24 hours in Fishguard

I arrived in Fishguard around lunchtime, and found a promising looking cafe, which had the slowest service ever. There were two of in the queue to order, and it took about 15 minutes.  Then another 15 minutes for my sandwich to arrive.  Still, I was in no rush.

Fishguard is actually two bays separated by a big hill.  There's the old town Y Cwm, down by the old fishing harbour, and the new town,  which is now the main town, up on the hill.  Interesting fact: it was the site of the last invasion of Britain in 1797, my a French / American coalition (they landed three miles down the coast and were defeated by the hills almost before they met anyone).  The big ferries to Ireland leave from the second bay, which is actually a different place Goodwick (or the much more concise Wdig in Welsh).  The trains leave from Wdig.

Fishguard old harbour & town

Still the old harbour

It's quite hard to spend a sightseeing 24 hours in Fishguard.  Having lunch occupied half of the afternoon.  I pitched my tent and left my panniers, then hit the town.    It was just closing, so a nice walk ensued.  The folk festival also stopped at 5pm, restarting at 8 with various singalong sessions in diverse uphill and downhill places.  Difficult to find a place to eat:  I ended up dining al fresco on fish and chips, with a load of folk enthusiasts.

Overnight, the first real rain of the holiday  started about 3am. A break allowed me to pack up the wet tent and pack everything away before it came hammering down again.  My train left at 12:43, so I had to spend a leisurely morning. I knew just the place for breakfast: the same slow service cafe did an excellent breakfast, by which time it was nearly 11am. Also in there were the Winkleigh Morris dancers (from Devon). Got talking to them and it turned out they had been involved in running the Sidmouth folk festival for a few years.

There weren't many shops open on a wet Sunday morning.  I thought I would probably need plenty of food for the journey so did a big shop in the co-op. Watched some more stick dancing, then went down to Wdig to get my train. Via a café, of course.

Winkleigh Morris Dancers

On the station I met another pair of cyclists, mums  who had abandoned their teenage kids to ride the Celtic cycleway around Pembrokeshire.  Like me, they had found the hills amazingly frequent and steep, and they had decided to let the train take the strain, and skip a bit to Pembroke.  Myself, I've crossed a dividing line: I've moved from the West coast main line to the Great Western Railway.  A two hour journey to Warrington becomes a six hour journey from Fishguard. That's progress.

Which reminds me: I met another cyclist this morning, sheltering from the downpour in the campsite.  He said he'd done a bit of touring. "Calais to Istanbul, and then Santander to the Sahara" he said.  It helps to meet people like that, to keep things in perspective.

Diolch (thank you), Wales.  I have loved your scenery, the smiles and the welcome from the people, the castles, the rocky coves and sandy bays, the stone walls and sheep, the quiet lanes and patient, unhurried drivers.  I'll see you next year, all being well.

Thank you also, for reading this, whether you only glanced at some of the pictures, or made lots of (sometimes) helpful comments.  The blog has become part of the motivation for the trip, in a weird way.  So thank you for your company along the way.

 

PS. I realise that, along the way, I've completed the little-known Holy Island to Holy Island long-distance route, as in Lindisfarne to Holyhead.  "Is that a thing?" another cyclist asked me.  It is now.