Black Mountain Caravan Park and the Cross Inn Pub” (or “A Roasted Peanut Dinner for Two”)
Having narrowly avoided releasing flocks of sheep hell-bent on automotive suicide and skirting through small lakes of crimson muddied waters we arrived at the Black Mountain Campsite. The name is something of a misnomer as its actual location is perhaps a hours drive from the mountains. But close enough to begin our weekend of walks and outdoor fun in Wales.
The campsite appeared well poistioned for walks and with excellent facilities…. at least according to their website… But also, to be fair to our naivety, according to reviews on VirtualTourist and TripAdvisor.
Drawing information from the stoic man in reception was akin to my drawing a warm welcome in Cork. As he kicked his dogs to aside, the dialogue unfolded like this…
Man: “… “
Us: “… Hi, we’d like somewhere to pitch our tent tonight”.
Man: “… “
Us: “…Ermmm…. would it be okay to pitch it here… in this… campsite “
Man: “Yes “
Us: “…”
Man: “… ” (he moves to close the door)
Us: “Oh! Excuse me! Where would we set up the tent?”
Man: “Over there (note that he does not signal any location) or in the high field”
Us: “Errrrrrr”
Man: (Again the man moves to close the door)
Us: “Sorry! Where?”
Man: ” Over there” (this time he nods to his left)
Us: “…. And where is the High Field”
Man: “Drive back the way you came and take the left instead of the left you took”
Us: “…”
Man: (He finally succeeds in closing the door)
We are about to knock on the door again to ask about the facilites but decided against it thinking we should be able to locate them ourselves. Shortly afterward as we set up our tent on the raggedy unkempt lawn we noticed that the equally raggedy denizens of the campsite who emerged from their trailers to gather in small groups to peer, alluding somewhat to the mise en scene of David Lynch’s earlier works.
So onto our reason for this adventure; walks and picnics. These were, to give the locale its due, lovely. The lakes around the Brecon’s are well worth your time. The way-marked trials are easy to follow, none too crowded, and very scenic. What the surrounds lack in drama they make up for in tiny treasures. Bursts of bluebells beneath sagging old oaks; lines of silverbirch sketched sharply in the dark under the pine trees; fascinating little treasures of owls and foxes sculpted into tree trunks dotted along the path; all rather lovely.
After our jaunt, we drove on back to our campsite; relishing what the Curry Night sign by the pub door promised. Relishing in vain!! We rocked up to the bar, eyes wandering over the menu, to be told that we had missed the closing of the kitchen by 10 minutes. Asking for just a basket of chips or even some toast was met only with apologetic smiles. So… we accepted it as being our own fault and settled down with pints hoping to mask our hunger before returning to our cold tent.
… What led us to into a simmering hunger-fuelled rage was our spending the next 40 minutes seeing every table around us being served heaped portions of lasagne, fish pie, steak and the like. Their mild irritation at being served some three quarters of an hour after ordering didn’t quite meet ours as, again, we were told that the kitchen had closed an hour ago and we would have to try again tomorrow night.
These kind words of advice unsurprisingly failed to cheer our spirits as we tucked into our peanut dinners…
The following morning we decided against spending even a few coins on the battery operated showers; the dank unlit rooms with no shelves and crooked doors failed to entice. We simply packed our tent and headed on our way.
Billy: 0
Eoin: 0
Google map location here
Black Mountain Campsite: http://www.blackmountainholidays.co.uk/
…. But we’re not entirely sure why…
