Do you remember that movie called The Truman Show, where, unbeknownst to him, What-his-name Truman lived in this totally artificial and manufactured world?
Walking into Portmeirion Village is a lot like walking into the Truman Show.
This little village, overlooking the beautiful estuary of the River Dwyryd, was the brain-child of Welsh architect, Sir Clough Williams-Ellis. He spent 50 years, from 1925 to 1975, developing this Italianate extravaganza near Porthmadog in Wales.
He was the father of Susan Williams-Ellis, founder of the Portmeirion Pottery Company, who named the company, presumably, after dad's beloved Portmeirion Village.
The only residents of the village are paying guests at the fairy-tale castle, Castell Deudraeth, Hotel Portmeirion or the self-catering villas around the village. The rest of the buildings are given over to shops, cafes etc.
Sir Clough apparently had a thing for Portofino in Italy and, although he denied basing his Welsh fantasy village on Portofino, there is reputed to be an overall similarity between the two.
As I walk around I can't help feeling I've strolled onto a movie set, or even wandered into Willy Wonka's factory, as one has the distinct urge to lick a wall or snap off a piece of windowsill because they really could be made of candy.
The village has in fact been used on numerous occasions as a movie set (much cheaper than lumping all your stuff to Italy I guess), and, most notably I discover, as the set for the 1960s British TV series 'The Prisoner'. There is a 'Prisoner' shop here, and a 'Prisoner' convention is held annually. Now I don't know the first thing about this show but I'm guessing it's not anything like our Australian 'Prisoner'.
Many famous people have visited and stayed in Portmeirion including Oscar Wilde who, I believe, wrote Blithe Spirit while staying in the hotel!
The gardens are beautifully tended, everything perfectly clipped and manicured, and the Italianate pool is too perfect to be real, but there's water splashing about so it must be real.
Gwesty Hotel sits on the furthermost tip of this little illusion, looking onto the estuary and backed into a wood. It has it's own swimming pool for guests, set in lawns a little distance away, and just to complete the surrealness of your Portmeirion experience, there is a pretend yacht anchored just below the hotel. At least I think it's a pretend one, I fear I may be loosing my grip on reality. Am I looking out across really truly beautiful golden sands stretching away, at this low tide, to a sapphire sea? Or are those distant ripples just a painted canvas backdrop moving in the drowsy afternoon breeze?
I leave in the nick-of-time before the hole in this fantasy dimension closes over forever leaving me adrift on a cardboard sea, and hit the road for the delights of a balmy Llandudno evening, cycling along the Victorian Pier and the magnificent promenade oblivious to the 'No Cycling' signs that are pointed out to me by the Promenade Police the next morning! Ha! Too late she cried!
I watched The Prisoner, and when I stood on the beach at Portmeirion, I could imagine the big white ball bouncing and rolling towards me, ready to absorb me and take me back. No escape! But maybe today one wouldn't want to escape from such a lovely place.
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