Would you eat insects? They're on the menu in this UK destination - Scotland on Sunday Travel

Long ago I had an acquaintance who thought that Wales was “a land of coalmines and male voice choirs” – and somewhere you bypassed. He’d flown to Cardiff once, for the rugby.

“Take a car,” I told him. “Turn right when you get to Liverpool. Open your mind.”

Now, paying heed, I find myself motoring round the curve of Cardigan Bay, passing places with names with no vowels – Eglwys Fach, Tywyn, Blaenplwyf – the misty horizon obscuring Ireland, a stiffening wind whipping up the sea, pegging white waves like distant sheets, my destination: the jutting, rocky, broken-toothed headlands of ancient Pembrokeshire. I was driving myself to distraction.

Boats in Tenby bay at low tide with the town above. Pic: Tamas Gabor

I plunged (almost literally) into Fishguard by 5 o’clock, asking a fisherman at the harbour the way to Manor Town House, my hotel for the night. “That’s in Upper Town, head for the Co-Op”. He pointed skywards. Manor Town House wasn’t quite on a cloud, but it had the gracefulness of Georgian regularity. Chris and Helen, its proprietors, gave me a top-floor seaview nest in their beautifully furnished, done-up abode. With hawklike vision, I might have seen Ireland. But my stomach was speaking of pub grub.

The Royal Oak boasted steaks and pies and great fish ‘n’ chips, and was to Upper Town what The Ship Inn was to Lower Town. The Inn boasted photos of movie stars, having featured in the movie of Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood. Had Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton climbed the hill to get drunk at my table? Reading the guide books you’ll learn that in 1797 a band of Napoleonic fanatics staged the last invasion of Britain at Fishguard harbour. Promptly defeated, they were frog-marched up to the ‘Oak’ to sign the surrender.

This tale was retold the following morning inside the Town Hall, the French stitched up again, immortalised in The Last Invasion Tapestry, embroidered by local women in the style of that at Bayeux.Outside the town hall, Fishguard’s square showed off its gems: St Marys Church, two local galleries, a great bookshop, and a deli, (The Gourmet Pig), where I stocked up on pies. I planned a coastal path walk before lunch on my way to St. David’s. Now I was primed.

The Pembrokeshire Coast Path snakes continuously for 186 miles, skirting cliff tops, dipping gently then climbing skywards, past huddles of silhouetted farmhouses, golden fields of swaying rape. To a restless soundtrack of birdsong and ocean, you’ll come upon dog walkers, goat-like pensioners dressed for the Arctic. Wear sturdy footwear, and bring all your senses – most especially your sense of wonder.

Children follow The Dinosaur Trail at the Dinosaur Park, Tenby, Wales. PIc: o&c photography

I stopped at Porthgain a few miles from Fishguard, and headed straight up the trodden track towards a vista of headlands. It felt like shipwreck country, smugglers’ terrain, freezing gusts of knifing wind propelling me landward and after an hour I turned in my tracks. Porthgain’s harbour showed remnants of mining, but now it mostly played host to pleasure: Anoraked walkers crowded The Shed, a popular restaurant. I took a walk through a nearby gallery ogling art, then consumed two pies and a flask of hot tea and pointed the car towards St David’s Head and Twr y Felin, once a windmill and now a superbly appointed ‘art hotel’, my promised two night abode.

Its award winning restaurant provided an excellent three course dinner; its wall to wall paintings hit the eye with artistic boldness. Two framed landscapes above my bed hung in competition with the view through my sliding glass doors of sea-salted fields.

St David’s itself, Britain’s smallest city, is perched on a headland and felt plugged into the ocean’s power. Nature’s presence suffused the broad landscape—perhaps why St David chose this site as holy ground. Visitors walked the simple pilgrimage route along High Street towards the cathedral, past bijou enterprising businesses selling artisan Welsh crafts. Local ingredients fuelled menus. Among the eateries, the Really Wild Emporium, art deco from step to slates, was the standout choice. Run by John and Julia Mansfield, it hosts a restaurant, a natural produce shop and three welcoming air b’n’bs. It is a mission statement.

John, who forages hedgerows and combs the beaches, runs pick-your-own tours. The restaurant, (corrugated iron, bare-brick and old furniture), served salmon, pork and cuttlefish, dressed with buckthorn sauce and nasturtium flavoured mayo. “Sustainability is everything,” he attested.

Amroth Cottage, Tenby, Wales, one of Coastal Cottages' self-catering properties (www.coastalcottages.co.uk). Pic: Thomas Bown Photography

Just a mile away, at The Bug Farm, edible insects were on the menu. The place crawled with oohing and aahing kids, (and wary parents), consuming the joys of the Tropical Bug Zoo and Grub Kitchen Cafe. I promptly excused myself, grabbing a tube of “cricket cookies” and headed to Evensong in the cathedral.

Next morning I rinsed away the memories at St David’s Old Farmhouse Brewery, craft beer heaven, and planned a boat trip to Ramsey Island, steeped in bird life. But trips were cancelled thanks to the murk and I left by the brighter route for Tenby, heading inland.

Tenby had everything you could crave in a British seaside resort. Perfect beaches of shelved golden sand, a maze of charming, narrow, often cobbled streets that tipped from the medieval

heart to a sheltered harbour. I roosted in Amroth Cottage in Cresswell Street, self-catering in comfort, in one of Coastal Cottages’ palaces, bed like a cloud, its quiet location two steps

Tenby, Pembrokeshire, Wales, has golden sands and everything you need in a British seaside resort. Pic: Carl Forbes.

from everything I desired.

When I stepped outside it seemed I was standing inside a postcard: The fortified 13th century walls, the tall-spired, ancient church of St Mary, visible everywhere for miles, the clutch of merchants’ houses, hostelries brimming with pedigree, a market hall and, clinging to the slope overlooking a curve of perfect sand, a terrace of pastel painted houses, a tourist board’s dream. There should have been donkey rides, and candy floss. But the season was just beginning.

The Dinosaur Theme Park and its rival, Folly Farm, which boasted a fairground and a zoo, were more than a roar away, but still close. I settled for galleries, the best independent music shop I’ve been to, (Dales in High Street), a second hand bookshop with towers of tomes defying gravity, and the Coach and Horses gastropub, the town’s oldest where 70 years ago Dylan Thomas (still remembered), staggered out legless, leaving behind his only copy of Under Milk Wood.

Stories and legends in Tenby abound. Its Pavillion Theatre ran year round tribute acts and concerts. But the tribute act I most treasured was Tenby itself, a living homage to every era it ever witnessed. Pub grub, fish and chips from Fecci’s in Lower Frog Street, the countless windows of curiosity shops, all beguiled me. My three days had melted.

I leaned on the railings above South Beach, observing pleasure boats cross to Caldey, the bay’s biggest island. From far beneath, the bark of a dog flew past mixed with children’s cries and my memories of sand and lettuce sandwiches. Here comes summer, I thought.

In Tenby it has no sell by date. Come soon.

Some of the hops used in the craft beer produced at St David’s Old Farmhouse Brewery, St David's, Pembrokeshire. Pic: Contributed

For further information go to www.visitpembrokeshire.co.uk

Accommodation: www.manortownhouse.com (tel:[phone]) www.twryfelinhotel.com (01437 725555) www.coastalcottages.co.uk (01437 765765) (A week's stay up to six guests at Amroth Cottage, Tenby starts from £546 and a four-night break starts from £412. To book, go to www.coastalcottages.co.uk) Eating: www.reallywildemporium.co.uk www.royaloakfishguard.co.uk​​​​​​​ www.oldfarmhousebrewery.co.uk

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