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St. Davids | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Nov. 6, 2002 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Holy Tiny City Batman! | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I don�t know if it is just the thrill of being in another country that at times is so incredibly different from my own, or if it�s just the magic some places seem to just radiate with, that have made the many places I have visited in my now two and a half months in the UK so special. Maybe it�s just timing, as the day we loaded up to go to city of St. Davids on the Pembrokeshire coast, I was in a quite grand mood. It's funny that all the welcome signs say City of St. Davids � there is a population of 600 � doesn�t really sound like a sprawling metropolis, and by no means is it at all. But according to whomever |
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| The squat St. David's Cathedral in the town of St. Davids, sunk into the valley... | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| makes up these sort of random things, (Mr. Ordinance Survey or Mr. Rand McNally I presume), a town in the UK can only be designated a city if it has a cathedral, and St. Davids does. In fact, the cathedral is so prominent, that two pilgrimages there equal a trip to Rome, and three to Jerusalem. So I�m halfway to the Vatican or something. The cathedral itself is quite different than most I�ve seen dotted around Wales, England and Ireland. For starters, it�s sunk down into a valley to shield it from raids from the sea. Second, it is squat, boxy and purple, very different than say, Salisbury or Cork Cathedrals, with its spires and pointy things here | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| and there, sticking far into the sky, or Galway or St. Pauls with their prominent domes. The inside is relatively simple, bright, cheerful, quite splendid and crooked � the floor slopes drastically, the columns lean and bow and one of the outbuildings has been missing a roof since the 16th century. It�s a very interesting place to say the least. Our tour guide was quite enthusiastic, leading us around and telling us the legend of Dewisant (Saint David) and all the things he did. That�s one thing about this country that never ceases to amuse me; pick a story, legend or piece of history and it will change depending on who you talk to, what you read or where you happen to be. I find that if I cut it in half and shave around the edges, I can usually arrive at some semblance of fact. For example, St. David, according to my travel guidebook, was the son of the Prince of Cardigan and a nun called Non who were sort of star-crossed lovers if you will and from their passion came David, a special human being. Our tour guide said it was an account of the Prince of Cardigan, a peasant woman called Non, a rape and birth during a thunderstorm. Every book, every brochure, they are all different. Which I guess makes them all more interesting. We spent awhile looking around the inside hearing all about how baddie Henry dissolved the Catholic church in England, discovered why the palace had no roof (someone needed the lead to pay for a wedding) and spent the good part of the early evening strolling down the tiny streets and around the monuments, watching the sun dip into the sea and as usual, hating to leave such a splendid place and it�s peaceful atmosphere. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Above: Inside St. Davids.. the leaning of the architecture isn't just because I happen to lean to the left, the columns bow outward Below: sunset at the Bishops Palace, or what's left of it |
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| Above: down a small avenue near the gatehouse to St. Davids Right: The countryside near St. Davids... Gorgeous, isn't it? |
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