Showing posts with label Cardiff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cardiff. Show all posts

Tuesday, 25 March 2025

These two castles in South Wales bring the past to glorious life

If you want proof that time really does heal, look to Welsh castles. Once a deeply-resented symbol of an invader’s power over a subjugated land, they are now the jewel in the crown of the nation’s tourist industry and a source of intense national pride.

The first thing you notice when you come through the gates of Cardiff Castle is probably not the tower on a hill, built by Norman thugs to consolidate their incursions, or the re-constructed Roman gate next to it, but a big, red dragon. It’s the same one that dominates today’s Welsh flag, here brought gloriously to three-dimensional life. Conquerors have come and gone, but the native Welsh came out on top.
You can easily satisfy all of your medieval castle fantasies with a couple of stops on a road trip to Cardiff. We explored Cardiff Castle and Chepstow Castle this trip. The eager castellophile could easily add in Castell Coch, which essentially functions as a small “summer house” for Cardiff. (Here’s an article on that site from an earlier visit.) But if you only have time for two … or if, like my husband, you have limits to how much Victorian Gothic you can stand … following our route for this trip makes sense.

Cardiff Castle sits right in the centre of the capital and has two primary draws. First, it’s a great demonstration of how castles evolved in use and appearance over time. Second, it’s one of the best examples of Victorian gothic in the country.

If you want to learn about the history of castle building, you can start with the reconstruction of the Roman Gate. Then clamber up the big hill, or “motte” to have a look at the Norman playbook. From up there you have a great viewpoint of the massive “bailey”, the area encircled by walls that would have been the functional space for everything from military exercises to craftspeople’s workshops. And you can see how, as castles became less defensive and more residential, their owners built against the outer walls.

It was the potential of those buildings that set John Patrick Crichton-Stuart, 3rd Marquess of Bute, dreaming in the 1860s. The outrageously wealthy young man, whose family had grown rich on Welsh coal and built Cardiff into their exporting hub, couldn’t help but be impressed when he attended the House of Lords in the brand new Palace of Westminster. It had just risen from a fire in the latest trendy style: a fairy-tale gothic that architects believed to be truly British. The Marquess thought he’d bring the style home and hired architect William Burgess. The two men would work together to realise the medieval fever dream that is Cardiff. As well as the summer house at the Castell Coch.

The duo’s vision of the Middle Ages is lavish: jewel tones, lush fabrics, ornate wood carving, plenty of gilding. You can see this best in the banqueting hall. A wooden roof encrusted with ornamental beams is held aloft by colourful angels, hair flowing and clothes picked out in eye-watering colours. Nothing in this version of history comes in pastels or neutrals. On the walls below you can follow the story of Robert of Gloucester, an early owner of the place. He was the illegitimate son of King Henry I, therefore half brother to the Matilda who scrabbled with her cousin Stephen over the throne in a civil war so nasty contemporary chroniclers described it as a time when “Christ and his saints slept.”

Robert was perhaps the only historical figure to emerge from this time period with an honourable reputation intact, and his exploits provide suitably chivalric images. An exuberant fireplace adds to the story; it’s a besieged castle sticking out into the room, with Matilda up top awaiting rescue. It’s pure Disney. And this isn’t the only place the fantasy pokes beyond the walls: animals around the door frames stick fins, feathers and paws beyond the paint, enhancing the illusion.
An entry hall, dining room and substantial library are all in this exuberant style. The most eye-popping room along this tour route, however, takes us in a completely different direction … as if one of those medieval knights took a detour through Islamic Spain on the way home from the Crusades and decided he needed a place to remind him of his travels. The Arab Room features a carved ceiling that could have come right out of the Alhambra Palace, except this one is gilded in 24 carat gold. The walls are marble. The windows have coloured marbles embedded in them to send splinters of coloured light across the interiors. The fireplace looks more like a mosque’s alcove for holding the Koran than a practical utility. It’s spectacular. 

The other best bits of the interiors require a separate tour. (You could see it all under one ticket when I was last here, but that was a long time ago.) If you have time, it’s worth the extra expense to book an escorted tour into the tower, which gives you a look at the bedrooms and the unusual roof garden, which is a crazy decorative mash-up of Ancient Rome, the Middle Ages and Victorian ironwork. It’s essentially a tiny cloister garden, with covered walkways on four side and an opening to the sky in the centre. 

Any past resident of Chepstow Castle, if somehow transported to one of Burgess and Bute’s interiors, would probably think they’d been whisked to another world rather than any spot in their own gothic reality. Yes, medieval castles had some nice interiors, but in a time before artificial lighting and chemically enhanced paints they never would have been this bright. Besides, the original buildings were less palaces and more easily-defended admin offices with sleeping quarters.

If Cardiff if the fantasy, Chepstow is the reality. 
The setting is one of the prettiest in the UK. The castle climbs up cliffs that rise above the River Wye, just before the water disappears into heavy forest. These days Chepstow is a romantic ruin, but there’s enough here to help you imagine past glories. Here there are two baileys, each with its own great hall and additional buildings. It’s almost all without roofs these days, but you can scramble up stairs, walk along wall tops and take in magnificent views.

The upper bailey is closely associated with William Marshall, one of the great heroes of the English Middle Ages, and his powerful heiress wife Isabel de Clare. The castle, in fact, came with her as part of her dowry. But unlike so many of the arranged marriages of this time period, this was a real love match. So enduring is their story it became the foundation of the film A Knight’s Tale.

Four generations later building attention moved to the lower bailey, where the couple’s great grandson Baron Bigod turned the complex into a bit of a party palace. Not only did he put in a new great hall … even though there was a perfectly good one just up the hill … but he built a substantial complex of kitchens, serving areas and wine cellars. The latter could be stocked through a hatch directly over the river. None of the explanatory material says so, but I have a hunch that building just this little bit further down the slope made for warmer, more comfortable accommodations.

Chepstow was in continuous use for another six centuries. Its decay is fairly modern; It wasn’t until very late in the 17th century that the owners of the time abandoned it. It didn’t stay forgotten for long, however. By the end of the next century, romantic ruins were all the rage. The ruins just upriver at Tintern Abbey got the superstar treatment by artist JMW Turner. So did Chepstow. Suddenly, the Wye River ruins were on every fashionable Regency traveller’s bucket list.

Chepstow probably isn’t as famous these days as it was in those giddy times, but it’s still a star in South Wales’ firmament. It’s a logical stop, as we did it, on a trip to and from Cardiff, but it’s also an easy day trip from London and environs thanks to its location just minutes off the motorway. The castle and its surrounding town feel small and isolated, but they’re right next to the old Severn Bridge. A pleasant day trip would start here, then drive up to the equally romantic Tintern Abbey, before winding along the Wye through the Forest of Dean.

Tuesday, 18 March 2025

Rejecting the received wisdom, we enjoy Cardiff for rugby but don’t need to do it again

We have a tradition in the Bencard household that whoever is celebrating a milestone birthday gets to make the call on all of the travel for that year. I’ve written about it before; this is our second time through the cycle and I finished up my year in December. My husband now controls 2025, and the first celebratory destination of the year was Cardiff.

The Welsh capital is a nice enough place but without context you might be surprised it turns up on a big birthday bucket list. That context is rugby.

Rugby is the national sport in this mighty little country. It’s significant in other parts of the UK, but only in Wales does it eclipse all others with a dominance only otherwise seen in New Zealand. Unsurprisingly, therefore, the national stadium in Cardiff is legendary, and the annual 6 Nations match-up between England and Wales … played here every other year in rotation with England’s home ground at Twickenham … is one of the hardest tickets in rugby to get.

Tickets are always available for those with the cash and the desire to find a way, of course. Which is why this year we took our second trip with England Rugby Travel. This time we weren’t flying half way around the world to Japan, but driving two hours up the M4.

Was it worth it?

Like any premium experience, value comes down to your passions. If you aren’t a keen fan then it’s a lot of money for two nights in a generic corporate hotel (the Radisson Blu), an evening event with a couple of drinks and a styrofoam box with a burger and chips, and match seats less that 20 rows from the roof, behind the try line. (That would be “end zone” for my American readers.)

The reality, however, is that there’s no practical way to get tickets to this match as an outsider other than hospitality packages. And the overall experience comes with a lot of intangibles. The pre-game event brought us face-to-face with rugby legends telling tales of the past, analysing team performance, and making predictions for the next day. As a relative newcomer to the sport I knew who the people were and was entertained. (They’re all amusing, but emcee Martin Bayfield could have been a stand up comic.) If you grew up a rugby fan in England, however, as my husband did, then the guys on stage were legends, taking the night from amusing to magical.

There was more magic on the streets the next day with the Cardiff pre-game experience. You can enjoy this without a premium package. In fact, I’m fairly sure that thousands amongst the crowd didn’t have tickets to the game at all, but came into town for the atmosphere and would be watching play in one of the local pubs instead.

Unusually, Cardiff’s Principality Stadium is tightly-wedged into the centre of town. There’s no fan zone behind the ticket barriers, rather an approximately 20 square-block area jammed with bars and restaurants on the outside. That entire town centre becomes a fan zone for hours before and after the game. While I’ve never seen anything like it in Europe, it’s remarkably similar to the American college football scene at the big state universities. Good-natured fans stroll the streets, bands set up in squares to entertain the crowds, vendors sell patriotic fashion and face painting.

We faced two challenges. Once you get within three hours of kick-off there’s no chance of sitting down anywhere, and the queues for beer make it incredibly unlikely you’re getting a drink. In the latter it reminded me a great deal of Oktoberfest in Munich, walking for hours around the world’s most famous beer festival, thirsty.

We’d been lucky enough to get seats at the Owain Glyndwr pub five hours before kick-off; probably the last two seats in the place, sharing a table with others. We admired the two-pint glasses around us and should have taken the hint. After nursing our first pints for an hour … we were going to be drinking all day, so were pacing ourselves … we attempted another round and had to give up. The crowd at the bar was 30-people long, five people deep, and I barely moved in the 20 minutes I stood in the queue. I gave up and returned to our table, where we sat drinkless until an hour before the stadium gates opened. Clearly we should have purchased enough first time round for the duration.

We spent an hour walking through town drinking in atmosphere instead. It was fun, but in many streets we were facing the kind of body-to-body crowding that makes you think of news reports of unfortunates falling over and being trampled to death. Queues at all the other pubs we passed were equally mad; we were clearly not getting another drink in hand until we got into the stadium. Thus we were amongst the first through the turnstiles.

Here’s the conundrum: Getting in this early gets you easy access to food, drinks, seats and toilets, but there’s no atmosphere for at least the first hour and, unlike Twickenham, there are no screens showing the earlier match. Maybe we’re just old farts, but we were happy to forgo the buzz for our own comfort. Perhaps locals know how to get seats and drinks: clearly most fans don’t bother getting to the stadium until about 40 minutes pre-match, when there’s a sudden surge to fill seats for the pre-game show.

It’s here that I thought the Welsh really triumphed. From the flag unfurling to the bands, the lights and jets of flame, the DJ and the traditional male choir: the pre-game show here is a triumph. The Welsh reputation for singing is well-deserved and the hymns thundered.

We expected the local voices to add to the atmosphere throughout the game. When the roof is closed, as it was for our match, the crowd is often called the 16th man, giving the home team an intimidating advantage. There was no such energy on display. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, given that the home fans were sitting on a 16-game losing streak and then had to watch a 68-14 pounding.
Post-match crowds on the streets outside remained an uncomfortably tight sea of bodies. We retreated to our hotel, changed clothes and ventured out for a later dinner reservation at The Ivy Cardiff. We were incredibly thankful to the friend who had warned us that reservations were essential, or we wouldn’t get dinner following a match. After a day of crowds and queues we were grateful for table service and a quieter atmosphere.

So my verdict on Wales for away games will disappoint my Welsh friends. I am glad I ticked the box, but I wouldn’t want to do it again. At least not without a local who knows the tricks to negotiating the crowds better. I far prefer the away-game experience in Rome, even though the stadium is a tram line away from town.