Aberystwyth, mon amour ... and Aberaeron

And so to Aberystwyth, one of those places that's a bit like the Forest of Dean, by which I mean, unless you live locally, you have to make an effort to get there. I'd allowed half a day for a flying visit, with the rest taken up with a trip to Bwlch Nant Yr Arian for my must-see of the holiday, the feeding of the red kites. The Northerner, with his sights set on the funicular railway, felt we might need longer.

Looking towards Blaenplwyf

washed-up jellyfish

War  memorials are usually sober, occasionally grandiose, but this one, by Italian sculptor, Mario Rutelli, is actually rather gorgeous. 

First stop, the castle, built by King Edward I in 1277. It was held by Owain Glyndŵr between 1404 and 1408, and since our knowledge of history is so heavily coloured by Shakespeare, we looked out over the Irish sea, remembered the fictionalised version's boast of being able to 'call the spirits from the vasty deep' and wondered if he'd tried that here.  

restharrow and a bumble bee

thyme and restharrow

sea holly and cat's ear

This is the wonderful Gothic edifice that is the Old College, sadly disused although apparently being renovated. Until recently it housed the University's administrative function, but what a fabulous community hub/arts centre for the town it could make.  

We'd hoped to go out to the end of the famous, though somewhat truncated pier but it didn't open till midday and anyway, rain was moving up from the south ...

... so we went and sat it out in a pub, before walking up the promenade to the cliff railway, which takes unfit, lazy people like us to the top of the (famously steep) Constitution Hill ... 

... from where there was a grand view of the town, made all the more impressive by the drama of the weather. 

Although it was a bit hazy, looking north we could see the southern mountains of Eryri National Park and the Lleyn peninsula. 

The Millennium beacon

Renewed rain drove us from our table on the terrace, where we were having lunch, to the inside of the cafe, and continued long enough for us to rule out the Camera Obscura as a viable option ...

... so we went back down the funicular railway, which Cwtch really seemed to enjoy, despite some alarming judders and clunks. 

Despite not going on the pier after all, as Dogs Are Forbidden, by the time we'd wandered back to the car there wasn't enough time to drive to Bwlch Nant Yr Arian for 3pm kite feeding, so we decided to pop into Aberaeron on our way back to New Quay instead. By now the scorchiness of mid-afternoon had set in, so we had ice cream on the quay - in my case, the famous honey ice cream with pistachio, though the Northerner stuck with raspberry ripple - and walked down to the beach, before repairing to a bar with a shady area, which was deemed preferable by us all. 

A good day out ... but alas, only the occasional red kite soaring overhead. 

Putting the Fun in Funicular

Well, someone's got to try. 

First, though, a visit to St Mary's Church at Marychurch. 

I'd promised my father we'd do this, as his great-great grandfather, a boatman called James Harvey from Weston-Super-Mare, married a woman from St Marychurch while he was working his way around the south-west coast in the 1830s.  

I wasn't at all sure we'd manage it, however. So I'm glad we did. 

Not that we were ever going to find out much here, even if the Church had been open.   Some histories have much more weight than family ones. 

But at least we visited the spot. 

On, then, to Babbacombe Downs and the funicular railway down to Oddicombe Beach, where there's a recently refurbished cafe overlooking the sea. 

I know - genius, right? 

Made it!

After we'd eaten, I left the parents ensconced on the decking outside the cafe and had a brief wander. The beach is much sandier than it used to be. I remember pebbles and sea glass but there isn't much of that there at present.

As at Sidmouth, there's been a lot of cliff slippage over the last few years. Except a whole house has gone over the edge at Babbacombe, with more pending. Literally.

I didn't hang about. 

Back at the top there was a last chance to take in the views. 

Here are the remaining houses on Redcliffe Road. 

In the middle distance on the left, the Ness at Shaldon, with the Parson and the Clerk at Holcombe, Langstone Rock at Dawlish Warren and the red cliffs at Exmouth ... 

... and so on all the way round to Sidmouth, the white cliffs at Charmouth and Golden Cap, and on and on to Portland Bill, none of which you can see properly in this photo.

Oh well, you'll have to go yourself.