Wales in black: of mountains and the night sky

Our lovely cabin at Pen-y-Dre, the next morning

[We start with a bit I wrote mid week's end.]

February 18, 2012

I'm writing from that pleasant valley, on the cusp of a second wind. The endorphins from our hike up Sugar Loaf this afternoon have faded to satisfied sleepiness, slowly perking up now as I drain my cup of joe. I sit at the kitchen table in one of the Pen-y-Dre Farm's cottages in Llanvihangel Crucorney ("Sacred Enclosure of Michael at the Corner of the Rock"); the beams surrounding me are like none I've seen -- almost ostentatious in their rusticity.

We stopped at Raglan Castle the day before

Neither one of us can believe how well this day has come together. We spent last night at the manor house Llansantffraed Court -- more on that in a moment -- and contemplated the grim forecast over their fantastic full Welsh breakfast this morning. As we left for the market hall in Abergavenny, it seemed that heavy rain would indeed dominate the day. Thankfully, Tea was absolutely determined to hike, and so, after a pick-me-up, post-browsing cuppa, we made our way to the tourist information centre for advice on accommodation and hiking in the vicinity.

Llansantffraed Court -- great spot!

It wasn't until we left, with the aforementioned B & B and hill hike recommendations, that we realised the centre had closed minutes after our arrival -- our first bit of luck. And while initially it seemed that Pen-y-Dre Farms was booked up, as Tea chatted with the manager about alternatives he might suggest, his wife piped up to say that they just might have a room, if we could give them a few hours -- Bit of Luck #2. Add that we finished the 5 km hike without so much as a drop of rain, only to have the sky open up as we settled in our cottage -- to say nothing of the beautiful cottage itself, and tea and cake (man-sized wedges at that) that awaited us -- and you're looking at more luck than I can count on a hand. Awww yeah!

My mood of the morning's been turned on its head!

On the way to Sugar Loaf

The summit!

The highlight of the day was probably sitting on a windswept rock two-thirds of the way up Sugar Loaf, feet dangling like I'm a kid in dad's chair, passing a tasty pasty from the market hall back 'n' forth with Tea, watching the shadows of the clouds march across this wide open space like herds of buffalo.

* * *

The Gavenny Valley -- Sunday's hike

Llansantffraed Court was darn near perfect. We'd learned of it through Groupon, and following on from Buttonberg's rave reviews of it last weekend, had us a humdinger of a time. (Until this moment, we've basically retraced Buttonberg's steps, come to think of it, from Raglan Castle -- surely one of the most visually titilating I've seen -- to the manor, to Sugar Loaf.) Llansantffraed Court customised their fixed menu for my lactose intolerance, were consummate hosts through the six courses -- including cured salmon and caviar, confit duck, and loin and pressed shoulder of pork, to name a few -- and stoked an eyebrow-searing fire for us well into the whiskey-filled night.

Oh, and I can't forget the wine pairing: from the riesling (an Australian, from the Pewsey Vale, and Tea's favourite) to the bordeaux on down, each worked beautifully. My favourite was a local red, from the nearby Ancre Hill vineyard: so earthy and yeasty, beetroot in the nose; unlike any wine I've ever tasted. Buttonberg said they never like the same wine and both loved this one. I completely understand; it breaks the mold, and clearly meets in the middle of their tastes.

The end of that story embodies Wales: upon learning of the Buttonberg's gushing love for this local beauty the following morning, the manor called ahead to the vineyard, a few miles down the road, who opened their shop especially for them. They ended up with a case of the stuff.

* * *

On Saturday evening we decided to eat at the Skirrit Mountain Inn, just down the road from our cottage. We turned around almost immediately to grab a torch: there wasn't a street light to be seen in Llanvihangel Crucorney. It reminded me of my last trip to Hare Bay, Newfoundland; I was there for my grandfather's (Dadda's) funeral, and had to make my way back to my Aunt Queen's house each evening by the light of the moon. Now, as then, the constellations popped, as if we were in a planetarium; indeed we had a mobile one seconds later, when Tea fired up her app that labelled the stars (and planets) as you swung the phone around the night sky.

The Skirrid Mountain Inn claims to be Wales' oldest pub, having stood for nine centuries. However, Real Heritage Pubs of Wales puts it at "wholly mid- to late-17th century with major alterations in the 19th century." That said, its crackling hearth, tasty grub -- Tea's baby back ribs were a treat! -- and friendly staff were most welcomed, and we got a good dose of authentic history the following evening when we enjoyed a pint at the Llanthony Priory Hotel: "part of a medieval structure making it the oldest building in [the Real Heritage Pubs of Wales guide] that is now a pub."

* * *

February 19, 2012

The Skirrid, with its chasm of legend

After a nice lie-in, we made our way to the main farmhouse for a big fry-up. It was a fantastic start to the day: blue sky, donkeys and roosters putting their stamp on the morn, sunbeam-sleepy cats lounging in a kitchen so full of life lived.

Tea decided on a nearby hike that would take us through the Gavenny Valley and Cwmyoy -- and the famous crooked church of St. Martin's -- up and around the surrounding hills, along part of the Beacons Way, before circling back to the start. The Gavenny Valley stretched on for miles; such a sight in that crisp morning air. Once we were in it, however, looking up at Cwmyoy, the namesake of the previous evening's inn had our undivided attention:

The Skirrid is the most eye-catching mountain in the area. Shooting up from the Gavenny Valley... gentle green fields climb about halfway up its flanks, giving way suddenly to purple scrub and bracken... [It] has long been held to be a holy mountain; the almighty chasm that splits the peak is said to have been caused by the force of God's will on the death of Christ, a theory that drew St. Michael and legions of other pilgrims... Another theory claims that Noah's Ark clipped it as it passed by.

--The Lonely Planet's Guide to Wales

Inside 'crooked' St. Martin's

The toughest part of the day was still ahead of us: each time we crested a rise, expecting to see the Beacons Way that circled the valley, another hill would present itself. Boy, what a view awaited us at the peak, though. When we made it back to the car, well over four hours later, we were ready for a rest; particularly as we were very aware of the previous day's hike as well.

The last stop of the day was Llanthony Priory, and we made it with minutes to spare. We snapped a few shots as a mist began to fall, briefly taking shelter in the aforementioned hotel of the same name, before heading for home, the sun at our backs and setting the world afire. We soon outran the rain. You could see it in the distance, though; great sheets out near the horizon, tapering to funnels as they touched the earth.

Llanthony Priory

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

The Great British Cheese Festival

Despite the grim forecast, we stuck to our plan of yet another day out in Cardiff; this time, for the Great British Cheese Festival, held on the castle grounds. We met Button at the train station, backpacks stuffed for all occasions with both a blanket and rain gear. We hadn't bought tickets in advance, and were brought up short by the massive line that stretched on in front of the castle. Luckily, however, it moved quickly, and we soon found ourselves on the grounds with an hour 'til our guided tour.

While Tea and Button made their way to the star of the show, I peeled off for the beer tent. Folks were seven and eight deep in front of the bar at that point, so it took me right up 'til tour time to get the two half pints I'd settled on: Sambrook's Wandle Ale -- I'd be wanting to try Sambrook's for a while now -- and Thornbridge's Sequoia. Well worth it, let me say; particularly the latter. (And I'd just brought a mini cask of their Jaipur to a leaving do the night before; you can't have too much Thornbridge in your life, I've decided.) The ladies helped me polish those off sharpish, and we made it to the start of the tour with a minute or two to spare.

After a fantastic guided tour, we met up with more friends, in Cardiff for the start of their holiday in Wales. Tea bought more cheese and breads, I bought a few remaining bottles of the popular Untapped Brewery's stock, and we filled up on Pieminister goodness. Unfortunately, as we ate and drank, watching the surprisingly competitive cheese tossing, they closed the keep. Button was undaunted, however, and amiable to our second choice for exercise: walking to Cardiff Bay; something Tea and I had talked about for as long as we'd been visiting Cardiff, but never done.

The Roald Dahl Plass (or plaza) was really something to see, but it was the smell of the sea -- and the freshwater lake before it, created by the barrage -- that hit us first. The Wales Millennium Centre, the Water Tower, and the Senedd -- home of the Welsh Government -- were all a feast for the eyes, particularly in the light of the setting sun. While we didn't make it all the way to the barrage, we made a good effort, treating ourselves to a taxi back to the castle afterwards. From there, we had time for a quick stop at Zero Degrees to buy a mini cask of the Oktoberfestbier I missed last weekend before catching the train home.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

Cardiff: day out

It's been another great weekend so far. Mom's last one of this trip. We took Friday off, and with poor weather predicted for the weekend, decided to make the most of the sun with a day out in Cardiff. It's become a ritual to stop at Coffee #1 near the train station: they're really friendly, and always have a tempting selection of treats on display. After I'd ordered Triple Belgian Chocolate Brownies and tea for my ladies, the woman behind the counter said, "I have to ask. Where are you from?" My response brought gushes, not only from her, but also from the woman behind Mom in the queue: family, friends who'd been, loved it, wanted to go back, saving to go. The consistent enthusiasm for Canada that I've encountered in the UK and abroad over these past two years fills me with such pride. I really do count myself lucky -- the accident of my birth, as they say -- more fundamentally than I did back home, even as a proud Canadian and a proud Newfoundlander.

The Cardiff Market was our next stop: for welsh cakes and a browse of secondhand books; another ritual. Tea had a bit of shopping to do as well, so we agreed to meet at the castle later on. A new favourite of mine is the microbrewery Zero Degrees, and while I was a day too early for their Oktoberfestbier, I enjoyed a pint of their seasonal amber ale before meeting Tea and Mom at the gates of Cardiff Castle.

They'd added a new World War II shelter exhibit since our last visit. The kitchen display caught Mom's eye: she pointed out the old oil heater, imposing at three feet or so, and cast-iron with a large handle: they had one when she was growing up, to heat the front room or parlour when guests were over; the only source of heat outside the kitchen stove.

Mom w. Brains Dark at the Goat Major

We toured the walls, grounds and keep 'til closing, and then popped across the street for a pint at the Goat Major. A Brains pub with an impressive history of guest ales (if the pump clips behind the bar are any indication), we enjoyed pints of Brains' Legends, Dark and gravity-dispensed SA in its warm atmosphere. It was only as we made our way to Zero Degrees for supper that we realized we'd missed a heavy rain shower.

Once there, we had a great meal on an interior balcony that overlooked the kitchen. Tea and Mom were mesmerized by the delicate dance around the wood oven -- their menu focusses on pizza, which Tea again raved about. Plus, Mom really enjoyed their Mango Ale. I can't say enough about their Pale Ale -- a really nice hoppy character I keep going to back to -- and I finished with a half pint of their Black Lager: nice body with heavy coffee notes.

Supper at Zero Degrees

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

* * *

Yesterday, we were invited to a big barbecue the Americans had organized at Witcombe Cricket Club. We even got to be guest judges at their chili competition, a highly-anticipated annual event. (I had a tough time, going back for seconds to break ties, but persevered -- yes, the consummate professional, folks.) It was a fantastic atmosphere: great spread, games for the kids, and nice location and weather (early on, anyway) -- they even had an ice cream truck show up!

Later, we took Mom to see Jane Eyre, which we all really enjoyed; particularly the setting. And speaking of film, I should sign off and grab a shower; the main event (from my Mom's point of view) is on deck as a matinee: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. She's over the moon that it opened here ahead of the North American release.

Hay-on-Wye: Book town of Wales (and my heart)

Walking in on Friday, we decided it was time for another mini-break. That evening we booked The Swan in Hay-on-Wye for following night. While the weather the next morning wasn't as good as the forecast, it steadily improved as we made our way west. Only fog awaited us as we checked in early and set about exploring Hay.

With rain threatening, we kept the walk short, down by the lively Wye river. Benches dedicated to fellow lovers of the British countryside could be seen all along the trail, and we took advantage of one part-way, enjoying the view and those smells you only get near fast-moving water.

The reviews Tea had read said the Swan's food was a bit poncey, and the fab Blue Boar was just across the road to boot, so guess where we ended up for lunch. Their food was excellent -- a beef burger for Tea and cottage pie (think shepherd's pie) for me -- and while their namesake IPA was a bit bland, the Landlord more than made up for it.

Bellies full, it was time to see what Hay is famous for: books, books and more books. I've never seen so many shops in such a small town. And some of them are so specialized -- on botany and ornithology, children's books, nineteenth century British authors... Honestly, that's three different bookshops -- you wonder how they can survive. In a word, or phrase, Hay Festival: tens of thousands of visitors flood the town with one thought on their mind: reading.

I won't bore you with my amazing finds -- including the ones I left on the shelves; it's easy to spend well in excess of a thousand pounds on one book, in case you're wondering why I wouldn't satisfy my every whim -- but the highlight of the day was certainly the illustrated edition of Voltaire's Candide by Peter Pauper Press, hardcover in a slipcase. Beautiful!

We decided to rest up a bit before supper. Back in the hotel room, I took in some of the FA Cup fifth round play, very impressed with how non-league Crawley Town fared against Man U. -- that's right: a team effectively four leagues below the team at the top of the Premier League, and, in the end, they were beaten by but one goal. Incredible.

We'd heard the Old Black Lion was the best restaurant in town, and we were lucky enough to get a table without a reservation... Just. The locals were so friendly, first offering us their seats while we waited for a table, and then one gentleman finished early, taking his digestif to the pub area, so that we might have his table sooner. Such a great atmosphere, before I even touch on the fabulous food: a T-bone steak for Tea, and a starter of duck, followed by braised lamb shank for me; superb! Plus, they had the Wye Valley's own Butty Bach on hand-pump! Love that stuff.

The next morning, after a big, tasty full English at the Swan, it was out for a proper hike, south toward the Hay Bluff. The weather was great again, but it had rained overnight, making it easily our muddiest walk to date. Thank goodness for wellies, is all I have to say; well, thank that and balance I summoned from the depths, hauling one boot out while another sank up to my shin, over and over again for a stretch. And I was grinnin' like an idiot, brought back thirty years in one afternoon.

The pig farm was another highlight: these big sows snuffling over to the fence (thinking we had food, no doubt) and scratching themselves on saplings the size of my forearm. Oh, and I can't forget the wee lambs, still trying to master the trick of standing up for seconds at a time. And if walking through all these farms doesn't give you a flavour for life here, every farmhouse we passed had a stool out front with cartons of their eggs and a tin for the money. Stepping back in time would approximate the feeling for some, I guess, but I've never known life like this. Period. It's heaven to me; plain and simple.

After a light lunch at the Blue Boar -- why mess with a good thing? -- it was time for more shopping. I had visions of popping 'round to many different shops, but that was before we entered the phenomenon of Hay Cinema Bookshop. It's pretty much a TARDIS. An old converted theatre, it just keeps going on and on, gobbling up afternoons like kids' sweets. Again, I won't bore you with all that made up our two shopping bags' full. For me, the highlights were N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims, and a beautiful edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated by Peter Weevers (although Tea also got some great photography manuals).

The day quickly getting away from us, we decided to hit the road. We still wanted to stop in Ross-on-Wye on the way back, and by the smaller roads that really shouldn't be travelled after sunset. 'Cause it was on the map, we did take one detour: to Arthur's Stone, dented by the elbow of a giant slain by Arthur, according to legend. The kids who were biking away as we arrived didn't seem so impressed, jumping up 'n' down on the neolithic burial chamber moments before. (I leave the mutters and grumblings of "no respect..." and "tanned hides..." as an exercise for the reader.)

We caught the last of the light as we pulled off at Ross-on-Wye. We'll definitely be back, as some of the walks beside the river looked absolutely idyllic. As it was, we stopped in The Mail Rooms for a few pints -- New Moon is an excellent dark, incidentally -- and tea for Tea. When we learned they'd run out of Sunday roast -- of any sort! -- it was down to the Seven Seas for kebabs; super messy, but delish!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

Malmesbury and Tetbury

With a sunny forecast, we set out for a walk near Tetbury. The plan had been to poke our noses in a few of the antique shops it's famous for -- that, and the nearby estate belonging to HRH Prince Charles. Unfortunately, it seems that most of them are closed on Sundays, so we settled for wandering the grounds of the Church of St. Mary The Virgin, and saw the Market House and the Chipping Steps -- with a property for sale! If you can spare most of your limbs, no doubt -- before making our way back to the car.

Aside: I'd be remiss were I not to raise the subject of the decidedly un-cat-like black cat we met near the top of the famous Gumstool Hill. His cries for attention, while prodigious, didn't particularly distinguish him; rather, it was his ingenuity: when I crouched down to take a shot of a nearby hotel, I felt this sudden weight in my lap, followed by much, much closer meowing. I walked around with little muddy cat paws on my thighs for the rest of the day.

A quick flip through our walking book later, we were off to the neighbouring Malmesbury to walk the public and permissive footpaths that surround and divide it. First up, however, was a carvery, at the Smoking Dog, we decided. (Despite my aversion for those horrid "Dogs playing poker" paintings and whatnot, which Tea helpfully brought to mind, pointing at the pub's sign and smirking.)

As I went up to order our pints, my gaze fell upon the "Continental Guest Beer," Blue Moon. I couldn't help but laugh and comment on the sight from 'home', to which the bartender replied, "Oh, yes. It must be an acquired taste." That's one way of putting it, I thought. A final point on the bar: when I was up for another round, I noticed the gentleman who'd been sitting beside us chatting to the bartender. As I waited, I realized he was making good on a comment he'd made at the table about the ale being too cold, and how the management would probably like to know. The two of them were now lamenting how little you can do about the temperature of your cellar. It really is that important to them, folks, and I'm sure they'd be deeply offended by the "warm, flat beer" comments I've heard from the mouths of Canadian visitors. But, to each his own.

Our bellies full -- Tea ordered a burger, which surprised me, though she enjoyed it; pork loin for me -- we made our way past the old silk mills to the ridiculously muddy path. Tea immediately cursed her lack of foresight, as her wellies languished in the car. On we went in the lovely sunshine, slowly ascending through town to the impressive Malmesbury Abbey. The other pub we'd read about, The Whole Hog, wasn't far from the car park, so we decided that some refreshments might be in order.

The Whole Hog has a fantastic bar area out front, with large, well-maintained windows that look out on a square, and, according to our book, a market cross that's one of the best examples from its era in England. It was a great place to take a load off, particularly with a pint of Three Castle's Corn Dolly in my hand, and listening to guffaws, the likes of which I never would've called anything but campy British were I not there to witness the sincerity of their delivery. Good times!

We'd read about the Priory Inn in Tetbury earlier in the day, and in the spirit of perpetuating those good times, we decided to stop in, for supper, as it turned out.

I can't recommend this place enough. They have this fantastic "Thirty-mile food zone" that they do their best to follow, and promote local musicians -- we enjoyed an excellent performance by Juey that evening -- and artists -- we bought a lovely drawing of cows in Cardigan Bay by Carole Condé that we'd been ogling all evening; it really reminded us of our trip to Wales.

So, yes, good for the conscience, clearly, but very good for the soul too. Their wood oven pizzas are delicious -- we saw more than a few take-away orders that evening -- and the treacle and marmalade tart was out of this world!

As always, check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

Wandering Wales

Thursday, November 18

After a nice lie-in and a few errands, we crossed the border to Wales, heading to Abergavenny. With sunset before half four these days, we didn't have much time to explore. A quick pint in the Hen and Chickens -- a cinnamon real ale of sorts that was good (in small quantities, I would suggest) -- and a stroll through the market area, alight for Christmas, and it was back on the road west for the short drive to Crickhowell and our lodgings for the evening: The Bear Inn.

What a fabulous spot! So warm and welcoming. We'd booked the half seven supper time, and so we went down to the bar to enjoy a few pints by the roaring hearth, planning the next day.

Their food matches their hospitality: Tea loved her Black Mountain steak filet, and my rump of lamb was excellent. I had pigeon for a starter, which was also very tasty -- it would seem, happily, that my earlier run-ins with their brethren on the balcony of our first apartment haven't scarred me. That, and I'd enjoyed partridge a number of times as a kid in Newfoundland, and it's similar to pigeon.

For dessert, Tea had her first pavlova, and loved it. I helped her with a bit of the meringue, and, man, it was good.

Friday, November 19

The trend continued with breakfast; in fact, my full English came with some of the best black pudding I've ever had. We both agreed that the ham and bacon was exceptional too -- local, according to the menu.

The forecast for later in the week and week's end had been poor, so no one was more surprised than us when we were greeted by the sun on Friday. Crickhowell was irresistible, blanketed in a morning mist, so we took some time to explore the local castle and side streets. The plan had then been to go straight to St. David's and hike, before coming back to Slebech for the night.

Well, we started to have doubts about that plan after the sixth time we pulled over to take pictures -- and all this before Brecon, which isn't a half hour west of Crickhowell! The countryside in the morning sun was that spectacular. And then our modified plan of a tea in Brecon turned into four lovely hours, including a walk around the Cathedral Church of St. John the Evangelist, some shopping, a few pints at the Boars Head -- "the flagship of the Breconshire Brewery" -- and delicious döner kebabs for the road from this hole in the wall. (We've decided we have to find one of these shops closer to home after that awesome street vendor in Oxford the other weekend, and now this.)

We should've made it to the hotel with plenty of daylight to spare, but let's just say that Slebech Park is well tucked away.

After calling them, then stopping and asking for directions at a car dealership -- insert much more to'ing and fro'ing -- and finally following a random car down a narrow -- and, by this time, very dark -- road we hoped might lead in the right direction, we made it!

As we entered the reception area, the girl behind the counter said, "Oh, was I speaking with you?" When we hinted at our exasperation, she immediately indicated to her right and said, "Oh, would you like to sign our petition for a sign?" Honestly, I thought she was joking, and actually laughed, her deadpan delivery was so spot-on.

But, no, as Ellie went on to explain, the local council is dead-set against what they call "sign pollution," even though the hotel merely wants to use a portion of the existing road sign for Picton Castle. I don't know how anyone finds this place without it; the petition was certainly chock-a-block by the time we got our hands on it.

Things started looking up once we'd booked a supper time and opened a few selections of Brains' fine brews. The estate is really very impressive, and the restaurant is in what used to be part of the stables; a cart shed, specifically, I believe, which doesn't do the scale of the structure justice. We decided to dine on the upper balcony, and at times we felt like royalty above our subjects, themselves dining before a crackling fire.

Saturday, November 20

But it's the land surrounding the estate -- including its view on the Daugleddau Estuary -- that set Slebech Park apart. The following morning, we had a fantastic time walking but a portion of the grounds, with not another soul in sight. At one point, which, with hindsight, was probably the highlight of the trip for me, we were looking out over a field grown so high that the sheep were partially hidden, when suddenly this enormous FROOMPF! erupted all around us, as literally hundreds of small birds took flight simultaneously. The sky was black with them for a second or two, and we must've spent another twenty minutes watching their elaborate dance amongst trees near and far.

We took our time driving -- ever west! -- to St. David's, stopping on a whim in Solva. The tide was out, which caught our eye, quickly followed by the Harbour Inn. It was probably the pub of the trip, with excellent food and ales on tap, and a hearth that Tea hardly took her eyes off.

We did make it to St. David's eventually, and had a great time exploring the town, as well as the cathedral and nearby Bishop's Palace. The whole area is something to see, the way it's unveiled as you walk down into the town. We could've spent a lot longer there, but we knew that our hotel was just outside of Aberystwyth, well over an hour up the west coast.

We drove through Fishguard as the light began to fade, and swore we'd come back to Cardigan one day. Thankful, the sign for the Conrah stands out well on the roadside as you come to Chancery, just before Aberystwyth. Our room was really a separate cabin of sorts -- with an amazing view, we discovered in the morning -- and perfectly laid out.

Sunday, November 21

For our last day, we decided to explore Aberystwyth, and then take in the Devil's Bridge on the drive home. We were clearly getting the hang of planning by this point, because once we'd explored the beachfront, including the nearby castle and climbing to the top of Constitution Hill, it was well into the afternoon.

The rain was holding off as we pulled into Devil's Bridge to take in the town's namesake. We descended the slick stone steps to that thunderous culmination of the Mynach Falls called "The Punch Bowl" and gazed up at those three famous bridges. It's really quite a sight; particularly when you learn that the original bridge dates from the 11th century.

Then there was time for some refreshments at the nearby Hafod Arms Hotel -- Welsh cakes! Yum! -- before we hit the road for home.

As always, there are many more pictures (over 100!) in my Picasa web album from the trip.