we hit St David's. But thanks to my dodgy knees, when we reached St David's we had been walking for only three of those days - did we even deserve a rest day?

However, there was no way I was going to miss out on exploring this legendary tiny city.

The cathedral turned out to be a jewel, built improbably in a hidden hollow. Inside, the splendid ancient architecture was enhanced by thought-provoking contemporary art and poetry, adding to the spirituality of the place. 

It got even better when we explored the massive ruins of the bishop's palace. There weren't too many visitors so Stephen, one of the custodians, gave us a tour. He had supplemented his historical knowledge with a detailed study of the building and showed us details we'd never have spotted, like 'the disappointing staircase' which led only to a cramped garderobe.

After that, in generous sunshine, we walked out to St Non's head and perched on the ruins of a Celtic Chapel. While Nigel read, I painted a watercolour of the sea and a linnet sang to us from a nearby fence post.

So no, maybe we didn't deserve a rest day, but we certainly enjoyed it.