Hiking Snowdon

After a second night on Bangor harbor, we drove to Llanberis to do some hiking on Snowdon. I'd climbed Snowdon in 2009 (http://roadeveron.blogspot.co.uk/2009/10/snowdon-walk-in-clouds.html), and we both were keen on doing some uphill hiking. The trail from Llandberis is quite uphill: I tired quickly, especially after the light rain came, but Vicki went on to the mid-point and took most of the pix.

Fixer-upper

A mountain of slate, reduced

Clouds and rain move in

The Victorian train to the top still running

Vicki, from where I peeled off

It's a popular hike

Penrhyn Castle

I did not like this place. It is a 19th century phony castle--bricks with limestone facade--lavishly furnished but without much of historic interest--built upon a fortune derived from Caribbean plantations, the slave trade, and the slate trade in Wales. It's a Trust property, costing millions to maintain, but well done for what it is.

Vicki did the roof tour

Nice views

Brick construction throughout

Mining slate in Wales

Oversized...easy access to slate

One of the family plantations in Jamaica

Kitchen

Phony folly too

In the garden...not phony

White fuschias

Pedal-powered rail carriage the workers used to get up to the
slate mines

Plas Newydd: The 5th Marquess of Anglesey

Every family has one, I suppose, especially families whose fortunes are so dissipated that all or nearly all is lost. The 4th Marquess died when Henry was only two, and his mother married an actor. Henry was fascinated by the theater and poured the family's wealth into converting the chapel into a "Gaiety Theatre" and organizing a theatrical troupe of 50 that toured in Britain as well as the Continent. All proceeds were given to charity. He was producer, director, and star, of course. A specialty was his "Butterfly Dance." He also had lavish tastes. The fun ended when he was still in his twenties, and all was sold, creditors getting 6 pence on the pound. Henry went into exile in France and died, age 30, his annulled/reinstated wife at his side. A sad story, I know, but the photos, more or less buried in Plas Newydd's basement bowels, are a hoot.

Extreme piercing

The Gaiety Theatre at Plas Newydd, once the family chapel

Click to enlarge for the fuller story