Exploring Portmeirion: A little bit of Italy in Wales

Tuesday, March 11, 2025

Another cold start clearing to a beautiful day. The feels like temperature for most of the day was around 2C. I’m grateful for my parka and can’t believe I was going to leave it at home.

We’d been umming and aahing about visiting Portmeirion but Gwawr convinced us it was worth it (spoiler alert – she was right) so after a very yummy brekky (I tried Glamorgan sausages which are sausages in shape only and are a tasty leeky, cheesey, bready croquette), off we headed.

Portmeirion

What a mind-blow of a place this is -in a good way. The hare-brained idea of one man (Sir Clough Williams-Ellis) who decided that North Wales really needed an Italianate village (and began building it in 1925) it’s so weird it works. It works so well, in fact, that over 300,000 people visit every year. During the high season they can have 10,000 people a day come through the gates. Thankfully there were no crowds today and we could stroll around easily.

We met an older couple from Leyland in Lincolnshire who every time we ran into them the man would tell me another “dad” joke from his (seemingly wide) repertoire. It made my day.

We took a walk along the coast path and I got talking to a couple who were just sitting taking in the serenity. I began prattling on about how scenic it all was with the expanse of the views and the tang of salt in the air and the peace and the little robins darting about when I realised the man below the beanie was the star of one of my favourite cosy crime series. I’m not very good at recognising celebrities, you see.

I won’t tell you who it was mainly because I modelled the character of Liam (Gail’s love interest in Christmas at Fountains Hall) on him. Shortish, a tad rumpled with ginger hair and a non-ironic taste for cardigans. My lips are sealed.

A couple more corgis …

Madoc (the corgi) was always going to cause us some problems. There’s a stone menhir or monument in the middle of a paddock in the Brecon Beacons named Maen Madoc (or Maen Madog), although no one really knows which Madoc/Madog it was named after.

Given that the Brecon Beacons were well out of the way for the route we’d planned, I decided to go instead for Porthmadog (Porthmadoc or Madock’s Port) just a few miles away from Portmeirion. Although it was named for William Madocks, I prefer the alternative story (of course I do…).

Madoc (also spelled Madog) was, according to folklore, a Welsh prince who sailed to the Americas in the 12^th century – 300 years before Christopher Columbus did.

Madoc was the son of Owain Gwynedd who was a real 12^th century king of Gwynedd and spent much of his reign in battles with other Welsh princes and Henry II of England and, presumably impregnating women. Owain, you see, had at least thirteen children with his two wives and several more born out of wedlock bit legally acknowledged under Welsh law. (As an aside, my father tells a joke about someone born “just out of wedlock”. Dad’s day was made when I sent him a photo from Wedlock in Wales.) Anyways, although there are no (contemporary) records to attest to this, Madoc was apparently one of these illegitimate sons of the Owain.

The Madoc story goes on to talk about how Madoc’s voyagers intermarried with local Native Americans, and their Welsh-speaking descendants live on today in the U.S.

Even though there’s not much real evidence to support this, I’m not one to let the facts stand in the way of a cool story.

Anyways, the story of Madoc the prince who sailed to the Americas was much cooler than the town of Porthmadog. After finding nowhere we wanted to eat lunch, we hopped back in the car and headed a few miles east to Tremadog (Tremadoc) – a planned settlement built by William Maddocks and another tick in the corgi name list.

We had lunch at the Golden Fleece, ordering the vegetable soup and sharing a cheese and onion toastie on the side. The soup was tasty enough, but an unfortunate army green colour as someone well-meaning had obviously chucked a heap of overcooked broccoli into it. The toastie was good once we filled it with the side salad.

Beddgelert

On Gwawr’s advice we drove back via Beddgelert – and some amazing scenery.

Beddgelert’s most famous historical feature is a sone monument – ‘Gelert’s Grave’. According to legend, the stone monument in the field marks the resting place of ‘Gelert’, the faithful hound of the medieval Welsh Prince Llewelyn the Great. The only problem with this is that the monument was built in the 18^th century by an enterprising pub landlord.

This was a sad story. Prince Llywelyn the Great and his wife were living in a castle near the village of Beddgelert and left their son in the care of their faithful dog, Gelert (as you do) while they went hunting. On their return they find the cradle overturned, and Gelert is covered in blood. Llywelyn, believing the dog has harmed the child, kills Gelert with his sword. Then he hears a baby cry and finds the baby safe under the upturned crib, a dead wolf nearby which Gelert had fought and killed.

Overcome with remorse he buries the dog with great ceremony and the village is named after the dog’s grave.

I mentioned how amazing the scenery was, didn’t I?

Betwys-y-Coed

Back in Betwys-y Coed we spend a couple of hours walking around, getting the fright of our lives when a low-flying Hercules flies, well low, so low it feels as though we could touch it, over our heads.

Dinner tonight is at the Waterloo Hotel, which, of course, makes me sing. (Are you singing now too? I’m such an Abba tragic.)

Grant had roast beef with peppercorn cream sauce, broccolini and chips. It was very good. My steak and ale pie, however, was not. The broccolini was good, the crust overcooked and the meat near the overcooked crust was like nuggets. I think I just got unlucky.

They get extra points though for having a great dog menu, and for having dog beds.

A Recipe

Today’s recipe is Bara Brith – and you’ll find a link to the recipe I use here.

The stats…

Temperature: 1-4 (but lovely in the sun)

Miles travelled: about 51 miles*

*Even though we work in kms in Australia, all signage in the UK is in miles, so that’s what I’m going with.

These posts are taken directly from my travel journal … you can find the series here.