We were staying in a little terrace of cottages with a stream running past the front. Another row of cottages faced us, each with its own lovely garden. Inside, the accommodation was fairly ordinary, but we each had our own bedroom and bathroom, which felt like a treat after sharing elsewhere on the trip.
Unfortunately, Trefor was rather short on places to eat. The aptly named Bert's Kitchen was closed until the weekend, which meant travelling across the peninsula for dinner. That shouldn't have been a problem, if it hadn't been for London Sister's adventurous (or perhaps pesky) sat-nav.
Instead of taking us along a sensible road, it directed us on to what gradually became a mountain track. It was a truly hair-raising drive. I lost count of the number of Memorares I recited, silently, of course, as my sister needed to concentrate on the wheelwork.
By the time we reached Dylan's in Criccieth I was in ribbons. Thankfully, the restaurant was lovely, the service was excellent and the food more than made up for the journey. I apologised to our server for arriving late, explaining that we'd accidentally taken the mountain road. The look on his face suggested we weren't the first people to offer that excuse.
The following day we headed for the beach and then climbed up on to the cliffs to see the sea stacks. They had been our goal from the outset, and they were well worth the walk. The views were spectacular, with seabirds wheeling overhead and the sea beneath us.
On the walk we met a very enthusiastic Anglo-Italian hiker who now lives in Amsterdam. He was accompanied by his sister's delightful little dog and was full of praise for the beauty of the area.
One thing I noticed throughout Wales was the number of exceptionally handsome dogs. As every dog owner knows, all it takes to start a conversation is a compliment - directed at the dog rather than its human!
Our biggest surprise came on our last evening. As we stepped out of the cottage to go for dinner, a goat came trotting down the street. Then another. Then another.
At first we assumed they had escaped from a nearby farm, but they were nothing of the sort. They belong to a long-established feral herd that has roamed the hills around Yr Eifl (The Rivals), Nant Gwrtheyrn, Pistyll and Trefor for centuries.
The further we drove, the more goats we saw until it became clear we were watching an entire herd making its evening rounds. It was a wonderful and rather surreal sight.
When I looked into them afterwards, I discovered that they are considered a distinct local population. Researchers believe the herd has been relatively isolated for a long time, making it genetically different from other feral goat populations in North Wales. In recent years a monitoring project has begun to study their genetics, numbers and their impact on the landscape.
Like the famous Great Orme goats, these animals are genuinely feral. Nobody owns them. They survive by browsing shrubs, young trees, gorse and other vegetation rather than relying on people.
Since the Covid lockdowns they have become much bolder. With fewer people and cars around, they grew accustomed to wandering into villages and, even after life returned to normal, many continued to stroll through Trefor, Llithfaen and neighbouring gardens as if they owned the place.
Although they are much loved by local people and visitors alike, there is increasing concern that their numbers have grown. Recent surveys recorded an average of around 95 goats in the study area, considerably more than in the early 2010s. Conservationists are now trying to balance protecting this unique herd with safeguarding rare plants, allowing woodland to regenerate and ensuring the goats themselves remain healthy. Inevitably, there has even been discussion that culling may eventually be necessary if numbers continue to rise.
For now, though, they were simply one of the most memorable sights of our Welsh adventure.
Favourite moments: the spectacular clifftop walk to the sea stacks, the excellent meal at Dylan's after our white-knuckle drive, and unexpectedly finding ourselves sharing the streets of Trefor with a herd of wild goats.
Another Excellent Dinner: Our second evening produced another memorable meal, this time at The Llewelyn Restaurant in the Lion Hotel, Criccieth. The restaurant offered two menus: a traditional British menu and an authentic Indian one.
The Indian menu immediately caught my eye because it included Railway Curry, a dish I often make at home. I couldn't resist ordering it to see what an Indian chef would make of a curry I thought I knew well.
It was spectacular - the best Railway Curry I have ever tasted.
We left our Crickhowell lodgings on Sunday morning and set off on a pleasant drive north towards Dolgellau, travelling via Builth Wells and Rhayader. Full credit must go to London Sister, who took on all the driving. It made the journey relaxing for me, as I could sit back and enjoy the scenery.
Our first stop was Builth Wells, a place that brought back memories of a previous visit. Seventeen years ago, Clint, Bert and I came here for the Royal Welsh Smallholder and Garden Festival. It was hard to believe that it took me this long to return to Wales.
We stopped in a little town for lunch. Being Sunday, roast dinners were very much on the menu, so I ordered one. I wish I could remember where we ate, because the meal certainly made an impression. What arrived was a plate of food large enough to feed three people. I tried my best, but was unable to do it justice. Meanwhile, around us, several other couples were happily working their way through equally enormous portions and appeared to have no difficulty at all. I was amazed!
After lunch we continued northwards through the beautiful Welsh countryside, eventually arriving in Dolgellau. The town was very quiet when we arrived, but then it was Sunday afternoon. We parked in the market square and went in search of our accommodation. From the outside it looked very promising, tall, three-storey buildings of beautiful grey stone lining the streets.
Dolgellau immediately had an old-fashioned feel about it. I had no real idea what to expect from the town, but it turned out to be a delightful surprise. I have since read that some people find it a little too monochrome, but I loved it. To me, it felt like an authentic Victorian market town, with its historic architecture largely unchanged.
Most of the distinctive grey stone buildings that give Dolgellau
its character today date from the 18th and 19th centuries,
particularly between around 1750 and 1870. Built from locally
quarried stone and slate, they give the town its wonderfully
consistent appearance.
Today Dolgellau has more than 200 listed buildings, making it one of the best-preserved historic towns in Wales. The narrow streets, tall stone houses and variations in the local stonework all reflect the town’s growth during its most prosperous period.
Our townhouse accommodation was just as promising inside as it had been outside. Our rooms were large and airy, with two comfortable beds and a pleasant sitting nook overlooking the street. It was exactly the sort of place you hope to find when exploring an old Welsh town.
On our first evening we wandered around Dolgellau and discovered the Catholic Church of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows. I was really impressed by this building. Although it is only just over 50 years old, it seemed to blend beautifully with the much older stone buildings around it.
The church has a remarkable story. After the Reformation, Catholic life in the area had almost disappeared, and it was not until 1928 that Dolgellau again had a resident Catholic priest. This was Father Francis Scalpell, a Maltese priest who arrived with great determination and very little in the way of resources. Initially, Mass was celebrated in an old stable which was later adapted into a small chapel.
Through years of hard work and fundraising, Father Scalpell finally achieved his dream of building a permanent church. Constructed from local stone, Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows was completed and consecrated in 1970. It remains a lasting tribute to his faith, perseverance and dedication to the small Catholic community he served. Being Catholic we lit candles for a very special intention. Being pragmatic we were not looking for miracles, rather fortitude for those that will need it.
The following day our plan was to walk the popular Precipice Walk just outside the town. Despite the rather dramatic name, it was not quite as frightening as it sounds, although there were a couple of places where we had to negotiate rough stone sections carefully.
The views, however, were spectacular. The walk offered wonderful panoramas over the Mawddach Estuary, Cadair Idris and the surrounding mountains of Eryri (Snowdonia). The route passed through woodland, along rocky paths and past viewpoints that seemed to change at every turn.
The area is also a wonderful place for wildlife. We were lucky enough to see red kites soaring overhead. There is something very special about watching these magnificent birds gliding effortlessly above the Welsh hills.
Despite the popularity of the walk, the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly. Almost everyone we met was cheerful and ready for a chat, apart from the lady at the very beginning who warned us about horseflies! Her warning unnerved us, but thankfully we did not encounter any. In County Antrim we would call them clegs, and they are not creatures you particularly want to meet on a walk.
When we returned to Dolgellau, the town had a very different feel from the quiet place we had arrived at on Sunday. The streets were full of walkers and climbers, many setting off to explore the surrounding hills and trails. It was lovely to see the town with more life in it, yet it still retained the character of an old Welsh market town rather than feeling overwhelmed by visitors.
We also discovered that the friendliness extended beyond the streets. On our first evening we called into an Indian restaurant, only to find they were closing early. I asked if they would be open the following day, and an Asian lady assured us that they would be. It was just a small encounter, but it added to our impression of the warmth of the people we met.
In fact, with very few exceptions, almost everyone we met in Wales was genuinely lovely. (There is a little airport story to come!)
I was actually sorry to leave Dolgellau. We had found it welcoming, beautiful and full of character. It may not have the grand attractions of some better-known Welsh destinations, but for us it was one of those places that quietly gets under your skin.
I would happily recommend this lovely old town to anyone.
It’s been a while. I took a trip.
For eight days I was in Wales with my sister. She drove from London while I flew to Cardiff. I’ve been back for a week now and, despite some life stuff going on, I’ve been in decent form. Holidays really are restorative. It wasn’t just what we did while we were in Wales, but how being there made me feel.
First, the trip.
London Sister planned it all, as she’s good at that sort of thing, and knowing that, I was confident it would be a good plan. We met in Cardiff and drove to a village in the Brecon Beacons where we stayed at the Kestrel Inn, a former coaching inn believed to be more than 200 years old. We were sleeping in a building that has welcomed travellers since the coaching era. I’m willing to bet the beds we slept in were a vast improvement on those offered in the late eighteenth century!
When I complimented our host, Richard, on how comfortable they were, he let us into the secret: the mattresses came from John Lewis. Despite the heat, we slept like logs. There’s nothing quite like thick stone walls for keeping a room cool during a heatwave.
We caught the tail end of the hot weather in Wales, and the day we climbed Crug Hywel (Table Mountain) was still very warm. It was a tough walk, especially at the beginning and again near the end. I hadn’t done a proper hike in ages, but I reminded myself that Mammy had climbed Slemish well into her seventies, and that this was a similar elevation to our own local hill. And in addition, our host told us that his Mum had climbed it recently and she in her eighties!
Even so, I was exhausted when we made the top for the last half hour had been quite a scramble. But, as promised, the views were excellent and to make things even better, there were early bilberries to scoff and a small herd of mountain ponies to watch.
So we descended, which was thankfully much easier than the climb up, returned to the inn, got changed and headed out for a walk around Crickhowell, then dinner.* Then it was back to those wonderfully comfortable beds for a second night.
The next morning we said goodbye to Richard and continued our journey. A good start to the holiday. Next stop Dolgellau.
*Food excellent, service
When we first introduced nepeta, or catmint, to our garden, the intention was to bring pleasure to our cats Fred and Holly, and it certainly did. They both adored it, Holly in particular. Those beloved pusses are no longer with us and now it's Woody and Pippin who enjoy it, especially Pippin.
But it's not just the cats. Bees, hoverflies and butterflies are also attracted to the flowers. I was delighted to spot a painted lady on it about a week ago. Just one, rather tattered at the wing edges but not too faded. It may have travelled a considerable distance, perhaps as far as France or northern Spain. I really hoped it would find a mate.
A few days later it returned, recognisable by those ragged wing tips, and this time it was accompanied by another painted lady. The newcomer looked much fresher. Since then I've seen them feeding on the nepeta most days.
Yesterday they were joined by a hummingbird hawk-moth, a delight to see. There was no point reaching for the camera because these moths are such speedy visitors, in and out in seconds. It's said they return to the same flowers at roughly the same time each day. I kept an eye out this morning, but I must have missed its usual visiting time.
I was so pleased with my hawk-moth sighting that last night I decided to put out the light trap, just to see what was about. The most exciting visitor was a poplar hawk-moth.
It's forecast to be a good year for painted ladies and I hope that's true. Unfortunately, it hasn't been a good year for long-eared owls or spotted flycatchers. The loss of the big spruces at the edge of the wood, damaged in winter storms, has probably put the owls off. As for the flycatchers, I don't know what has happened to them. We still have the swallows, though, one brood is already on the wing and perhaps there will be another to come.
One from June 2016. I was right about Brexit and wrong about Trump. He has turned out even more of a disaster than I feared.
Sure, there’s not much else to do when you’re standing in the mud beside a stream, making sure the cows don’t escape again.
This tiny patch lies between two fields, one being ours, the other belonging to a neighbour. There is a spring burbling here, though the water is contaminated, thanks to modern farming practices. In April, the ground was carpeted with pretty wood anemones, now it is just green vegetation churned into mud by the wandering cattle.
I'm waiting for Bert to contact the farmer. The cows cast baleful looks at me. They had been thoroughly enjoying their brief excursion onto the road, nibbling the tastier herbage from the hedges and verges, completely unconcerned by the growing queue of cars and vans unable to get past.
Around them, swallows swoop and dive. Where there are cattle, there are always flying insects.
At last the farmer and help arrives and I am relieved of my post. The cattle are driven to another field further from the road.
Bert had referred to the beasts as ‘replacements’. They were young dairy cows, Holsteins, famed for their wandering ways. As older cows become less productive they are sent to the abattoir and replaced with younger animals. It seems that the adventure they had on our road was not going to be a part of their future.
We do tend to think of milk and milk products as being fairly benign but it all comes at a big cost to the animals involved, constantly pregnant and never allowed to keep their calves because we want the milk, the cream, the butter, the cheese and the yogurt. And I do love those things. But when faced with those young cows, just wanting to explore the world and live their life and knowing what their future holds I cannot help but wonder if Vegans have the right idea.
