The Third Severn Crossing
Sometimes it works out great when things don't go according to plan
Brad arrived at Marlborough Street Bus Station around 10:00am on Saturday. We had decided that we would go to Cardiff for the day, as Brad had not yet been to Wales and was keen to take advantage of my close proximity. We wandered through Broadmead, Bristol's outdoor/indoor shopping centre, on our way to look at Cabot Circus, a new extension of the area, scheduled to open in September. Along the route we came across John Wesley's (founder of the Methodist Church) New Rooms. I had stopped in here a few weeks prior and wanted to briefly show Brad the three-hundred-year-old church building. As luck would have it there were sandwiches, squares and hot drinks to be had, thanks to the people of Totterdown. We enjoyed a nibble and then made our way.
Stopping at St. Nicholas Market for a coffee, we eventually arrived at the train station, and bought our tickets to Cardiff. We switched to a replacement bus service at Bristol Parkway, which was great because it meant crossing the Bristol Channel over the water rather than under. We arrived in Cardiff shortly thereafter. Naturally the first stop was Millennium Stadium. Access to the walk alongside it was restricted due to an event, so we crossed the River Taff and crossed back near the castle walls, entering Bute Park.
We eventually made our way to the Civic Centre, where we stumbled upon a booth at the back of the museum. The pair there had two powerful telescopes set up, trained at the clock tower of City Hall. They invited us in to see the three Peregrin falcon chicks nesting on a ledge.
The aforementioned event at the stadium was the big screen viewing of one of the most important matches of the year, the FA Cup, which coincidentally enough was being played by Cardiff City and Portsmouth. The big action was at Wembley Stadium in London, but the people of Cardiff who weren't lucky enough to get tickets were packing the pubs around town. We stopped in at one for some lunch. The inside was a bit crowded so we sat on the patio, and followed the game on my phone whilst eating the finest and yet very reasonably priced burgers either of us had had in some time.
We continued wandering around Cardiff, and eventually stopped in at a Cuban-themed bar/restaurant to catch the closing moments of the game, which saw Cardiff losing to Portsmouth by two goals. Surprisingly no riots ensued. The Welsh are just a little more able to deal with defeat I guess.
After the dust had settled we began to make our way to Cardiff Bay. The last time I had made that journey, I was following a parade, along Lloyd George Avenue. This time, we decided to walk along the other side of the tracks, and it really was the other side of the tracks. Council housing estates line the street and large groups of loud drunken locals were making their way back to City Centre from the Bay. The police were there with their paddywagons to make sure order was maintained. After the events of the previous week in Manchester, when Scottish and Russian fans ran amok after the European final, the police were on their guard. All in all, we only witnessed one arrest on the way.
On the streets of Cardiff Bay, we found a mess of papers lying in the street which turned out, oddly enough, to be drawings and documents from an architectural practice. Further along workers were cleaning up Roald Dahl Plass, where presumably another big screen had been set up. The bars of Mermaid Quay were filled with people. We stopped for a coffee again and continued to explore Cardiff Bay, taking in all the architecture, new and old, nicely done and overdone. We missed a few opportunities to visit some places, as the evening hours were descending. We made our way back to the centre, stopping in at the Golden Cross for a pint of Brains.
One thing Brad and I share is indecisiveness, and we couldn't for the life of us decide whether to go back to Bristol to eat or to eat before leaving Cardiff. I remember saying, purely for effect, "Do you want to eat here or go back to England?" In the end we decided to stick around and eventually stopped in at a loosely New Orleans-themed restaurant for some grub. It was going 10:00pm by the time we made our way to the station to catch the bus/train back to Jolly Ole' but as we walked in and looked at the departure boards, all of the destinations were in Wales. I checked the timetables and discovered with that pit-in-the-stomach feeling that the last train back was at 10:00pm. It was of course now 10:15. After confirming that there was indeed no more transport back to England, we settled into the reality of finding a hostel. Luckily the bus attendant knew of one, and very kindly gave us directions.
We crossed the River Taff into Riverside and decided it might be best to look up hostels in Cardiff in case we didn't find the place. Again my phone provided me with access to the web, though I was a bit nervous using it whilst walking through a strange neighbourhood after dark. We found the place without encountering any muggers, terrorists or other harm-doers, and walked into a lobby of Backpacker next to a bustling hostel bar. There were, luckily, two beds left and we happily paid the £16 each.
The hostel reminded me a lot of the one in Bruges that Darryl and I had stayed at a year prior. In fact there were brochures for that very hostel in the brochure rack. After getting the skinny on the situation from the friendly attendant, we made our way up to the room, passing by the rooftop patio, which we decided we would sit out on after popping down the shop for a couple pint-sized cans. On the walk, though, having not found any shops other than take-aways, we decided to head back into Cardiff.
The city was, by this time, bustling with nighttime activity. St. Mary Street (the main drag) had been blocked off in anticipation of the evening and people were spilling out onto the street. The paddywagons were on standby, and the mounted police made an appearance or two. The rain was starting to tip down by this time, and after being handed a flyer for an album release party with two-for-one entry, we decided to head to a place called Metros.
We were a bit disappointed that there wasn't a band playing, but the music was good and the atmosphere was nice so we stayed. One of the servers was coming around with test tube shots, one of which was "absinthe." I was intrigued and asked her a bunch of questions that she couldn't answer to verify its quality. Eventually I decided to take the plunge, and concluded that this was merely very strong Sambuca with green colouring. We found our way back to the hostel without incident.
In the morning we treated ourselves to free breakfast and then headed down to the riverside for the weekly Sunday farmer's market. We grabbed a tea/coffee at a little Continental café, and then caught the bus back to Bristol.
Back in the Bridge, we wandered around City Centre, taking in the Architecture Centre, Arnolfini Gallery, and the bus show at the Amphitheatre. There were buses of all ages by the dozens, with booths set up selling model buses and photographs of buses from all over Britain past and present. We made our way up Park Street to the Bristol institution that is the Magic Roll (a hummous, lettuce, carrot, sauce filled pita, rolled and grilled). Unfortunately it was closed so we settled for an old favourite, Tom's, a great pie diner.
Brad caught his bus back to London shortly thereafter and the Welsh weekend came to a close. We were both actually quite pleased that we missed the train. It was nice to stay out later and stay in a hostel again. It reminded me why I came over here in the first place, to travel.
My travels took me to Somerset soon after to explore the English line of my ancestry. Stay tuned for that.
Cheers.
Brad arrived at Marlborough Street Bus Station around 10:00am on Saturday. We had decided that we would go to Cardiff for the day, as Brad had not yet been to Wales and was keen to take advantage of my close proximity. We wandered through Broadmead, Bristol's outdoor/indoor shopping centre, on our way to look at Cabot Circus, a new extension of the area, scheduled to open in September. Along the route we came across John Wesley's (founder of the Methodist Church) New Rooms. I had stopped in here a few weeks prior and wanted to briefly show Brad the three-hundred-year-old church building. As luck would have it there were sandwiches, squares and hot drinks to be had, thanks to the people of Totterdown. We enjoyed a nibble and then made our way.
Stopping at St. Nicholas Market for a coffee, we eventually arrived at the train station, and bought our tickets to Cardiff. We switched to a replacement bus service at Bristol Parkway, which was great because it meant crossing the Bristol Channel over the water rather than under. We arrived in Cardiff shortly thereafter. Naturally the first stop was Millennium Stadium. Access to the walk alongside it was restricted due to an event, so we crossed the River Taff and crossed back near the castle walls, entering Bute Park.
We eventually made our way to the Civic Centre, where we stumbled upon a booth at the back of the museum. The pair there had two powerful telescopes set up, trained at the clock tower of City Hall. They invited us in to see the three Peregrin falcon chicks nesting on a ledge.
The aforementioned event at the stadium was the big screen viewing of one of the most important matches of the year, the FA Cup, which coincidentally enough was being played by Cardiff City and Portsmouth. The big action was at Wembley Stadium in London, but the people of Cardiff who weren't lucky enough to get tickets were packing the pubs around town. We stopped in at one for some lunch. The inside was a bit crowded so we sat on the patio, and followed the game on my phone whilst eating the finest and yet very reasonably priced burgers either of us had had in some time.
We continued wandering around Cardiff, and eventually stopped in at a Cuban-themed bar/restaurant to catch the closing moments of the game, which saw Cardiff losing to Portsmouth by two goals. Surprisingly no riots ensued. The Welsh are just a little more able to deal with defeat I guess.
After the dust had settled we began to make our way to Cardiff Bay. The last time I had made that journey, I was following a parade, along Lloyd George Avenue. This time, we decided to walk along the other side of the tracks, and it really was the other side of the tracks. Council housing estates line the street and large groups of loud drunken locals were making their way back to City Centre from the Bay. The police were there with their paddywagons to make sure order was maintained. After the events of the previous week in Manchester, when Scottish and Russian fans ran amok after the European final, the police were on their guard. All in all, we only witnessed one arrest on the way.
On the streets of Cardiff Bay, we found a mess of papers lying in the street which turned out, oddly enough, to be drawings and documents from an architectural practice. Further along workers were cleaning up Roald Dahl Plass, where presumably another big screen had been set up. The bars of Mermaid Quay were filled with people. We stopped for a coffee again and continued to explore Cardiff Bay, taking in all the architecture, new and old, nicely done and overdone. We missed a few opportunities to visit some places, as the evening hours were descending. We made our way back to the centre, stopping in at the Golden Cross for a pint of Brains.
One thing Brad and I share is indecisiveness, and we couldn't for the life of us decide whether to go back to Bristol to eat or to eat before leaving Cardiff. I remember saying, purely for effect, "Do you want to eat here or go back to England?" In the end we decided to stick around and eventually stopped in at a loosely New Orleans-themed restaurant for some grub. It was going 10:00pm by the time we made our way to the station to catch the bus/train back to Jolly Ole' but as we walked in and looked at the departure boards, all of the destinations were in Wales. I checked the timetables and discovered with that pit-in-the-stomach feeling that the last train back was at 10:00pm. It was of course now 10:15. After confirming that there was indeed no more transport back to England, we settled into the reality of finding a hostel. Luckily the bus attendant knew of one, and very kindly gave us directions.
We crossed the River Taff into Riverside and decided it might be best to look up hostels in Cardiff in case we didn't find the place. Again my phone provided me with access to the web, though I was a bit nervous using it whilst walking through a strange neighbourhood after dark. We found the place without encountering any muggers, terrorists or other harm-doers, and walked into a lobby of Backpacker next to a bustling hostel bar. There were, luckily, two beds left and we happily paid the £16 each.
The hostel reminded me a lot of the one in Bruges that Darryl and I had stayed at a year prior. In fact there were brochures for that very hostel in the brochure rack. After getting the skinny on the situation from the friendly attendant, we made our way up to the room, passing by the rooftop patio, which we decided we would sit out on after popping down the shop for a couple pint-sized cans. On the walk, though, having not found any shops other than take-aways, we decided to head back into Cardiff.
The city was, by this time, bustling with nighttime activity. St. Mary Street (the main drag) had been blocked off in anticipation of the evening and people were spilling out onto the street. The paddywagons were on standby, and the mounted police made an appearance or two. The rain was starting to tip down by this time, and after being handed a flyer for an album release party with two-for-one entry, we decided to head to a place called Metros.
We were a bit disappointed that there wasn't a band playing, but the music was good and the atmosphere was nice so we stayed. One of the servers was coming around with test tube shots, one of which was "absinthe." I was intrigued and asked her a bunch of questions that she couldn't answer to verify its quality. Eventually I decided to take the plunge, and concluded that this was merely very strong Sambuca with green colouring. We found our way back to the hostel without incident.
In the morning we treated ourselves to free breakfast and then headed down to the riverside for the weekly Sunday farmer's market. We grabbed a tea/coffee at a little Continental café, and then caught the bus back to Bristol.
Back in the Bridge, we wandered around City Centre, taking in the Architecture Centre, Arnolfini Gallery, and the bus show at the Amphitheatre. There were buses of all ages by the dozens, with booths set up selling model buses and photographs of buses from all over Britain past and present. We made our way up Park Street to the Bristol institution that is the Magic Roll (a hummous, lettuce, carrot, sauce filled pita, rolled and grilled). Unfortunately it was closed so we settled for an old favourite, Tom's, a great pie diner.
Brad caught his bus back to London shortly thereafter and the Welsh weekend came to a close. We were both actually quite pleased that we missed the train. It was nice to stay out later and stay in a hostel again. It reminded me why I came over here in the first place, to travel.
My travels took me to Somerset soon after to explore the English line of my ancestry. Stay tuned for that.
Cheers.
posted by Mark Bauche at 10:55 PM
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