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This evening, to mark our first fantastic week on the road in the UK, we decided to celebrate and have dinner in a nice restaurant situated on a tree-covered hillside overlooking the village of LLanberis (prounced Clan-bear-is) where we're staying for a few days. We dressed up in our nice clothes, made a reservation, and were cheerfully afforded the white table cloth and twelve-pieces-of-silverware treatment. Concetta had the fish, I had the chicken, and we shared an apple crisp with our espresso. It was undoubtedly the best food we've had since we arrived in the UK. Last night, at a small cafe down the road, I ended up with some sort of spinach and cheese concoction that didn't taste like either one. When I ordered they asked what I'd like with the Spinach-Cheese surprise and I said salad. Not wanting to disappoint me, they threw on a portion of every salad they could lay their hands on in the kitchen, which sort of made the plate look like several plates full of table leftovers swept onto one dish. Tonight, however, I think we finally found out where the real chefs in Wales are working.
Today we rode the cog railway to the top of Mt. Snowden, the highest peak in the British Isles. Fortunately, though the sun didn't show up for much of the day, we didn't have any rain either. The ride, should you ever make it over here to northern Wales, is absolutely thrilling and breathtaking. In service since 1896, the little narrow gauge trains relentlessly huff and puff their way to the top while affording riders the most magnificent scenery you're likely to see anywhere.
Unfortunately, due to work being performed on the upper terminus of the line, they didn't quite haul us to the summit of Mt. Snowden. However, in the end I was rather happy they didn't. The wind was blowing so hard just down from the summit where they halted that it was difficult to remain on your feet without holding onto something stationary. I definitely kept well clear of the edge of the cliff for fear that I'd be swept over.
Later, back on the valley floor and after our usual tea break, we headed off to ride yet another train which ran from approximately the same part of town but this time out around the lake instead of up the mountain. The ride behind the little steam locomotive was neat but rather tame in comparison to our morning adventure.
The most interesting part of our afternoon involved a visit to a wonderful museum dedicated to those Welshmen who made their living in the Slate industry. They have a complete facility here, much like we Nevadans have with Ely's Nevada Northern Railway, that looks as if the workers just clocked out for the day and left their tools on the workbenches. All the machinery still functions, some was even in operation as we passed through. For those of you who don't know anything about slate, at one time it was a highly sought-after building material for roofing before the days of asphalt shingles.
The slate operations in Clanberis, Wales, were known world-wide for their superior quality. Beyond that, the artistry that it took to hand split single roofing shingles out of large blocks of slate boggles my mind. Our ancestors were truly talented folks, one and all. In the bottom photo, look above the crane to see the big "V" in the hillside where they quarried the slate from the mid 1800s.
Today was our transit day from the Hadrian's Wall area in Northumberland to the Mt. Snowden area of Northern Wales. I knew there would not much time for wandering down back roads or stopping to see the sights. We just had to put the pedal down and put some miles on the Mini. As you may remember if you've been perusing this blog for any length of time, most of my ancestors from my Dad's side came (as far as I can tell from the census data) from southeastern Wales and southwestern England. The sole exception was Paul Brown who was born in Scotland and lived in the 1820s in Northumberland. Thus, our motivation for flying to Edinburgh and staying for a number of days near Hexham and Corbridge, the latter being the village where Paul lived for a time. Our explorations in the Corbridge area finished, we now have to head for southern Wales. But I didn't want to marathon drive directly there so, instead, we headed a couple of hundred miles west to northern Wales just to see the sights. In a few days we'll drift southward and stay a few more days in the area where the Davis family lived before they emigrated in 1873. So, save a lunchtime stop at a wonderful transportation museum in village of Leyland in Lancashire (see top photo), we headed straight here. I have to report that in Leyland we finally managed to find someone who could make a decent potato-leek soup this noon. After the first two attempts, I thought we'd have to give soup up for good. An unfortunate decision in this rainy climate. Naturally, I felt compelled to ask our waitress if she had tasted the soup and what she thought of it before I ordered any.
She replied with rather firm conviction, "Oh, I never eat vegetables."
"Never?" I asked, I'm sure sounding somewhat incredulous.
"No, never," she said. "Not in all my life."
I wondered how she could possibly know if the soup she intended to serve was any good if she wouldn't dream of tasting any, but I decided against asking that. Throwing caution to the wind, I went ahead and ordered the potato-leek anyway. It turned out to be great, as did the somewhat unusual sandwich that came with it, a concoction of brie cheese, bacon, and cranberry sauce on a baguette, and our usual beverage, a steaming mug of tea. Not counting the prizewinning order of fish and chips that Concetta ordered in the tiny burg of Earlston in Northumberland, our lunch in Leyland is perhaps the best we've had yet.
At this point you're probably wondering just how we like the Mini Cooper (see picture of same with Concetta) now that we've driven it for a week. My overall opinion of the tiny vehicle is positive. I like the way it hugs the road. If you so much as nudge the steering wheel left or right the car turns immediately. I like the way it accelerates. Of course up to now I haven't had the courage to do much accelerating, especially since most of the roads we've been traveling have been about 1.5 car widths wide. On some of those rural Northumberland roads you'd have trouble getting the car and a bicycle side by side. But today, on the expressway, I did a lot of accelerating. I Got it up to 80mph at one point and it wasn't even straining. If you press down on the accelerator, no matter how fast you're going, the car leaps forward. The visibility is good in the car and I haven't encountered any blind spots. Of course, I have to warn you that half the time I don't know what direction to look in. It's nothing but strange sitting on the right side of the car and even looking in the side mirrors at the proper time takes a lot of thought for me. This causes me to cut some folks off in the roundabouts every once in a while, especially the ones where two lanes of traffic enter the roundabout simultaneously. The car is darn easy to park. You can put it just about anywhere. I love the heater/defroster. It works better than any car I've ever owned. You turn it on and the windshield is clear seconds later.
Now for the negative things. I don't like the seats. In my opinion they're as uncomfortable as the yucky seats in our Fiat van two summers ago in Italy, and those were pretty bad. There's not enough padding and the seat itself is too short. The various release mechanisms and handles are cheap-feeling and sort of "floppy." I should note at this point that Concetta thinks her seat is just fine, but I suspect the shortness of the seat wouldn't trouble her as much. I should also add that the short seats make for tons of leg room which is nice
My other complaint, which in fairness might be related to the fact that I'm learning to shift this 6-speed car with my left hand, is that there isn't enough room between reverse-first-third gears. I'm getting better now, but for most of this week I've been throwing it into reverse when I want 1st gear. Not at all a calming thing when you're trying not to look like a dumb tourist in the first place. Some day I'd like to drive a left-hand version of the Mini to see if my right hand is smarter than my left hand after owning manual shift cars since 1967. It's possible.
The last thing is pretty inherent in tiny cars. The suspension is pretty stiff and you feel just about every object bigger than a jelly bean in the road. But if you're a fan of sports car-like driving, you most likely expect some of that.
So, if you're thinking about buying one, I'd say go ahead and test drive one. At our last B&B they had a group of 20-something boys staying for several nights. When they arrived they, of course, wanted to know who belonged to the Mini Cooper in the parking area, expecting, I'm sure, to be meeting one of their own generation. When Concetta and I were pointed out as the owners, one of them said, "Oh, I expected someone much younger." They would have loved to test drive it, but I just smiled and kept mum. Youth may have it's rewards, but none were to be seen that day!
Ciao, tutti.
This evening, to mark our first fantastic week on the road in the UK, we decided to celebrate and have dinner in a nice restaurant situated on a tree-covered hillside overlooking the village of LLanberis (prounced Clan-bear-is) where we're staying for a few days. We dressed up in our nice clothes, made a reservation, and were cheerfully afforded the white table cloth and twelve-pieces-of-silverware treatment. Concetta had the fish, I had the chicken, and we shared an apple crisp with our espresso. It was undoubtedly the best food we've had since we arrived in the UK. Last night, at a small cafe down the road, I ended up with some sort of spinach and cheese concoction that didn't taste like either one. When I ordered they asked what I'd like with the Spinach-Cheese surprise and I said salad. Not wanting to disappoint me, they threw on a portion of every salad they could lay their hands on in the kitchen, which sort of made the plate look like several plates full of table leftovers swept onto one dish. Tonight, however, I think we finally found out where the real chefs in Wales are working.
Today we rode the cog railway to the top of Mt. Snowden, the highest peak in the British Isles. Fortunately, though the sun didn't show up for much of the day, we didn't have any rain either. The ride, should you ever make it over here to northern Wales, is absolutely thrilling and breathtaking. In service since 1896, the little narrow gauge trains relentlessly huff and puff their way to the top while affording riders the most magnificent scenery you're likely to see anywhere. 
Later, back on the valley floor and after our usual tea break, we headed off to ride yet another train which ran from approximately the same part of town but this time out around the lake instead of up the mountain. The ride behind the little steam locomotive was neat but rather tame in comparison to our morning adventure.
The slate operations in Clanberis, Wales, were known world-wide for their superior quality. Beyond that, the artistry that it took to hand split single roofing shingles out of large blocks of slate boggles my mind. Our ancestors were truly talented folks, one and all. In the bottom photo, look above the crane to see the big "V" in the hillside where they quarried the slate from the mid 1800s.
