Day twenty-six

 26^th May 2009    WALES

Lost in the folds of a map

I lay awake, hands behind my head, looking up at the ceiling… still a little too early to make a move… its day twenty-six… if I’m to do this walk in forty days, that’s me pretty much two thirds of the way through this little adventure.

Not wanting to… but I find myself asking what it is I’m doing here… a little bit of doubt creeps in… it is not the same kind of doubt I felt at the very top of Scotland, when I questioned whether such a walk could be done without having money in my pocket. That doubt was more concerned with the physical aspects of the walk… such things as: did I have it in me to take on such a walk, could I stay dry, would I find shelter at the end of each day, would people be willing to feed a stranger. I remember at the beginning of this walk; I somehow had a belief in both the generosity and in the hearts of the people that I had not yet met… and that they would see me through this walk… any doubts in that department over these past weeks, have been knocked out of the park for six… people do care… they really do… Maybe I shouldn’t but I feel quietly confident that I have the rest of this walk under my belt… a belt, for all that I have been given, I had still needed to tighten a little…

The doubt that is creeping into my head as I get ready for another new day, is more the ‘What’s it all for’ kind of doubt. After having a shower, I head downstairs, Stella, the owner of the hostel shows me where the bread, butter, jam, cereal and the milk is all kept. I am told not to step out of the hostel hungry… “Thank you Stella”. I eat a bowl of cornflakes, leaning up against a worktop waiting for the toast to pop out of the toaster, the kettle has just boiled… so here I am, making tea, buttering toast while at the same time eating cornflakes, annoyed that Mr doubt had followed me down the stairs. Five minutes later I’m sat at a table alone in the dining room, tea and toast in front of me, looking out of the window, I see an overcast sky… and again I wonder at what is the value, the purpose of such a walk… cannot help but think of how many more roads lay ahead of me…

I look away from the window and close my eyes, take a bite of toast, I can imagine my two little ones sat across the table… dad (that’s me) out of sight of mum is pushing a full slice of toast into his mouth and at the same time pulling a silly face… the girls are laughing… and without any warning, in my head the tables are turned… I become the kid sat at the table, feet not yet reaching the floor watching my dad pushing a full round of toast into his mouth… and yeah, pulling a silly face,,, mum wondering why her boys are laughing.

After saying thanks to Stella, I step out of the hostel… I try to put both the doubts and daydreams aside. Taking the map out of my side pocket, I realize that I’m not sure where it is I’m heading for today… I wind my way out of Bala… knowing that I need to be heading in a south westerly direction, through the Berwyn hills. This part of Wales is many times forgotten by hill walkers… when thinking of the mountains and of Wales, it is Snowdonia in the north or the Brecon Beacons in the south that will come to mind… there are many hills and mountain ranges in-between… if you are wanting to get into the hills and away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, then these are the places to go. There is a forgotten wilderness here… you can walk all day and not see another soul.

The map tells me I should be heading in the direction of a place called Llangynog… with map still in hand, it is not long before I’m heading out of Bala, I see a dad playing with his little girl, the little one keeps running behind her dad and the dad is pretending he can’t find her… the dad is lost in the game “Somebody help, I’ve lost my little girl”, each time he turns around the little one runs behind her dad, laughing out loud. There is a joy, an innocence, something incredibly pure in the laughter of little ones… I cannot help but smile. I look at the map again, in front of me, wide open space, above an overcast sky, all around me the Berwyn hills, I glance behind, the little girl high up in her dad’s arms, legs kicking and still giggling. I push the map into my side pocket… underfoot I have a whole lot of open road that needs walking.

I think in another life I would have been a Cartographer (the art of putting together and the production of maps). In my mountain rescue days I could spend a whole evening studying an Ordnance Survey map, trying to understand better the lay of the land… with a little bit knowledge (…and imagination) you could picture how it is the ice moved through the landscape… the contour lines on a map talks of how rock and ice came face to face… (eye to eye, I’m not so sure)…the mountains and valleys that we walk through today are the scars of those battles, battles that came to an end close to twenty-five thousand years ago… a conflict that had lasted for three times as many years (…our last ice age). After the ice had given up the fight and melted away into our oceans, leaving behind streams, rivers and fresh water lakes (like the lake at Bale, I was skimming stones across yesterday)… and as the sun fell on to this barren landscape the temperature became a little warmer, pioneering plant species moved in to colonize, starting with lichens followed by fungi, grasses and ferns… trees were next to follow… give or take a few thousand years, ancient woodland with wild boars, bears and other creatures would establish themselves and thrive. Our ancestors moved in, the hunting was good… and the hunter slowly became farmer, instead of a nomadic lifestyle they began to settle down, working the fertile lands, growing crops in the broad valleys and open plains, domesticating cattle, boar and fowl… With food becoming a little more secure, they turn their hands to other projects, they built henges, dykes, stone circles, burial mounds, wooden forts. Settlements became small villages, rudimentary byways and highway connecting one village to another were being created… move on several thousands of years… stone circle turn into churches, the byways cobbled, wooden forts become stone castles… and again, add on another several thousands of years we are building magnificent cathedrals, digging canals and laying railways, 2-4-6-8 motorways… and building cities from steel, glass, rock… (‘n’ roll… Me and my radio truckin on thru the night…). 

The unfolding of a map for me can many times be the same as opening the pages of a book… I get lost in the stories, lost in thought and many times I find myself in a different place to where it is I guess I should be… stumble across an iron age hillfort within the folds of a map and instead of figuring out what route I need to be taking, I’m lost in another world, wondering at what the day-to-day life must have been like for a farmer in an age of iron.

By late morning, I see a little bit of blue sky breaking through… The sun always looks better when its battling with grey skies… the blue, the grey, the play of light, a little bit of haze, thrown into the mix, the added chance of a rainbow… yeah it’s my kinda weather.

The road that I’m walking on is skirting around the southern slopes of a hill called Moal Sych, that is to the left of me and to my right I look down into Cwm Rhiweirth (cwm meaning valley in English) I see fields with a variety of different crops… at the centre of this wide valley runs the River Eirth (river meaning afon in Welsh)… and up on the slopes I see sheep grazing… yeah, this is definitely my island in the sun with its shades of grey skies and green fields… this pleasant land will always be my home, that is not to say there are not another thousand homes across this world that are just as beautiful… I half close my eyes (again not a good idea when walking on roads) and bring to mind some of the many homes around the world that I have had the privilege of being welcomed through their front doors, to a hardy handshake, an embrace… a coffee pushed into hand, the sharing of stories and the laughing at stupid things… I smile. Suddenly a tractor and trailer rumbles past, I again open my eyes wide… the many front doors and kitchen tables fade and to my annoyance doubt and the ‘what’s it all for’ kinda stuff creeps back in… I guess I must have left one of the doors open before they had fully faded away.

So what of this doubt (a doubt that is as real as real is) that continues to question the value of such a walk… In the introduction I talked of wanting to make an offering… an offering… yeah, I know it all sounds a little archaic. On day one of this walk when I stepped into that empty church at Altnaharra and quietly sat down on one of the benches near the front, with a head full of questions… the lines of a song came to mind… ‘it’s me, it’s me oh Lord standing in the need of prayer’… If I’m honest, much of the time I’m a little clumsy in prayer… not in the right head space, stumbling over words … far better to get up of my knees and re-tie the laces of these falling apart pair of walking boots… with the idea, to turn the walk into a prayer… an offering… I don’t believe the world was ever meant to be in such a mess… and yet at the same time, how can it not be, we live in a world of nearly seven billion people with a million different ideas on how the world should be, and then add on top of that the flaws, contradictions and the nonsense within each of those seven billion people (me included). Is it any wonder we get the headlines we hear on the radio (…as I’m truckin on thru the night). What I sometimes think, is that it’s a miracle this muddled up world is still bumbling along at all… Hmm so what is this walk all about… I guess I wanted to (just for a while anyway) step out of this upside-down world, empty my pockets of it and to have the faith to step into another world… into a world that I believe should have been (…and still could be). To take a walk in a world of truth, beauty, goodness and above all love. Here’s the thing, to believe in something… you need faith… when a pencil is dropped, I don’t have to believe that it will fall to the ground… my rudimentary understanding and knowledge of how this world works, allows me to know (to know) without any doubt that the pencil when dropped will fall to the floor (belief is not necessary… it’s about physics) … but to believe in something you cannot see nor fully understand… that is when you need faith… and where there is faith, you can be sure doubt will always be knocking at the door… especially if you leave a fading door open… and yet to close that door, do we not takeaway the chance of stepping into that better world…I don’t know…

…faith, doubt, belief, a little bit of physics, a different world, skimming stones and falling pencils… it is not always easy being who it is we are… I take my hands out of my pockets, rub my chin… I need a shave… with hands on top of my head I turn full circle… I look at the hills across the valley. I talk of miracles, and of bumbling through… maybe sometimes we need to stop and take a step back, close our eyes, turn around, count to three… do whatever it is we need to do, so as to see the world a little differently… we should not let doubt get the better of us. This world is crammed with miracles… from the blades of grass at our feet to the grey sky’s holding water way above our heads… from the innocent laughter of a little one, to the impossible smiles and the generosity of strangers… miracles that we many times take for granted, we see them all as a given, common place… I say not at all… if we squint our eyes just a little it’s possible to see this world for what it is… a miracle.

Taking a step back, closing my eyes, counting to three, turning full circle… the miracle is that I don’t fall over my own feet. I think best to stick with putting one foot in front of the other… I still have a lot of road in front of me before the day is done. It is early afternoon when I walk into the small village of Llangynog, a place where two rivers meet, the Afon Erith and the Afon Tanat, the village sits in the shadow of Craig Rhiwarth (over 1700 feet tall) and on top of that hill one of the highest iron age hill forts in Wales. I walk into the Tanat Valley Inn in the hope of a cup of tea and maybe a sandwich. The landlord, a Dei Williams, listens to my story without expression. He looks to be a hard man…I cannot help thinking that he has just walked down the side of the hill and through time from the iron age settlement high above. “You on the scrounge boy”. “I guess I am” I say with half a grin. Dei smiles and then laughs, “Go sit yourself down”, five minutes later I have a pot of tea and a ploughman’s lunch in front of me. “Wow thank you so much”. A tough guy with a generous heart.

Half an hour later and I am back outside… Dei shakes my hand (with the grip of an iron age hand)… wishes me well. “Thank you, Dei… Thank you”. That’s me back on the road, the sky a little grey but I think no rain. Looking at the map, I decide to aim for the small town of Llanfyllin in the hope of finding a place to stay the night. The roads are quiet, the hobbling steady, there is birdsong on the breeze. I look behind, Mr Doubt is dragging his feet, the distance between us is widening. An hour, maybe a little more I walk into the small village of Penybontfawr and another cup of tea in a tiny café… Thank you Iona… out the café and again I look behind, I see Doubt in the distance, if he’s wanting to hang around with me, he’s not gonna have time to stop for a brew.

It is six o’clock when I reach the small town of Llanfyllin… it’s been a long day, legs are tired, the head to… I find a church and in finding the church I find the home of the minister, (again feeling awkward) I knock, and the door is opened by the minister’s mum and dad. “Sorry the minister is away, can we help”. I share my story. They want to put me up in a Bed and Breakfast. I say thank you, but I turn the offer down (it didn’t feel right to accept). As I set off, the dad calls out to me “there’s a Workhouse about half a mile out of town, maybe you’ll have some luck there”. “A workhouse, thank you”… hmm, nothing to lose I guess. I find the place, push open the iron gate and walk towards this stone and red brick Victorian building, Bleak House comes to mind… the world of Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, the young Pip... I hear Ebenezer Scrooge asking some guy “… and the Union workhouses are they still in operation”. “They still are” replied the gentleman “I wish I could say they were not”. Ebenezer snorts back “The Treadmill and Poor Law are in full vigour then”… It is hard to imagine such days, the misery and heartbreak that must have taken place within these buildings. 

I walk around the back; I am met by a bunch of young dudes. I explain myself and I am welcomed, dinner is cooked and after we sit around an open fire with mugs of tea and coffee. Phil, Richard, Kate and the rest of the gang had taken ownership of the workhouse (legally) and set about restoring this old house into a venue for holding art, craft and music events, a place they could hold workshops. We sit and talk for some time; I am given a tour of the place… and then another tea and shown a quiet place to roll out my sleeping bag.

I lay awake, I have talked of two different worlds… I was wrong, there is only the one blue planet and like this old building it is a beautiful place… it is not the building (nor is it planet Earth) that decides what goes on inside its premises… that is our responsibility, we decide. Do we make a little one laugh or to make them cry, to treat others with cruelty or with kindness, do we love or do we hate… it is we who choose, we can create a world of beauty or a world that is ugly.

What these guys are doing is something we should all be doing… and that is to take ownership… they have a vision, a believe and a faith to see this project through to the end (I don’t think Mr Doubt would last five minutes here). I guess our job is to take a sad song and make it better.