Day Five June 30, 1998 South Wales & Cardiff Tuesday We woke up in Bristol (around 9am) knowing we’d get to sleep in the same room that night (hoo boy!). Once again, a circle-tour day! This time we were headed back into beautiful Wales, to the south part of Wales to see some famous ruins and to visit the city of Cardiff. We had originally planned to go all the way to Exeter and "land's end" (the most southwest tip of England) but had reluctanlty given up that plan to allow outselves an extra day in London (a decision that I am still very glad we made). Today would prove to be our most adventurous, with the most sights and experiences, but as we set out that morning we could have no possible idea. We set off from Bristol, after a quick circle around the city. We were still getting used to the roadmap software, but it was very, very powerful. Over the next few days, we decided to pack up all paper maps (the one’s bought over the internet before we left and the ones bought locally since arriving) and put them in a bag in the back seat. The mapping software was working great and by plugging the latitude / longitude info into the hand-held GPS, we had a very good handle on where we were (pretty much) and where we were supposed to be going (pretty much). We got lost several times today and finally became immune to the stress of all of that. We missed exits, missed a lot of turn offs, and we LIVED! We figured out how to mark a point PRIOR to the turnoff and track that point in the GPS (to provide several seconds of ‘heads-up’ attention before an upcoming turnoff). This was the last day that we were really lost. We drove from Bristol, over the bridge to Wales and visited nearby Caldicott Castle. We stayed too long and took too many pictures, but we also met a woman in the castle gift shop that spoke Welsh. She taught me how to pronounce CYRMU (the Welsh word for “Wales”) but I have already forgetten how. I was intrigued by the modern subdivisions of semi-attached houses being built all around the land adjoining this ancient castle and took too many pictures. This particular castle, like several more we were to visit, was ‘rescued’ in the 1800's by a man that bought it in ruins and refurbished a portion for his own home. This was a popular practice by people in that era as part philantropist part history buff. Like the others amatuer preservationists, after his death he donated the partially refurbished structure to the local preservation society. Over the years since then, funds were raised to have more portions of the castle restored. Of course, it was sad to realize that most everything we saw dated from the 1890’s - 1950’s, no matter how old it ‘looked’. Very little authentic material remained across the 400 years it had been standing. Particularly confusing is that fact that the Victorian residence is now itself an historic site making this and several other sites like it historically confusing.  But it was still fun to walk around the courtyard, and climb the turrets and imagine life in the days of the early Normans. We even got to cross a drawbridge to enter. They offered a cassette tape self-tour, which Lyn enjoyed while Jesse and I looked out the cannon mounts. The courtyard was filled with children playing and laughing and climbing on the cannons, oblivous (as they should be) to the historic significance. At the Caldicott Castle gift shop, we browsed and picked up a brouchure about nearby Caerwent Roman City. It was just a mile or two away, so we drove over when we were finished at the castle. With less than 20 minutes effort, we found a nice diarama and map presented on a roadside standing sign. We located and photographed the remaining ruins of some stone walls that were put in place by the Roman's. The area had some impressive history (was a huge settlement in Roman days), but the few ancient ruins were very sparce and a small town of semi-detached homes had been built right over, around and through them. So after a couple drive by's and some quick pictures, we headed off. We drove 20 miles up the street to visit another castle ruins, Chepstow Castle. Our Wales Heritage membership finally was applicable, and we found the castle's location on the Welsh visitor map. The castle ruins were, once again, fascinating. This particular castle overlooks the Wye river, which was used as part of its defenses. Supplies used to be brought in on boat and barge and we stood in the doorway that served as the ‘loading dock’ several centuries ago. This castle had been built in stages, over several hundred years. You could see by the color of the stone in the different walls, where each construction phase added on to the previous ones. It started as a small outpost, then one or two out buildings were added. Later new walls were built enclosing larger and larger courtyard areas. Finally a church was constructed, then later new upper levels were built atop that. Different walls still showed designs for protection for the various assault technologies they had to withstand across the ages. Of course, it all came tumbling down under Henry VIII and now stood open to the elements. It was located on a hill with commanding views in all directions. We took a lot of pictures, but not too many this time. Chepstow had a convenient car park, and showed very well. We were greeted by a couple of artists, set up in the courtyard, sketching and working in watercolors. Jesse and I split off and headed up the hill to the most distant buildings, then slowly returned stopping at each, trying to learn what to look for when viewing an historic site. Near the entrance, one of the turrets had been enclosed and several rooms had been setup to present the structures history with easily understood drawings and maps. The various proprieters (dukes & earls) were listed along with the site improvements done during their tenure. But Jesse enjoyed most the chance to don an authentic reporduction helmet to experience, ever so slightly, a day in the life of a knight. We continued to drive north, using smaller highways to the Tintern Abbey ruins. This was a very famous abbey which, like most religious structures, was built generally during William the Conquerer and destroyed generally during Henry VIII. This was where we first realized how much we enjoyed this particular portion of the rich and vast UK history. We really concentrated, for the rest of the trip, on visiting sites from this general era (built 1100’s, ruin 1500’s). Tinturn Abbey has a long and famous history across many ages, as interest in its structure peaked again in Romantic times in the sketches of Turner and the famous lines penned by Wordsworth. This structure, too, was rescued and cleaned up during the early decades of the 1900's after lying ignored for 400 years. Of course, we are probably lucky that nobody took notice, as they surely would have applied their energy to dismantling the stones and hauling them off for cow pens. The abbey consisted of just the stone outer structure with skeletal walls stretching up 6 stories with just bare crossmembers (no roof joists) left to support them. It is impossible to describe the strange sensation of being around the giant building shell. I guess I wondered how it got in this middling condition; it seems that it should have either been still a working abbey or destroyed totally without a trace. To leave just the shell was eerie, like the presence of ancient residents could still be sensed. The remaining structure was huge and now open to the elements with sunshine pouring down through the missing roof. Keep on the grass, don't trip over protruding floor markers, and don't step in the mud puddles. It was easy to visualize the original building, with so much of it still standing, although little remained of the outer buildings.Some stones remained stacked threadlike. I was nervous just walking around these not wanting to sneeze. The humble footings from various outbuildings had been excavated and exposed and many signs were placed to explain the purpose of various rooms, with artist sketches depicting a monk's life in the prior times. We really enjoyed structures like these, trying to imagine that they were built over 300 years before Columbus even set sail for America. That was very very cool. We bought more historical books and other souvenirs at the gift shop. We stayed too long, and took too many pictures. After enjoying the abbey ruins, we drove off into the woods (literally) heading for Cardiff. The roads into the surrounding countryside were incredibly beautiful so we dared ourselves to use back roads for the next 20 miles of the journey. We struck off on our own, trusting the GPS, the roadmap software, and the direction of the sun (how lost could we get?). We ended up, again, on one-car wide country lanes. Large bushes or stone walls formed a natural tunnel of the highway, not large enough for two cars to even squeeze through. Every 100 or so yards, a small turnout was provided where each car can drop one tire precariously into a ditch and pass by the other. Obviously you drive slowly and carefully (and on the left side to boot!). Luckily we only encountered one car sharing our road. These particular Welsh country lanes were particularly spectactular as they were entirely overgrown by trees. It is impossible to discribe how the entire road, for miles in length, could be completely encompassed by overhead tree limbs. The shaded ‘tunnel’ effect was unsettling, damp and cool. The branches were just taller than the van and the lane itself was twisty and curvey with lots of knolls and blindspots. I don’t mean to imply it was difficult driving, just the opposite. We finally had to stop the car and just breathe in the cool and shady air. We took several pictures, but they simply do not recreate the specticle of the ‘tunnel of green’, that day. By the way, we knew we would be in for an interesting ride when signs were posted ‘not appropriate for coaches’ (No Busses Allowed). We found, followed, and really enjoyed the ‘back-way’ that day. We intended to visit the the nearby Caerleon ‘Roman ruins’ and museum, which were listed on our computer software and Welsh Heritage map, but the hour was getting too late. With daylight sunshine lasting well after 8pm, it was easy for us to not notice when 5pm or 6pm (closing time at attractions) had passed. Eventually, we learned to turn off at that point in the evening for dinner, but today we pressed on, having only snacks. We arrived in town and could only visit the public area, including the remains of the ancient roman colliseum grounds. The Roman museum comes highly recommended but does not, alas, keep the same hours that we do. The site of the Roman colleseum is now preserved in what could best be described as a city park. The coloseum ruins were not much to look at, actually just a grass covered pile of dirt (I wondered aloud who had the job of mowing the coluseum, but nobody found that funny either). The hill was in a circle, like any bowl-shaped stadium with remnents here and there of marble stairs or supports. The grass was lush green, and the daylight was strong despite it being nearly 7pm. A small lot provided free close-by parking for twenty or more cars. Information placards showed how benches or bleachers would have stood on the earthen berms. While Lyn and I sat on the grass, looking down into the empty bowl, Jesse ran around the outside (nice to see him get some air and some exercise) and down onto the flat area in the middle. He strutted around with an imaginary sword and shield (we took some pictures) and it became intriguing to watch his play. When Roman soldiers (legionairres?) were bunkered here, performing that very same kind of exercise or exhibition, Jesus had not yet been born! Romans occupied this area, during the height of their reign, from around the year zero for 250 years or so. It was described as ‘a very important’ Roman city in England at the time. And the berm where we sat that afternoon had been assembled by people wearing togas and sandals and hauling dirt in wicker baskets almost two thousand years previously. That was very quieting to ponder, even though many would say we were just sitting on a dirt pile in a little city park in an anonymous little town in the middle of southern Wales. We sat and chatted and Jess fought valiantly against his imaginary gladiatorial foe. We could not help but laugh out loud at our eleven-year-old as he learned world history in a way that our own parents might have only dreamed about using to teach us.. While driving from Caerleon to Cardiff, we passed a direction sign pointing off toward an 'ancient druid site'. How can you resist such a sign? I was intrigued at the chance to finally get to see one of these ancient ancient sights, with dozens listed in the software package and on the Wales Heritage maps peppered with them and Stonehendge seemingly too 'commercial' for my tastes. We followed one sign to another and, sort of in the middle of nowhere, to our surprise appeared two parking spaces on the road-shoulder beneath one final direction sign. To my dismay, the directional sign pointed us into a working sheep meadow. Lush green grass covered a rolling hill (unfortunately beneath some high tension electric wires). The look and feel was definately reminiscent of northern Indiana or western Tennessee. As we continued our walk, the implication became obvious of this being a 'working' sheep meadow, and as the flock scattered before us, stepping lightly became the watchword. The field itself had an obvious public gate near the parking spot, allowing easy access to us on foot but keeping the sheep penned in. I would read later that the UK is peppered with such access gates, that pedestrians and hikers have historical legal access to such fields. Nobody wearing overalls with a corn-cob pipe and buckshot rifle is ever going to lecture you about getting off 'my land' in that very foreign island nation. It was nearly half a mile, and I had already twice suggested that we give up, but we finally encountered the ancient site. It was really nothing more than a huge stone slab propped over two other stone slabs. Words cannot describe their immense size or the impossibility of imagining some group of people moving them by hand using ancient tools and technologies. A small sign described the historic significance, being as I recall a suspected burial site. It was for all the world a structure like I myself built in my own backyard when I was seven years old from a discarded refridgerator box . Only this one was closer to 3000 years old and made of solid stone slabs. Strange and pondersome. We then drove on, after hiking back to the car and cleaning our shoes, and went all the way to Cardiff. It was now after 8pm, so there was little traffic as we tooled about town, seeing the harbor and the city, the soccer stadium, and the outside of several museum buildings. The world rugby tournament was due to be played in a few months, and there were many signs and banners to get everybody excited. We did another ‘drive-by’, took a few pictures without paying too much attention. By now we knew that the ruins and stone circles were going to be our favorite memories. We ended up then driving from Cardiff all the way back to Bristol that evening, taking in a few sights as the late twilight slowly arrived. At first we simply forgot to eat dinner, then we couldn’t find a place that was both available and desirable. So we ended up going all the way back to the Bristol Marriott and ordered pizza delivery (from the Pizza Hut next door). The pizza was delicious, and long, warm Marriott showers helped all of us relax and unwind for the long drive to Chichester tomorrow. This was the night of the England / Argentina World Cup soccer game. England had advanced from the round robin portion and this was the first round of the tournement playoffs. The game was tied, went into overtime, and was finally dicided on penalty kicks. On our drive home from Cardiff, all the streets were deserted but every pub we passed was so crowded as to have people standing outside in the doorways. When parking the car, I happened to pass one pub just as an England goal was scored and you could hear the crowd roar from inside and watch them jumping on the sidewalk. It was really fun to be over there on that very special day. The Marriott had set up a large projection TV set in one of their banquet hall areas. All the chairs were full with England soccer fans, stuck away from home, joyously carrying on with each other. We were way too tired to take in the game with them, and headed back to our room instead for our dinner. When the delivery boy (he seemed to be around age 12) rang, we invited him in just as the sudden death penalty kick portion began. The four of us stood around with eyes glued to the TV set. He looked like a character right out of ‘Oliver’, blonde mop-top haircut, fair skinned, rosy cheeks. Argentina won the match on penalties, a crushing loss for England, and everybody in the entire country was in a total funk for next 3 or 4 days. I like to listen to call-in radio shows while driving, and this loss was the only subject of every call-in program for the next week. By the end of that time I felt like I, too, was crushed by the loss. When the last goal was scored by Argentina, our little friend simply said (with a chirp in his voice) ‘bad luck’, ‘thanks, mate’ and ‘cheers’. The he was out the door (and we forgot to take a picture!). Lyn unpacked and repacked us, as we would check in to the Marriott Chichester the following night. It would be a long drive with a lot of sights tomorrow, so I wanted to turn in early. I finally caught up with my elusive coworker back in the US with his mystery voice mails. The 'big issue' turned out to be nothing out of the ordinary, and could have been easily handled with a couple of two minute voice-mail exchanges. Oh well.
	Copyright, 1999, all rights reserved
	Originally Written November 1999 Original Upload January 2000 Last Update: July 22, 2001