Fronhaul, Rhosycaerau
I arrived early afternoon in this place that is straight out of Jules Verne’s classic novel, Time Machine. Prepaid tickets allowed me to get here without money, a good thing since my total negotiable resources now consist of $8 in American currency and $1.64 in local currency by virtue of finding a coin on the floor in the St. David’s station a few days ago. My faith journey was just made infinitely easier by virtue of being offered rather exotic accommodation far below the tourist radar screen, within minutes of my arrival at the harbor. I really had images of sleeping outside in a small tent and eating cheap Chinese noodles until something sorted itself out. Fortunately the climate is civilized at present so I would have not frozen to death if called to actually walk out this journey.
From an objective viewpoint, the stone structure I am to be staying in is far more interesting than the most lavish of hotel rooms could ever be. I look out onto water that stretches unbroken for at least five thousand miles. Jets far overhead leave this Old World behind and head to the New. I wonder if passengers on those contrails can even see my ancient refuge up here on this outcropping of fragmented rock. I can lie in bed and see the sky through Velux windows. Sunset over the sea is included in the price of admission, which is nil. This place and location are far more than I could have conceived of at any price.
Within an hour of arriving here I had an indoor bed with duvet designated as ‘mine’ and was out hiking on the highlands of the coastal park with two good friends, two fine dogs, and filling up one of my camera bags with black berries. In short order we collected more than a kilogram of these luscious berries. Sylvia took these and later converted them into two fine hot crumbles. Harvesting one’s own dinner is certainly a way off the ‘pay and play’ tourist economy.
The highlands here are propped up by rugged cliffs of fractured stone that thrust up about two hundred feet from the swirling waters. They then rise another eight hundred feet in places. One has a world-class view of the universe from up here.
There is powerful evidence that the universe really is a friendly place, if we let it be and leave our fears at home. I am a week now without money and I have not missed a meal and have slept in some really splendid situations, always indoors so far. Prepaid air and train tickets have allowed me continue forward in my journey. I think of the most oft cited scripture in the Christian world. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” For sure, I am not wanting for anything.
With these good friends offering me fine hospitality, we stayed up far past midnight at the kitchen table in a four hundred year old stone house, drinking hot ribena, having a splendid meal of freshest ingredients, while talking about art, global warming, old cars, and even the true essence of good art. Sometime in the early morning I wandered out into the moonlight to find ‘my’ bed. I did not have to go very far.
The connection I have made to this windy outcrop of rock is far more substantial than I realized. Coming here alone is really the best thing I could have possibly selected out of all the infinite options British Airways gave me. I almost missed it up until the last minute. At 1 AM I feel completely off the grid, actually rather safe and at ease. The air is absolutely still, the stars are brilliant in a dark sky, yet a magical waxing moon over the Celtic Sea is creating amazing patterns behind a small clump of cloud. I thought of the Flemish masters ‘collecting’ such moons with their oils and linseed oil. The rural silence is amazing. This area which is legendary for howling unremitting winds is absolutely calm. I can hear bugs and things flitting happily about in the air.
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