Hi there!
The cosy camp-fire in Bath has been put out, we’ve said good-bye and everybody is on the road again, in brief, it’s time to spread my wings once more. Oxford, Stratford-on-Avon and Wells have nourished my cultural interest so now it’s back to basics: nature. England is seducing me with very nice weather and fit as a fiddle I’m cycling from one enchanting village tot the next. Via the 988metre long suspension bridge in Chepstow I cross the Severn and am welcomed in Wales.

My first destination is the Brecon Beacons National Park: mountainous with misty tops. Without any hairpin bends the way downhill is treacherous: if you don’t watch out for the bleating sheep you knit your own woollen sweater while racing down! I cycle through the most picturesque villages: Llanidloes, in the middle of the green almost uninhabited heart of Wales and nearer to the coast Harlech castle, rising above the sea and the dunes. The small mountain village of Beddgelert in Snowdonia National Park thanks its name to a legend which, one day I will turn into the perfect bedtime story for my future children.
« Staylittle » is the name of a small village, if you ask me Tom Thumb was born here.

Tomorrow I’m taking the ferry to Ireland, as I’ll have visitors waiting for me in Dublin! My Mum and my youngest brother Jens are flying over for a long weekend! In Holyhead on the island of Anglesey – which for centuries has been the granary of England and therefor known as the ‘Mother of Wales’ - I have to embark.

This week’s tongue twister is the name of some Welch villages like ‘Llanfihangel Crucorney’ of ‘Cwmystwyth’?
But the one with the longest name in Gaelic is - it’s on the tip of my tongue – the world-famous Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwillanttysiliogogogoch.
Repeat after me, please!