Newport. No, not that one ...

 ... the one in Pembrokeshire. We'd passed close by a few years ago, when we visited Pentre Ifan and the bleeding yew at Nevern, but hadn't actually made it to the little town on the Nevern estuary, so that's where we went this time.

First, a wander down the high street, where there were Things of Interest for poets and dogs ...

Yes, I have worms. Bookworms for owners!

No, wait, this is more like it!

... followed by a pint in the pub and lunch in the Pwnc Cafe, where I tasted dill in my salad for the first time since I was studying German in the late 70s and early 80s, when it featured at every breakfast in what was then West Germany. (Nothing like a taste to take you back to a time and place.)

We then walked down to the estuary and along the beach past the quay and the houses at Parrog, where Cwtch could roam about at will because it's dog-friendly all year round. It was very hot but there was a pleasant breeze. 

Looking down to Dinas Head

On the beach there were more washed-up Blue and Dial (Compass) jellyfish. (Careful, Cwtch, even dead ones can do you a heckin' sting!)

The Nevern estuary

We walked the short distance back to the car park via the coastal path, which was shady and cool ... 

... although like the beach, it too had its share of menace in the form of Hemlock Water Dropwort (which, unlike the jellyfish, really is deadly). Beautiful plant, though. 

And in the playground of a school near the car park, a mural with two of our favourite things, a cwtch and a poem. 

A 250 Red Kite Midsummer's Day at Bwlch Nant yr Arian

Bwlch Nant Yr Arian would be worth visiting just for the name alone - the Gap or Mountain Pass of the Silver Stream. How gorgeous is that, and even better when you learn there were silver mines in the area in the 18th century. 

I'd come for the kites, though, and 250 is the number the information boards say you might expect to see at feeding time, but with no way of counting, there seemed to be hundreds more (though given we were there on Midsummer's Day and it was all a bit magical anyway, there's always a chance some passing Puck put flower juice in my eyes.) 

Here's the view from the cafe terrace of red kites, with a few gulls mixed in, waiting for feeding time.

We made our way down to the pond for a closer view. It felt like when I was a kid and we were waiting for the feeding of the sea lions at Bristol Zoo - only these kites are wild and free, so there was none of the captivity anxiety that hung about zoo visits even back then. 

The Northerner was rather more apprehensive about it than me. Unconvinced that kites mostly eat carrion, he was clutching the walking stick we keep in the back of the car, ready to beat any off bird that might try to make a meal of our (admittedly small) border collie.

Like the sheep nibbling obliviously on the hillsides, he needn't have worried. When the feeding started, it was performative. 

And yes, something must have happened to my eyes because they were filling up with tears at the seeing and hearing of such a spectacle, of birds that were all but extinct in these islands in the 19th and first half of the 20th century, and like the bewitched characters in A Midsummer Night's Dream, I'd fallen in love.  

I doubt I'll witness anything better than this for some time.

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.