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Wales: the Tour |
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Raglan Castle & Cilmeri |
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Fancy pants... |
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It was back on the bus again and through the Wye Valley (Wye? Because we felt like it! Tee hee!), zigzagging into England over abandoned toll bridges and through the town of Monmouth, which I recognize vaguely from my History of England course last year as being associated with one Geoffrey of Monmouth, and somewhere along the line I drifted off into a light slumber. What with all the excitement of the morning, the lulling country views and rocking of the bus |
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Raglan Castle |
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and our guide's oh-so-soothing voice � you can�t blame me. So I was a trifle on the groggy side when we pulled up to a giant, purple-ish, very ornate structure called Raglan. It sort of has an arrogance about it, a very �look at me, look at me� quality, with its round murder holes for gunners and intricate carvings sticking their tongues out at you. It was more form than function, really. Built to impress the pants off whomever. Like the |
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luxury model as far as castles go � status and all that. I was impressed, I guess. I liked the moat and the fun little passages and the history that went along with why it�s all in pieces, like kings who cancelled Christmas putting large holes in it (Cromwell, et all), but it really didn�t have the soul that the other sites we had visited seemed to have. Could be because we had visited Tintern first, and Tintern was just so impressive, this kind of had to beat Tintern�s score � like the Olympics of landmarks � or that I was still groggy. But it just didn�t rank so high on my list, sandwiched in between the stunning abbey before or the spirit of the next site, Cilmeri. |
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Fallen heros |
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Cilmeri is the site where Llywelyn the last Prince of Wales was ambushed and murdered, or not ambushed but murdered, or just killed accidentally then recognised, depending on whom you talk to or what you are reading. Anyway, this is where he met his demise at the hand of the English during Edward I�s campaign to conquer Wales. A single, bare stone rising out of the ground marks the spot and one or two small tokens of remembrance sit at the base of it. It�s very simple. Just sitting at the base of the stone you sort of realise, though, that it should be that way, simple, sombre, quiet. To me, it�s more a tribute that way, instead of having a gift shop, or something. But I felt that there was a pride in the air there, sadness, yes, but also a hint of �almost� in the air, like that Wales didn�t go quietly, put up one hell of a good fight. It really |
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The moat and ruins of Raglan |
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makes you think, that place. I was just in awe there, could have stayed a good while longer.
The following morning we finished this bit of the tour, stopping at Abbey Cwm-hir, front and centre seats for a lovely exposition on how not to herd sheep as performed by the local sheep-dog troupe. Unofficial backstage view into how the agricultural sector of Wales operates (sheep climbing all over the old Abbey ruins, happily munching away at was once the home of the Cistercian monks who carried Llywelyn�s headless body from Cilmeri and gave it a proper burial). Not sure what the farmer thought of 25 Americans sitting on the hill staring at the rubble, snapping the occasional photograph. I was a bit occupied with the sheep. Not for the novelty of watching them run about stupidly, mind you, but that they were running about on top of the rubble as though it weren�t something that in my mind has a lot of historical significance. Like letting your dog walk on top of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Washington D.C. or something, at least I thought so. The forest at the top of the hill is fascinating. Eerie - and I was standing a good 50 yards from it. Spooky in a Hound of Baskervilles way. Apparently the inside of it is dead � no ecosystem at all as the trees were transplanted there as pine-timber industry cash crops, that killed the soil and nothing will live there except those trees. And then to top it off, we walked down the lane to an old medieval church, empty church yard, empty road, bleeding yew trees, and a slight mist coming in. It was very eerie; I was just waiting for a bunch of ravens to come screaming NEVERMORE at us� eek! I was glad to get out of there. The church was pretty, but it was really weird there, and I didn�t really feel like sticking around. |
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