I was woken during the night by an extremely loud bang; a door? a
gun? Who knew. I knew I wasn’t walking the sort of distance
I had on other days so set the alarm for eight rather than the six o’something
it has been on other days. I wasn’t
feeling particularly perky though. I
went downstairs to what appeared to be an empty pub and went to find the
laundry room. My heart sank when I found
that the boots were wet. Very wet. They didn’t seem to be any drier than when
they entered the room sixteen hours earlier.
I was really annoyed at myself for believing the silly old sod who told
me it would be warm enough in there for them to dry. I was also annoyed that there didn’t appear
to be anyone working on my breakfast. A
woman and her granddaughter arrived. She
was the cleaner. The woman, not the
child. She didn’t know why there wasn’t
anyone in the building to cook my breakfast but went to wake the chef who slept
in the pub. She said that if I
reappeared at nine my breakfast would be ready.
And it was. When I went into the
dining room the Spanish chef who had the physique of a man who was no stranger
to second helpings appeared with buttered white toast and a cup of tea. This was a little surprising since no menu
reading or ordering had taken place but the will to live was leaving me. It appeared that he had put sugar in the
tea. He told me “I THOUGHT YOU WANT TEA
LIKE AN ENGLISH PERSON, NOT COFFEE”. I
am aware of the cliché that English people will shout at foreigners when they
don’t speak the language but this Spaniard (with the strong Welsh accent) was
shouting at me; “YOU WANT MORE TOAST.
YEAH? MORE TOAST. YEAH?”.
I was wondering if anything more substantial was on offer but with the
second helping of toast came a full cooked breakfast. I sighed a sigh that touched my socks and
told him I didn’t eat meat. He told me
the cleaner had told him I wanted breakfast.
He disappeared for a couple of minutes and returned my breakfast sans
bacon and sausage. It was obvious he had
only flicked the meat from the plate.
Normally I would complain about cross contamination but I really wanted
to leave the building as soon as possible.
He explained that the mix up over who should be preparing my breakfast
was because “WE IS NOT A HOTEL. WE IS A
PUB WITH ROOMS”. If this was a charm
offensive he was only fifty percent there.
It must be the only hotel in Britain that puts its guests on suicide
watch.
A few minutes later, as I was preparing to leave the building in
my wet boots the landlady emerged and was very apologetic about the mix
ups. I accepted this and kept moving for
the door and set off at 10am in torrential rain. My thighs ached and something I’d identify as
a hamstring did too. I felt as miserable
as the weather. The walking and terrain
wasn’t too dreadful and after a few minutes of bogginess the path took me up
into some woodland. When I saw some
vans, caravans and campervans ahead of me I thought it was a traveller camp but
it was actually a meeting people racing Huskies on sleds. Well, sleds with wheels. I didn’t get to see anyone actually doing any
racing, just lots of people preparing and dogs tied to stakes. From the people I saw it seemed to be a sport
that largely involved covering yourself in mud.
Some of the Huskies were very lovely looking and others appeared to have
been bred into pure evil. I ghosted
through them like Bruce Willis in ‘The Sixth Sense’, completely ignored. Perhaps this was because I didn’t have any
Huskies. Perhaps this was because I
smelled like a Husky.
 |
| This is a footpath!! |
I walked for several miles in the woods and then descended into
some bogginess. The suction the bog
caused on my boot was like pulling a plunger from a plughole and caused a
recurring pain on my heel. Some of the
paths looked more like streams with very fast moving water. I’ve come to realise that in Wales water is
always in motion, either downwards from the sky or flowing down hills. I found a good stick to help me move through
the swamp and judge depth of sludge. I
soon discovered why real walking sticks have metal tips since mine seemed to
quickly shrink. Having walked off the
path slightly to avoid bogginess or boggy streams I then did have to stepping
stone across a stream. Who’d have
thought this would end up so much like one of Ben Fogle’s Extreme Dreams?
I arrived at LLanwddyn at 14.30.
There I saw the first person I’d seen all day. I asked them if they knew where a B&B
called The Oaks was. She pointed to a
house about fifty metres away and we both laughed. I took a brief wander to the dam to take some
photographs of the dam and lake. It’s
clearly quite a tourist attraction at other times of the year. There was a tea shop (closed), souvenir shop
(closed) and sculpture park (wet). I
then went to The Oaks. I was greeted by
Michael who was very lovely. He said
he’d deal with my boots which I left by the front door and he showed me to my
room. I had a long soak in the bath and
then watched a Christmas movie. I felt
very different to how I had at the start of the day.
Although Michael had offered me a lift at seven o’clock I walked
over the dam to find The Tower Tavern which was part of the Vyrnwy Spa
Hotel. I hadn’t imagined it would take
me twenty minutes to get there. I wouldn’t
have found it at all had it not been for my torches. My feet coped well with wearing shoes and although a little chilly it was a lovely
evening with a clear sky and apparently full moon. The night was so silent it could probably
hear itself. It was the sort of night on
which you and your spouse might take an evening stroll when on holiday but I
was with my anorak and a dozen blisters instead. With my arrival at the tavern the customers
now outnumbered the staff. Within twenty
eight minutes I’d ordered and eaten two courses; Crab cakes and then sea
bass. A combination I often order. My waitress was called Vendula. Her accent was thicker than molasses and I
had no idea whether she was Welsh or Russian or Mexican. It wasn’t always clear what she was saying to
me or asking of me. I just nodded and
shook my head when I thought it appropriate when she spoke. I returned to my room at The Oaks. It had a strong odour of sweaty, rain sodden
clothing.
