I have been remiss. I’ve neglected to introduce our wonderful guides, James, Mary, and Monika. Though they hail from different places (London, California, and Lithuania, respectively), they share an enthusiasm for showing people the outdoors, a good sense of humor, an athletic grace, and an unflappable air of being able to handle whatever may come. Oh, and they’re also unreasonably tall. (Not that I’m jealous or anything.)
Today’s hike offered two options, a gentle, four-mile walk gaining 700 feet in elevation, or a ten-mile slog gaining some 2,000 feet of elevation. To paraphrase Robert Frost (whom I much prefer to Dylan Thomas), two roads diverged in brackened fields and I took the one less likely to result in a cardiac event.
Unlike yesterday’s rocks and mud, today’s hike followed grassy, fern-lined paths to the base of Llangorse, a mountain in Breton Beacon National Park. There we ate lunch – a fine sandwich of local cheese, a banana, and, um, “prawn cocktail”-flavored potato chips. Someone else had “pheasant”-flavored chips. Among gastronomic travesties, I rank this penchant for gratuitously odd-tasting snacks alongside the Brits’ preference for warm beer.
After lunch we had the option of taking the van back to the hotel or tackling the longer version of the hike. A bit over half of our party welcomed exhaustion in pursuit of inspiring views. I did not, instead returning to the hotel and putting my newly-acquired shower-operating skills to use. Then I wandered the trails on the hotel’s grounds, which include a path following the River Usk and another path winding through “beautiful gardens and woodlands,” just like the brochure promised.
Later in the afternoon, the terrific Welsh Men’s Choir (sorry Mom, Tom Jones is not a member) sang hymns and traditional tunes on the hotel’s patio. In a valiant but misguided effort to acknowledge July 4th, the performance included a medley of Dixie and the Battle Hymn of the Republic. They closed with the Star-Spangled Banner (we sang along) and the Welsh national anthem (we did not).
Then it was off to dinner at a gastropub called Griffin Felin Fach, recently named the best pub In Wales. Since it’s the only pub I’ve visited in Wales I’d have to agree, though the food was so good I don’t doubt the accolade is merited. Even better than the food was the sheer normality, after two years of isolation, of a convivial, laughter-filled dinner with friends.
PuffinlessTravel 