Day five. Feels like forever.

Things to know about Wales:

- Wales is okay very pretty.
- Wales shuts down entirely by 5 PM.
- Wales is full of birds that get up at 4 AM and do not stop and they all sound like they are screaming.

Guess I'd best go do something, then.

* * *

Waaaaaales. It's so gorgeous. There are, in fact, sheep everywhere, but it becomes very soothing to see them. And it's so green, and there are little stone fences between the bits of green. I love it like I love Iowa, and I am well aware that few people share that love. But it adds sea and mountains to that, the two things I miss the most when I am there. Yes, I know, this is too early for me to shout my love from the hills; I only got to spend a day and a half here. Poor planning on my part, I suppose.

Now, the thing that the Isles have up on the places I've spent most of my life is the presence of mountains. (Technically there's Mt. Diablo, which I haven't even tried since I was a youngun [and knowing me I may have dreamed the whole thing anyway], but it's a pain to get to.) Therefore, I figured while I was near Snowdonia I might as well climb one. And the easiest one to get to, and the one with the most options, is the crown jewel, Snowdon, Yr Wyddfa herself. So I figured since I woke up at 4 determined to climb a mountain, I'd best go for that one. Turns out Snowdon is taller than anything else in Wales, England, or Ireland ... but that just makes it more interesting.

On the way to y cloc to catch a bus to Llanberis, where the safest path up starts ('cos I know I'm not prepared for any remotely treacherous climbs, not to mention it was the one with a direct bus) I stopped by the internet cafe to grab something for breakfast. I appear to have stopped really getting hungry ever since I got on that plane, but there's no sense in climbing a mountain on an empty stomach, so I grabbed a raspberry and meringue confabulation. Kids, if you are ever in Bangor for any reason, go to the Orient Expresso. 364 High Street. Tell the lady with the patchwork hair that the girl from California sent you, and get a sandwich while you're at it. Fantastic, and I had her fooled for a U of Wales student so I'm kind of fond of her for that.

Rode the bus to Llanberis down roads not built for more than one car at a time past sheep and grass and ruined stone cottages. There was a convoy of miscellaneous east Asian students being chaperoned by two Welsh farmkids, the girl with her perfect blond plaits explaining her love of God. (At least some of the kids were definitely Japanese, as they were speaking it, but I'm pretty sure I heard some languages I didn't recognize so we'll go with "east Asian". Somewhat unexpected for the middle of nowhere, Wales; maybe they were from the University.) They ended up heading for the train, but I promised the Sligo woman in my cabin that I would walk up Snowdon or not at all, so I headed for the footpath.

The photos I took tell the story from here better than I can. The path from Llanberis is pretty easy most of the way and more tiring than treacherous the rest. Lots of shale to walk on, lots of sheep baaing in the distance, lots of sun, lots of wind. I thought I would get blown off the top once I got there, and it does happen, but not even my immense clumsiness could get me into too much trouble with so many people around. Lest you think I charged up a mountain with nothing but raspberry and meringue in my stomach, I did get a cup of tea at the cafe halfway up. Because who can say no to a cup of tea 570m up a mountain? At the very top is a marker, but everybody crowds around it and parks themselves there and makes it quite difficult to get to, so I didn't stay long. And the battery on my camera ran out, so I have no good pictures of that bit, but I think it's enough to show I did it. (I didn't see Ireland, though; supposedly you can, but it was too misty for it that day, at least.) Going down was the worst, really. I thought my knees were going to mutiny. Let's just say I was very happy to get back on that bus to sit for an hour.

Stopped by the cafe on my way back, since the woman waved at me through the window. I never did get down to the pier on time to get one of their famous scones, since they're only open 10-4 on weekends; if you go, get one for me, would you? Spent the rest of the evening in with a pint of local honey bitter and a Portsmouth woman who mostly said "um, yes" but was fairly likable once you got past all that. Good day, good day.