Harlech

"How much is an overseas stamp for a postcard?" I asked the postmaster.

"To America?"

"To Canada."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." It seemed, to the postmaster, that calling a Canadian an American was as offensive as calling a Welshman an Englishman. I took no offence as I applied the stamps and placed them in the mailbox.

Outside, the day was as dark as evening and the rain came in spurts as the winds blew heavily off Bae Ceredigion and, further out, the Irish Sea. We left the Harlech Post Office and walked the short distance to the castle. Both the town and the imposing castle—another of Edward I's examples of English might over his Welsh subjects—lie on a hill above the bay and bear the full force of any eastward gales. We zipped up our rain shells and prepared for a late afternoon of exploring.

Just outside the southern walls of the castle stands a statue of two figures on a horse: one of the figures lies across the horse; the other, whose head hangs in sorrow. Two plaques—one in Welsh; the other, English—explain a Celtic mythological tale. The English plaque reads as follows:

The Mabinogion story of Branwen is a lament over the folly and carnage of war. Branwen, sister of Bendigeidfran, the King of Britain, departed from the court at Harlech to marry the King of Ireland. Their son, the boy King Gwern, was killed in the war which followed.

In the sculpture, the figure of Bendigeidfran, bearing the body of his nephew Gwern, symbolises the sorrowful burden that love can be.

We had the castle to ourselves. On his cold, damp, and blustery day, who else would venture out? Harlech, built between 1282 and 1289, was our fourth castle in ruins, and we were becoming used to the narrow corridors and large, open courtyards. Like Beaumaris, Harlech is symmetrical in construction, and like Caernarfon it changed hands between the English and Welsh in ensuing rebellions and sieges.

At one point in our exploration, we climbed to the top of one of the towers, where we saw a commanding view of the courtyard, below, and the town outside the walls. I moved to the edge to gain the best vantage for capturing a photo but the wind threatened to blow me off the edge. To keep me safe, DW held onto me by my belt while she clung to the railing that surrounded the entrance to the stairwell. I remember being buffeted by the wind, which sometimes swept my face and made it hard to breathe. I took a couple of quick shots before we decided to seek shelter.

It's an impressive castle. No wonder it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

I have very little memory of what we did after we left Harlech. My next memory is early the next morning. I don't remember where we dined, though I suspect we stayed close to the castle. Our routine for this excursion was to make breakfast at our campsites, stop in a store to collect the food that would be used to assemble a quick roadside lunch or, if that wasn't possible, to stop in a restaurant for a cheap bite, and to dine out before reaching our next campsite.

I don't remember that evening.

But I do remember the weather. I do remember that we arrived at our campground late, when the gates were closed. I remember sleeping in the car, with the rain drumming on the roof, with moisture gathering on the windows, inside and out of the vehicle. I remember that the campground was somewhere between the town of Aberystwyth and Devil's Bridge Falls.

And I certainly remember the next morning. Stay tuned.