September 9
Llandudno to Porthmadog
I don't believe it! Another glorious morning. The warm clothes that I stuffed into my back pack will probably just be so much useless ballast.
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After checking out, I wandered slowly through the town until I reached the station. There was a large statue opposite, probably of Alice Liddell, who stayed in Llandudno when she was eight. The station was heaving. Later enquiries revealed that a party of 40, all older than me, were going all the way to Porthmadog. There was standing room only so I couldn't see much of the journey from my corner of the carriage. |
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We eventually reached Blaenau Ffestiniog and we crossed onto the other platform where lots of us joined the queue for tickets and then piled aboard the tiny train, which had lots of carriages.
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The carriage was beautifully restored and had a locked compartment next to mine. This was an ideal place in which to store my large backpack - and a pushchair.
We chugged along through the woods, past lakes, round very sharp bends and through a few stations.
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At one of them, we met the train coming in the opposite direction, which had stopped to take on water. It had a huge brass dome which seemed to act like a giant pressure cooker. When the steam valve eventually released a blast of steam, a small child who happened to be passing on her Father's shoulders was obviously terrified. I hope she doesn't have a life long phobia of trains.
After an hour and a bit, we arrived in Porthmadog where everyone disembarked. The other train, heading to Caernarfon, was sitting there and lots of people transferred onto that. I took a few photos of the chaos and discovered that the engine had already been disconnected and was having a wash and brush up.
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Many years ago - over 40 to be precise - I used to come to Porthmadog to visit a second hand record shop, The Cob Record Centre. In the modern age of downloads, Amazon etc etc, I was amazed and pleased to see that it was still trading. They must have a very good business model to have survived for so long.
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The main street is long and I walked for at least ten minutes to the Royal Sportsman Hotel. They took my bag and gave me a table for dinner this evening. As they were expecting a party of 27 at 7, I booked for 6.30. This meant that I had to re-consider my plan to head to Pwllheli in the afternoon.
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I walked back through the town to the harbour, looking at the shops and the pubs. There were surprisingly few of them - just one in the town centre. The result of the temperance spirit in Wales, I suppose. There were lots of "proper" shops, butchers, bakers & greengrocers etc, which was a good sign.
The harbour was pretty but I could only find one pub there. It was quiet and dark but I found a sandwich and a pint of Bass.
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I explored the harbour a little more, viewed the Maritime Museum, not very exciting, and went to the Tourist Office. They had remarkably little on Porthmadog but did check on the train times for me. I returned to the steam train station for some more photos.
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My return along the main street didn't reveal anything particularly exciting. It is a flourishing tourist town but slightly down at heel in other respects. I looked at the main railway station - there are three in town - and decided not to bother with the possible morning trip to Pwllheli but to take the original planned train to Barmouth.
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Next to the main station is the Welsh Highland Heritage Railway, a narrow gauge slate line, running three quarters of a mile out of town. I decided to catch the last train at 4pm and waited with a pot of tea. The coffee didn't look at all exciting.
At the appropriate time, a tiny diesel towing a couple of elderly but beautifully restored coaches and a guards van arrived and unloaded some passengers. Half a dozen of us replaced them and we went slowly along the line for just over five minutes.
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We stopped at the end of the line and the engine shot off to some points, doubled back on the other track and was then coupled to the opposite end of the train.
While we were there, the guard warned me of the arrival of a big train on the main Highland Line so I grabbed a bad photo.
We returned about half a mile and stopped at the museum. This was a mine of information on narrow gauge railways and the important role that the Vale of Ffestiniog and Porthmadog had played in the development of this form of transport.
There were even photographs of narrow gauge engines in the sand and gravel quarries in Marlow.
I was surprised by the presence of a number of engines from Romania but I never discovered how they had ended up in Wales. It was a fascinating exhibition and it was only an accident that I found it.
While we were there, a couple of us piled on board a very baby train which rushed around the site. I was told that the driver, an elderly chap, owned it and had brought it with him when he moved to live in Porthmadog. It was mainly for the children, who loved it when they visited in the summer.
We returned to the station, saw a real train arrive, and I walked the short distance from the hotel. En route, I passed two sad reminders of modern town life, a derelict cinema and a huge new Tesco.
Right: A waste of a great building |
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The hotel was OK but not worth the money. The staff were great but the room was a bit dull and tired. Dinner was good. Exquisite presentation and brilliant service. The flavours didn't quite match the appearance - hence the 2 AA rosettes rather than a Michelin star - but the food was well above average.
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I chatted to the staff while they handled the coach party of 27 with great efficiency. The Scottish waitress had lived in Bayston Hill at one stage in her life. Isn't it a small world.
Having eaten too much, I retired to my room to process my photos and write my diary.