Three landscapes today; attractive developments of old dockland areas; cliffs, stones, and sand along the sea shore, and walking on pavement beside busy roads.
Whereas, the previous day's walk went through some of the less attractive parts of Cardiff, industrial estates and wasteland, this morning I walked through areas that had been redeveloped. In the past the areas around the docks had been rough and industrial, my grandfather was a policemen in the area and received an award for breaking up a fight in one of the bars. Now, there are modern flats, trendy restaurants and restored old buildings. From Queen Street railway station I walked down to where a short length of old canal, topped by water lilies, meandered through modern, and no doubt expensive, houses and flats. This lead to an old dock, where a fisherman had set up his tent by a no fishing sign (due to dangerous blue green algae), a cormorant patiently waited on concrete pillar nearby . County Hall, the modern administrative offices for the area, was at the end of the dock. From there I crossed the road to the Wales Millennium Centre, where plays, pantomime, opera and musicals were performed in what now seem distant times before the Coronavirus pandemic. The metal covered frontage has the words in English "In these stones horizons sing", much of the building is faced with Welsh waste slate, slate being one of Wales' major products in the past (and still available today). Curiously the Welsh words on the frontage say something entirely different, in English they read "Truth is as clear as glass forged in the flames of inspiration", thoughtful if not always true.
Beyond the Millennium Centre is Cardiff Bay, once an estuary surrounded by world class docks, exporting coal around the world, it reached its peak around 1900, making Cardiff a major city. Now a barrage has made it a tide free area of leisure (it has is own circular walk, the Cardiff bay trail, if you care to follow it). Looking onto the bay is the Sennedd, the Welsh Parliament where assembly members control areas such as health and infrastructure. Glass fronted to indicate transparency, I peered in, little seems to happen inside. Next sight was the Norwegian church, many Norwegian sailors visited Cardiff in the past (along with many other nationalities), now (or at least in pre-Covid times) the church is an art centre and café. Beyond, I crossed the barrage itself, a sort of large dam or breakwater with a path and road (closed to public motor vehicles) on top, the smooth waters of the bay on one side and the tide out in the Bristol Channel on the other. Given the amount of water flowing from the former to the latter it is surprising there is no hydroelectric plant capturing the energy being lost in the water falling from the weir gates. A sign on the barrage alerted me to the existence of a "Wales Coast Path" App, available for download from the usual places. I downloaded it once I was home. It shows on a satellite map where the path goes and gives other useful information, including the location of a surprising number of shipwrecks, but I struggled to use it for any useful navigation, with its snail like update speeds.
After the barrage I climbed the road up the hill into the older backstreets of Penarth, leaving the modern marinas and apartments behind, then descended towards the Penarth shoreline. On the descent I diverted into a little park called the Kymin. Penarth, which flourished with tourists in Victorian times, has a stony beach (where once I collected alabaster and fossils), some cafés, a lifeboat station, benches on the seafront promenade, and a pier. In its heyday the pier had big shows with pop stars and the like, today it has a café and in better times hosts art displays. Sadly, although the pier was open, its café and gallery was closed due to the usual excuse, Covid 19. Other cafés were managing, although I had to use an App on my phone to order coffee and cake, then discovered I had only bought one of the cheaper cakes, not the one I was drooling over (probably better for me though)! Continuing uphill, I followed the Wales Coast path above the cliffs to Lavernock, at first by road, then on a tarmac path in a grass area in front of expensive houses, sharing the path with older folks and their dogs, and finally along a path between bushes. Lavernock was where the first radio signals transmitted over sea were received by Mr Marconi from Flat holm, an island in the channel. Today there is a caravan site, where I countered three signs saying "NO TENTS", so if you have a tent, you are NOT WELCOME. There are a number of caravan sites in this section of coast, mainly with permanent or static caravans or trailers, providing a holiday or holiday home for those living inland in South Wales. At one time there was a car park and a kiosk selling drinks where I listened to the World Cup final of 1966, but maybe the cliffs have eroded away since then, as now there is no sign of it.
From Lavernock the path took me through a nature reserve. Among the bushes and rough ground there were the concrete remains of World War Two defences against enemy aircraft and shipping coming up the channel. At Sully, in front of the Captain's wife (a pub serving food), is an island, reachable at low tide. A display told me how much time I had to cross to the island before high tide prevented my return. Deciding against a visit today, I continued along the pebbly coast until the Wales Coast path turned inland passing a field of black sheep. For the next few kilometres I walked beside roads full of traffic. There was a pavement, and periodic Wales Coast Path waymarks, but the road was busy and the walk tedious. Tall, distillation towers of a chemical works reminded me of the heavy industry that once characterised South Wales, but now the coal mines, most of the oil refineries, tin plate works and the like have gone, and the various steel works are just hanging on in the face of cheaper Chinese imports. Much of Barry's industrial past is now gone. Modern flats line the old docks and where once steam engines shunted loads, before being abandoned to enthusiasts, a housing estate is now being built. I stopped at a trendy looking expresso bar, a converted pump house, for some lunch. As a sign required of me I scanned a QR code with my phone, but was unable to order anything. It appears that was just for the "track and trace" system, designed so that I could be contacted if there was an outbreak of coronavirus in the café. I was told I would have to scan a second QR code to actually order something. One QR code can be justified, two was just poor service, so I left to cross the causeway to Barry Island. It is not really an island but it is so different to the rest of Barry that it deserves a separate name, for this is where my family used to go to sit on a Saturday on the sandy beach in deck chairs with my Grandma, a canvas wind shield protecting the adults while us children dug holes in the sand, or, if the family finances allowed, we would visit the fair ground for a ride on the "big dipper". Although Barry Island lost visitors to package holidays in Spain in the years since I was young, since it was made famous by "Gavin and Stacy", a TV Sitcom, and with an upgrade to the promenade, it has seen a resurgence in popularity. Today though, there were few visitors. As I crossed the causeway, the drizzle started. No rain had been forecast so initially I tried to ignore it. A mistake as drizzle turned to a shower turned to steady rain and my trousers were soon wet. I hid in a café for a while, less demanding of QR codes and Apps than the previous one, but it was still raining when I finished, so I continued on a circumnavigation of the island as indicated by the map and occasional waymarks. I deviated slightly from the Wales Coast Path to walk across Jackson Bay, a small quiet beach, a better route which included a stretch walking beside the limestone as its beds dipped into the sea. If you look at the cliffs at Jackson bay, and on the far side of the main beach, you can see where the horizontal, reddish Triassic rocks lie unconformably on the grey, dipping Carboniferous limestone. After the promenade, with its brightly painted beach huts and the small climbing wall, I walked around the final headland and retraced my steps across the causeway to Barry Railway station and a ride home to some dry clothes.
No comments:
Post a Comment