And so we’re off and, although we’ll touch base in Surrey at regular intervals, we’ll be moving around now for weeks. Our first stop is personal.

Following Russel and Christine’s car, we drive up the motorway to Wales, as we’ve done for so many years. But we’re going further than usual, to the west coast to Swansea on the kind invitation of an old friend and his wife. Andrew has been Russel’s best friend since they were boys of 8. They are godparents to one another’s children and regular companions in adventure for these many years. Roger knew Andrew well as a boy. They played on many teams together and Andrew was at our wedding (indeed, he was the designated driver for Rog’s bachelor night!). But Roger has lived abroad for 45 years. He remarked to Andrew when they were together that he had seen him at Russ and Chris’s wedding and the next time was when their daughter was married. In between, Andrew had had an entire career, a long marriage, two children and a grandson! We promise that it won’t be so long again.

Swansea is on the southwest coast of Wales, right at the easternmost beginning of the Gower Peninsula. I recall this as a wild, beautiful, beachy stretch of coast. Swansea was the birthplace and home of Dylan Thomas, the great Welsh lyric poet, and also the original hometown of my father-in-law, Ron Warburton. We didn’t visit either of those birthplaces, but hung out way up on the Caswell cliffside neighborhoods next to the village of Mumbles. The bay it fronts is Mumbles Bay, a broad tidal bay with extreme tides that is part of the larger Swansea Bay. The other name associated with the area is Oystermouth, which I think is an old parish name. Like Lyme Regis, Mumbles is a very steep town with streets pouring down to the seafront. Now a tourist resort, the old fishermen’s houses are today nice restaurants and toney shops (of which we availed ourselves).

Little enough to elaborate on when remembering the non-stop good cheer of Gill’s elegant home-cooked meals, great conversation, and friends and more new friends. On Saturday, however, we hiked a section of the Welsh Coastal Path, a national walking path that now stretches the entire coast of Wales, 870 miles. The wind was high—a preview of the days ahead—and the surf was wild. Wet-suited surfers were out in force. In our three-something hours, we only went a few miles, from Caswell Bay over the cliffs to the headlands, down into Langland Bay, and back around the gorgeous golf course that backs up to their neighborhood. Some of the greens are on steep hillsides where most golf balls are in severe jeopardy.

By Sunday noon, though, we were back on the road to the north.