To England Where My Heart Lies: Part 5- The Only Cloud in Wales

Our final day in Wales began with the realization that we had forgotten to start the dishwasher the night before, which meant hurriedly starting it, staring at it and willing it to go faster, frantically drying the dishes once they were clean, and flinging them haphazardly into the cupboards before dashing out the door to catch a train that left at 9:00.

We (barely) caught the train, which took us to the summit of Snowdon, the highest mountain in the area. On the way up, there were some spectacular views.

(LOOK AT THAT MYSTERIOUS MOUNTAIN LAKE! HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING SO MYSTICAL? Highlight of my life, right there.)

There was also an entire family taking up the rest of our bench, who were eating Pringles with some bizarre scent, so now the Welsh countryside is forever linked in my mind with pungent snacks. But I digress.

So, on a clear day, you are supposed to be able to see Ireland from the top of Snowdon, and on the way up the mountain, the sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky. Or so we thought. There was one cloud in the sky. And do you know where it was? Hovering over the summit of Snowdon, like the spirit of God over the surface of the deep. We could see absolutely nothing but white mist. In a way, it was pretty awesome, because it made you feel like one misstep could send you tumbling over the edge of the mountain and into nothingness, but otherwise it was pretty disappointing.

There was also a gift shop and café at the summit. Way to preserve the organic beauty of nature. They did, however, have various legends about Snowdon printed on the tables, legends which involved giant slayings and witches who eat small children, so that was a right lark for me and my morbid sense of humour. We also saw this hiker man, in all his leggy glory.

I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure there’s a verse in the Bible that says I’m never supposed to see that much of a man’s legs outside of wedlock. In this particular instance, Thy will be done Lord. Thy will be done.

We had a bit of a tense moment with our Pringle eating train neighbours when the time came for departure. We had gotten on the train first, and since the side of the bench closest to the door was the one we wanted for the sake of views, we sat there. When the Pringle family made ready to board the train, there was a brief but very intense stare-down between our two tribes, with them clearly wanting us to scoot down, and us very firmly standing our ground. In the end, we broke them, and they contritely shuffled past us to their slightly less convenient seats. Our views on the way down were made even more beautiful, being now seen through the rose-coloured haze of victory.

Our last stop in Wales was St. Winefride’s Church and St. Winefride’s Well. It was very old and very cool.

St. Winefride was a chick who unjustly got her head lopped off, but fortunately some dude stuck it back on and resurrected her through the power of Catholicism and then a well sprang up, or something like that. The important part is that St. Winefride’s Church gets a bit of dosh every time some foreigners like us want to come have a look-see. In addition to the fee to get in, you can also pay a few pounds to get a bottle of holy water, just in case you have to anoint on the go. Those Catholics sure know how to commercialize their faith.

So that was our last day in Wales. It was an absolute blast from start to finish, and I can’t wait to return and rule there as the good and noble Queen of Snowdonia.