But when it comes to capturing a moment, a thought, a feeling, I prefer words. See the foot of this post.
Another view of the main square
I took more photos of Portmeirion but they all show the same kind of artificiality. I think its designer, Sir Clough Williams-Ellis, would have been insulted by the comparison with Disneyland—through what adds up to snobbery I suppose, but snobbery with a solid basis, like the difference between a good and an average wine.
We’re not really the kind of tourists who go to see the sights, pretty as Portmeirion is. I’ve mentioned the place before in these “Wayfarer’s Notes”, (click here to view the post), in reference to a singe moment in a particular spot, a moment I’m grateful to have captured then, because I could not remember it when we passed the same spot the other day. I remembered the spot but not the thought, so I’m grateful to have recorded it at the time, in the following words, extracted from the post linked above. The spot is not in Portmeirion village at all but just before you enter it, and the moment was about twenty years ago, when I passed the spot with my two young children:
“What am I doing here? All I have ever wanted is this feeling. I recall the various moments in my life when I felt this way. Why are we coming here to look round this place? Why do I have children? How has all this happened, when all I wanted was a feeling? Why am I weighted with impedimenta, when all I ever wanted was to sniff the air and sip the moment like a wine?”
. . .
Do I have to strut on this stage? I haven’t learned my part. I don’t know who I am, but the clock ticks on and I have to act anyhow. Can’t I start again, and be fancy-free, as when I was a student, hanging out in Paris, Tarascon, Marseilles, Florence, Assisi? I was lonely then and aimless, but I didn’t compromise.”
I think I have learned my part a bit better since then.