Discovering Swansea's Industrial Heritage #1

The fun part of holidaying with three generations is that you get to do lots of different types of activity. It's easier if the youngest is a teenager and not subject to the tyranny of naps, and that he is amenable to tagging along to things he might not be initially interested in.

Gower is full of history, and the Swansea area in particular, has an amazing industrial past. The Waterfront Museum at the Marina will have your eyes on stalks at the sheer quantity and variety of industry that has existed in Wales. Did you know, for example, that Swansea was known as 'Copperopolis'? It was the heart of the world copper industry in the nineteenth century.

Copper ore was mined in Cornwall and shipped to Swansea, a prime location because of its harbour and easy access to local sources of cheap, suitable coal. You need three to four tons of coal to smelt one ton of copper ore so it made sense to transport the ore by ship up the River Tawe to the copper smelting works in the Swansea valley. The copper was then transported to the factories in the Midlands.

If you take a boat ride from the Marina on the 'Copper Jack', you can see some of the remnants and ruins of this industrial powerhouse.

Take a boat ride on the 'Copper Jack', Swansea Marina

We floated slowly up the River Tawe along with a full boat-load of passengers ranging from pushchair young to wheelchair-bound old. Once out of the Marina, a DVD started on a screen at the front of the boat and described in real time what we were seeing and why.

Notch at far end enabled ships to berth right up to the quay

We learned a lot about the industrial history of Swansea, and the damage done to the environment because of the success of the factories.

Chimneys and remnants of Hafod-Morfa copperworks

Separating copper from copper ore produced mountains of furnace ash and slag, and clouds of smoke laced with arsenic and sulphur. Workers were consumptive and the countryside all around was a desert. My mother was among the people on the boat who were locals and remembered what it was like, where absolutely nothing would grow.

Red brick former ice house

They marveled at the transformation of the banks which are now a verdant green and abundantly covered with bushes and trees. The pollution ended only with the decline and extinction of the copper industry. Good for Nature, bad for business.

However, the Hafod-Morfa copperworks is being regenerated. It's on a twelve-and-a-half acre site that contains twelve significant industrial heritage buildings and structures. Wales has woken up to the importance of its history, and there is funding to make the most of what remains.

The Swansea project was started back in 2010 by the council in conjunction with Swansea University, lead by Professor Huw Bowen, and plans include the creation of a centre for tourism, business, education and work. They are creating interpretation trails and a living history laboratory where visitors can learn about Swansea's leading role in the Industrial Revolution and development of the global economy.

Motorbike and Boats

After the storms of the beginning of the week, the end of it promised sunshine and warm weather. My DB suggested we take advantage of it with a bike ride down the coast.

I made some hummus and packed some buckwheat crackers and a couple of apples and we set off for beach. The temperature was perfect for biking in a leather jacket - not too hot nor too cold. The sky was blue and it felt great to be out and enjoying the advantages of living in the south of France.

We cruised from Villeneuve-les-Maguelones to Marseillan where I saw a flock of flamingoes flying east. Would they be spending the winter in Palavas-les-Flots on the shallow lagoons, or would they be taking a right turn and head further south? They made a magnificent sight in their V formation flapping purposefully en route to their destination.

We, on the other hand, didn't have a destination. Our goal was the journey. Journeys give you time to think and reflect. My DB wanted the opportunity to think about projects and plans which he does best whilst riding. I let the scenery impress itself on me, living in the moment, breathing in the smells of the sea and warm pine.

Along some of the coast, it's so built up and fenced off for camp sites, it's quite tricky finding a place to stop at the beach. Eventually we stopped for lunch at Marseillan Plage, having spotted some concrete picnic tables along the canal near a desolate-looking hotel called Le Richemont. Several people were fishing, and some of the tables were occupied by visitors enjoying al fresco eating. It was not a particularly attractive spot, but it was the best we could find that was near the sea.

Best we could find for a picnic, canal on the right

After lunch we rode on to Valras-Plage where we found a tiny road that gave us access to a beach for a snooze. It looked like people had fenced off plots of land leading down to the sea, but because they were designated as non-constructible, they had installed caravans in amongst the trees. With time, the caravans aged and so it looked like a glorified dump of decay in a beautiful setting. The smell of cooking fish was strong too.

The car park was tiny. Obviously the beach was supposed to be a well-kept secret and available to residents and the odd stray visitor who happened upon it by accident. Storm damage was evident in the detritus that was collected on the sand, from whole tree trunks to strands of reeds and other bits of wood.

A right mess after the storm

After our snooze, we carried on, hugging the coast where possible or following the green roads inland for a while in the Massif de la Clape near Narbonne. From flat and wild scrub, they took us through some rugged hills and sweet-smelling forests. The view of the blue sea between the trees from on high just before the road descended to the coast was spectacular.

At Gruissan, we decided to look for a hotel. Unfortunately, the only one we could find that was open, not full and not a dump was at the casino. It was a busy weekend because there was a jousting competition going on. So we tried Gruissan-Plage where the film 37°2 was filmed amongst the cabins on stilts. It was a little eery all closed up except for the odd weekender tending to his garage. We retraced our steps back to Narbonne-Plage where everywhere was full. This we hadn't expected - the first weekend in October, and not a room to be had?

Gruissan-Plage chalets, location for the film 37°2

Eventually, with Trip Advisor and Booking.com suggesting the only place with rooms was the casino, we headed back and took a very pleasant room overlooking a lake. It was slightly confusing taking a shower though as the taps had been plumbed in the wrong way, so there I was, wondering why there was no hot water...

View from hotel room

That evening, we didn't go for a flutter in the casino, but walked into Gruissan to the port for dinner. There were lots of places open, so it was hard choosing, and we walked up and down several times before I chose one place where we could eat outside. It turned out to be the restaurant of the hotel that was full, the Hotel du Port. My fresh daube was delicious, its flesh soft and creamy and enhanced by citrus slices. My DB had a tasty salmon tartare which he said was just what he needed after stuffing his face with barbecue flavoured crisps earlier. The staff were very friendly, and we were the last to leave just as it started getting chilly. It was a lovely evening and the port was alive with people enjoying one of the last balmy evenings of the year.

The next morning, we woke up refreshed from the extremely comfortable bed, and walked to the port for coffee and croissants. It was extremely lively with a rowing competition in full flow. Teams (both men and women, and even mixed) in heavy wooden boats rowed 50m or so up to a buoy, then turned around it and rowed back cheered on by enthusiastic onlookers. It was extremely windy and I should think it was exhausting rowing the final straight into the wind.

We ate a couple of croissants before my DB decided to look up the number of calories in each one. Did you know a croissant has 406 calories? I thought it would be about 200! We needed the walk around the port after that to burn them off!

Gruissan port is huge and very busy with sail boats in every berth. The architecture of the flats is very 70s although they made a bit of an effort with the rounded tops, but the actual construction is pretty crappy. Still, there are lovely views over the port. We walked round to the dry docks where there were many different types of boats on supports including an old grey landing craft. The rigging clanged and thwacked in the gusty wind. We had to battle against round but I could feel those calories burn right off.

Quite a variety of boats, from sleek modern to traditional wooden. 

A landing craft incongruous amongst the other boats.

A man fishing for his cat?

The wind was actually a bit of a problem as my DB didn't want to ride the bike in the strong gusts. He negotiated with the hotel for us to stay until 1.30pm when hopefully it would have died down somewhat.

We left on time in a more subdued breeze and headed back to Montpellier via a north-easterly direction following the sat-nav's idea of scenic routes, and those green roads where possible.

Tiny single-lane track of the scenic type

We passed through the villages of Aude and Hérault, some barely bigger than they were fifty years ago, others expanded in sprawling estates of new boxy houses on the outskirts.

Boxy houses at the entrance to charming old village

We crossed the Canal du Midi, still magnificently lined with plane trees... for the moment.

Canal du Midi

The previous day we had crossed a bridge where on one side the age old (diseased) trees were still in place, and on the other, they had been cut down and replaced with young trees. One side was shady and atmospheric, an historic waterway listed as a world heritage site, the other was glaringly open to the elements, and... just a canal.

We made it back in good time to find the house relatively clean and tidy and no evidence of anything untoward... like wild parties or extreme cooking.

Somewhere with Schoenenberger

I left you admiring the twists and turns of the Gorges de l'Ardeche, by the end of which we were all gorged out and racing towards Pont St Esprit. There are two remarkable things about this town. The first is the huge market and endless events (or it seems like it because there's been something on each time I've been there), and the other is how windy it is. The wind comes howling down the Rhone valley and when you're on this bridge over the Ardeche a few kilometres from where it meets the Rhone, you get a major buffeting.

Bridge over the river Ardeche

I stuck my arm out to get the photo above which nearly upset the stability of the bike, so windy was it. My DB yelled at me to keep my arm in!

Zen garden river banks

I don't know why they comb the river banks, but it sure looks like a Zen garden occupation.

Once over the bridge, we had to come back again as there was nowhere on that side that we wanted to be, so I kept my arms closely tucked in as we ventured across again, and headed out towards St Ambroix in search of a hotel.

Once there, it seemed rather a dump, so I got out my phone and had a look on Trip Advisor for somewhere to stay nearby. A phone with 3G has definite advantages! Up popped the Hotel le Clos des Arts at les Mages a couple of kilometres away.

Future restaurant with Egyptian cat greets you as you ride up the drive to the main house

Main hotel/museum reception and breakfast room

What is remarkable about this hotel is that it was originally the home of the late Marcel Schoenenberger (d. 2004), the sculptor, who was born in Alsace and specialised in mother and child forms. He bought it for his family of six children, three of whom have been restoring it for the last 25 years. Goodness, what a gigantic work it's been too, but they've made a magnificent job of it. The restaurant on the drive up is the latest addition to the hotel.

Rooms, starting at €57

The demeure also houses a museum dedicated to the works of Marcel and Olivier Schoenenberger with 700m² of sculptures. We didn't actually visit the museum this time as I had to get back to Montpellier, but it certainly looks worth it from the website. As the restaurant was a work in progress, we ordered a couple of pizzas and a bottle of rosé which were delivered in good time, and sat out on the terrace enjoying our dinner in the end of summer evening warmth.

One of many sculptures dotted about by Marcel Schoenenberger

The next day (after a €7.50 breakfast for me), we took mini roads back towards Alès and beyond, only a few metres wide but very pretty (if slightly hazardous).

Scattered about were more tiny hamlets that make you wonder how their residents make a living, and how they must be at the height of wintry weather. It can't be fun tackling 10km of tiny icy road every time you run out of sugar!

Not a gite

Not a gite either

All these sights were at most less than two hours from where we live. It's all there on our doorstep for the taking. What a region!

More Nowhere

We were not prepared to pay €10 each for breakfast at the Hotel du Lyon, but I did get my DB a couple of espressos from the breakfast bar without which he's fit for nothing, and we weren't charged for them!

He was now as perky as a cricket but I was not, and needed brekky of some sort. We rode out of town and headed north and eventually came across another tiny spot which had a 'biker friendly' bar-restaurant.

The inside was gaily decorated with the St George's Cross flag, the NZ flag, the Dutch flag and the Italian flag for no rhyme or reason apparently, and nothing to do with rugby. The patron just likes flags... It was not busy, so we asked if we could have coffee and croissant and although the bar had none, as luck would have it, the young local boulanger was there quaffing a quick one and said he thought he had two left.

Off he went to pick them up and he arrived back while the coffee was still steaming. I've had some bad croissants in my time, the last in living memory being the one I had on the TGV this summer. It was particularly disgusting in comparison to the delicious true croissant I had bought on my way to the station from the proper boulangerie down the road. Unfortunately I didn't buy enough and was still hungry. Serve me right!

Anyway, what was set down without ceremony onto the table in the little bar was even worse than the TGV croissant. I don't know what it was made of - donkey fat and old shoe leather perhaps - but it tasted nothing like a croissant. I can't imagine the local lad made them by hand, he probably got them as a job lot for the freezer from the nearest industrial estate. They were fuel however...

Off we set again, onto the chilly high plateaux of Ardeche where it was 13.5°C. While they were still cavorting in little more than leather thongs and whips in Cap d'Agde, here they were wrapped up snugly in woollies and wellies.

It was Sunday morning and in the arrière pays, they close up at noon sharp. If we wanted a picnic lunch, we had to act, fast. We came to a village which had a tiny Proxy market whose owner was sweeping up outside - not a good sign. We jumped off the bike and asked if she was still open. A canny peasant, she was not one to shun a potential sale, she gave us two minutes in which time we found crisps, local cheese and Vals water. She had no bread however... neither did the boulangerie, nor the organic shack, nor anyone else. The entire village was clean out of bread and the bells were ringing out - DOOM  noon.

Thatched barn across the way from Proxy

We ended up with cheese and crisps for lunch!

That afternoon we drove along the Gorges de l'Ardeche where it was a much hotter 31°C! It's a very wiggly river, perfect for canoeing, 32km long I think, and with absolutely stunning views:

There were back to back camp-sites on the banks

I've got my eye on some of the caves in the cliff sides... just in case one needs a spot to hide away!

Middles of Nowheres

This weekend, the last of the summer, my DB and I decided to head for the hills, to the most deserted parts of France - Lozère and Ardèche. There is a (fairly small) part of me that would quite like to live in a remote spot with a huge freezer and grow veggies rather than rely on third or fourth parties for my food supply. The rest of me however, would go nuts without my friends and easy access to all the fun of the city.

Hamlet in the middle of nowhere, but with lots of trees

We liked the look of Mende though - small (just over 12000 inhabitants), and with no air link to Paris which must keep out the snotty Parisians and other undesirables nicely. We ended up in Vals les Bains on Saturday, a spa town where you cannot get a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning before 10.30am, so if you don't want to pay €10 for a hotel breakfast, you're fucked. I'm sure they're in cahoots, the hotels and bars.

Cabin where you can take the waters behind random sculptures of horses not taking the waters

The place was packed but we found a room in the Hotel du Lyon in the centre of town. A quick look on Trip Advisor and a couple of phone calls later and we realised that the restaurants were all full. Even our hotel, and if there's one thing that pisses me off it's not being able to eat in the hotel where we're staying. But, wait a minute, perhaps a table would free up a bit later, said the lady. Not ones to sit idly wasting an opportunity for an apero, we went in search of a spot to try the local brew - Bourganel beer, which came in a number of flavours including chestnut, and nougat!

Beer aux chestnuts plus gnat's pee lager

The chestnut one was pleasant enough but lacked body, sort of beer for the squeamish, suitable for spa town visitors on a bender between cures. The nougat one had a strong sweet smell and a definite nougat taste which was too much for me and could only be sold to the ever-renewing hoards of suckers game to try it for the novelty value. Yes, like us...

After our apero, we went back to the hotel to see if the table was free. It wasn't, so we popped over the road to wait for a table at the restaurant there. We sat outside with a glass of local rosé each and exchanged merry banter with the chaotic but laid back guy in charge who would have trouble organising his way out of a paper bag. We were directly opposite the hotel. If the lady there had popped her head outside the door she'd have seen us. She told us later that 5 mins after she sent us away, three tables became free and she was searching for us high and low. In the hotel. She didn't find us cos we were over the road, 5 metres away, waiting for a table there. There's something bizarre about spa town folk...

Eventually we were invited in to the restaurant and got a table on the terrace overlooking the river. Good thing we weren't in a hurry because the restaurant service was as haphazard as the bar service. Good thing it was worth waiting for too - lovely fresh food, not vacuum packed or frozen. There was no choice - they were chaotic but bossy - rillettes de poisson followed by duck breast in a creamy sauce with cracked wheat, courgettes and carrots in tidy piles. We got a bottle of a different rosé and were not charged for the first two glasses, not sure if they just forgot (probably), or were making a peace-offering.

Next morning, my DB wanted to go down to move his motorbike, but couldn't open the door at the bottom of our stairs - the handle had fallen off on the other side. He returned to our room to call reception, and they came up to rescue us without being too bothered by the fact that we could have all been burnt in our beds. I suppose we could have nipped out onto the roof and fallen through the tiles or lost our footing and gone rolling off to land with a splat onto the pavement below as alternative to a fiery demise. They charged us only €70 for the room instead of €76, giving us the €6 off for danger money I expect.

We left, thankful to be alive, hungry, and amused at the parallel universe nature of those spa town folks.

Sardinia - part 5 - Road Porn

So where was I with Sardinia? Oh yes, at that lovely hotel set in a fabulous old bourgeois house. The dinner was amazing, so was the breakfast - a buffet of delicious things to eat - cheeses, olive oil, tomatoes, fresh bread, jams, honey, Italian cakes and wedge-shaped boudoir biscuits - plus a juicer to make apple and/or carrot juice, and an orange squeezer to rustle up your morning's freshly squeezed orange (and lemon) juice.

I had to squeeze myself into my leather trousers for our journey south. The road down took us through a dankly mysterious wild oak forest in the midst of which were a couple of spiritual centres, obviously at one with the dark forces that inhabited the natural environment. Actually, they looked closed, so maybe not...

At Cuglieri we got an attendant to fill up the petrol tank, at €1.79 per litre! To give you an idea how much this hurt, just last week, petrol was €1.50 per litre at the local supermarket.

After a blustery ride across the plains (it did my 'ead in it did, all that wind), we came to a section of road porn. It started after Guspini at the foot of Mont Linas, along the N126 (in case you're interested...) towards Arbus and down to the marvellously named Fluminimaggiore (or Flumin'eck for those who can't get their head around the 8 syllables). My DB got the bit between his teeth and rode it like a bat out of hell (as it were) taking the corners like a jumping bean and roaring down the straighter bits.

You won't be surprised to know that I did not take any photos during this action scene, or that I felt a tad queasy at the end of it. I did admire though, the scenery of grey granite rock with stunted forests and sweet-smelling gorse. There was a nice little gorge with high sides and a road that lovingly followed every twist and turn of the brave little stream that had cut its way so effectively through the tough old rock.

After a short break at the end of the mountain section, we carried on and came to another section of biker's wet dream. So off he went, unable to resist the call of the road. I was very relieved when we got to Iglesias because I was tired and dying to use the loo. We found an unassuming little bar which had beautifully clean loos, and enjoyed a surprisingly delicious home-made sarnie or two each plus a decadent hot chocolate (me) and coffee (him), and got a bottle of water all for €10.20. Bargain or what!

Unassuming bar that turned out to be a gem

Much refreshed, we rode on to the island of S Antioco at the south-western corner of Sardinia which you get to via a bridge. It's not a big island but it's big enough to have two towns, one of which was Calasetta, near where we had booked our hotel for the night. Unlike most of the other Sard villages, Calasetta was all in whites and blues - very nautical, and laid out in a grid so it was very easy to get around. It had a little port where you could take a ferry to the smaller island of Isle di S Petro, just to the north. We didn't have time for that though, and the weather was so wet there wasn't any point. We did notice, however, the mini beaches of white powdery sand and turquoise water. Lovely.

Mini beach

Calasetta port

We had booked into the Michelin recommended Hotel Luci del Faro, the lighthouse hotel. Sounds very romantic, doesn't it? It wasn't really. You couldn't see the lighthouse from any part of the hotel; it's actually located a few hundred metres out to sea and you have to walk to the beach to see it. When I say beach, I actually mean the basalt rock at the water's edge. It's a lovely dark pinky brown and, a few metres inland, was full of wild rosemary. In front of the hotel you could visit a little historical site and see the vestiges of gun emplacements dating back to WWII, and a disintegrating gun-aiming station. All were a bit the worse for wear because the basalt bricks have not stood up well to the pounding they get from the wind, rain and salt.

Lighthouse out to sea

Gun aiming station

Still, it was very wild and woolly on the coast, and totally isolated. The wind blew in squalls and the air was heavy with moisture. Outside the hotel it was much more romantic in a 'Wuthering Heights' sort of way (in April at least).

Hotel Luci del Faro from the 'beach'

The hotel was nice enough but dinner was a sorry affair despite being part of the Michelin recommended hotel. Bland and boring is how I'd describe it, and at €15 for a main course, this was over-priced. Even the wine was bland. Our first bottle of white had no taste, it was like drinking sturdy water. We sent it back and got a bottle of organic red called Le Sabbie which turned out to be the only good thing about the meal.

It was probably due to the uninspiring food, you know how it is, you're frustrated with what you're eating (and paying too much for) and take it out on the person nearest to you, well my DB did.. This did nothing to improve dinner in general although the wine helped... Anyway, dinner was a flop, but we made it up later...

Sardinia - part 4 - Santu Lussargiu

It was Sunday and all the Sunday motards were out enjoying the roads on their mostly BMWs. We enjoyed the winding roads and the stupendous views too.

Many of the roads are a lovely orange colour. You can't see it so well on the photo above because the light was dingy, but in the sun they positively glow. We were on the west side of the island making our way down through the inland mountain roads. We passed through numerous villages - Aggius, Tempio, Ozieri, Mores, Thiesi, Ittiri, Putifigari, Villanova, and Alghero and a countryside sweet with the smell of gorse. The sun came out and melted both our grumpy moods from that morning.

After Alghero, we started looking out for somewhere to have some lunch along the coast. We came across a beach-side restaurant which did not serve lunch-time salads, and said so in a firm notice on the menu. You knew where you were at least...

View from beach restaurant that didn't serve salads

The view from the restaurant terrace was delightful in both directions. Looking south, you could see this glorious coastline and blue blue sea, looking north, you could see some old wartime bunkers tucked away among the bushes!

Bunkers

After lunch, the plan was to have a snooze on the beach, but my DB was suddenly taken violently ill in the restaurant loos, so after that we beat a hasty exit... I don't think it had anything to do with our lunch which was pretty innocuous - spaghetti and something. I had mine with bottarga, a Sard speciality of cured red mullet roe. I found it bizarre that restaurants wouldn't serve a nice big plate of salad. It's usually all I want at lunch time and I'm sure they could do a roaring trade in lunch time salads for tourists because they obviously get asked for them a lot seeing as they put that notice in the menu.

We continued down the coast and then went back inland to Cugliari and our destination, Santu Lussargiu. Our hotel for that night was one of the most delightful I have every stayed in, and if you have the opportunity to go there, do! The Antica Dimora des Gruccione is made up of a main building set in a one of the mansion houses of the town, with annexes not far away. It's owned by a woman called Gabriella whose ancestors lived in the main house, and she runs it professionally but gives a warm welcome to her customers. We were certainly impressed by our welcome. We even got the key to the garage where we could park the bike.

Our room was in an annex on the other side of the road at the back of the main house. There were two entrances. One gave onto an interior courtyard which you walked through to get to the rooms, and the other entrance gave onto the road with the garage next door. The stairs were very steep.

Annex on garage side, garage to the right

Our room on the top floor with balcony and washing.

Interior courtyard with washing trough

Very steep colourful stairs. Travel light...

On a walk around the town we learned that there are three types of old building depending on how rich the residents were. The smallest had one room in which you slept, cooked and lived. They often had ovens that poked out into the street for lack of space. Then came larger houses which perhaps had one extra level and more rooms. Then came the rich folks' mansion houses which were very grand.

Santu Lussargiu houses, love the anti-mosquito blue!

Santu Lussargiu one-roomers and larger houses

Hotel staircase. Mansions were very grand.

Hotel landing, lovely floor tiles

Authentic 'museum' reconstruction of a mansion kitchen in the hotel

Kitchen pots and pans in the hotel museum

Moi outside the main hotel entrance 

Our room had a fireplace with wood and matches available! The bathroom had a black granite stand-alone sink. Nice! The view over the rooftops was lovely. We sat and had a beer in the evening before dinner.

We guessed that the town must be quite prosperous because many houses had new roofs, and they were mostly freshly painted in bright colours. When we walked around the town, we peeked into the church and saw it was full.

Dinner was amazing. For €25 each we had a succession of anti-pasti - marinated red pepper pieces on bruschetta, cold beetroot soup with a dollop of cream cheese, quails legs, red pimento rolls, a selection of spring veg (broad beans, peas, asparagus) with pesto, smoked ricotta and ricotta; pasta curls with wild asparagus sauce and parmigiento, then the main course - local roast beef, and dessert was a light lemon mousse with cardamom. We drank half a bottle of a good local red wine and enjoyed it all immensely. The chef is a keen follower of the Slow Food movement, and there were Slow Food magazines in the museum kitchen. He had certainly put a lot of thought and effort into the food. My DB even had a vegetarian main course of roasted cheese on that thin bread they eat a lot of - very good too and rustled up on the spur of the moment.

We staggered back to our room and slept well on the excellent bed.