And now for something completely different!

Well, today we got lost, traipsed through a field of chest high weeds, annihilated ourselves on many bushes of stinging nettle, and I sliced my knee open on barbed wire fence….all this and we hadn’t even left Trefonen yet.

The day started out with a good breakfast put on by Diane at Lynstead Lodge…individual boxes of cereal and tiny jars of jam adorned the table in a beautiful and sunny breakfast room. Dad had smoked salmon and eggs and I had sausage, tomatoes and a boiled egg. Delish!
After breakfast, we struck out on the road…until five seconds later when I decided that I should also bring my running shoes as a back up because my hiking boots hurt my feet, so we went back to the house, I packed my running shoes…and we were off!
We made it through a couple of dew covered fields, and over a stile adorned with stinging nettle…which leads me to my complaint about every gosh darn stile in Wales being covered in stinging nettle! What gives Wales?! What did I ever do to you! Anyway, off we went following what we thought was the right path, until it wasn’t. This was about the time that I was neck deep in a giant field of weeds. They were soaking wet and dew covered, plus it was some kind of huge green leafy thing, and some other seedy thing that felt, when you were trying to get through them, as if you were repeatedly giving yourself carpet burn. Now you are probably asking yourself why I didn’t go around the outside of the field, but when my other choice is thick bushes of stinging nettle, I will tramp through the carpet burning field thank you! Turns out, after making it through the field, dad and I had to walk around the outside-stinging-nettle-covered field anyway…only to get to another stinging nettled stile. It was when we got to the other side and both of our legs felt like they were on fire from the nettles, that a friendly local asked us if we were trying to find the Offa’s Dyke path and that if we were, we were waaaay off track.
She, along with her somewhat-stile-leaping dog, (he jumped up and got half stuck hanging over the stile, but managed to correct himself), led us back along the way we had come, back through the stinging nettle (the smart girl was in Wellies and pants, we were not), over another stinging nettle and barbed wire adorned stile, it was at this time that I sliced my knee open, and directed us to go in a giant circle so that we wound up just before where we originally were, but on the right path. Sigh. After cleaning my knee up with a tissue and my wet sock, we set off again…dad charging forth, and I dragging my walking poles behind me. Morale was low.
Fortunately, the going was pretty okay, a LOT of up, up ups, and then down, down, downs, but again through some beautiful scenery. We passed an old horse racing track and grandstand that was still partially standing, as it was made out of stone, and walked through a beautiful forest where we met a man and his absolutely adorable and energetic collie. Next, it was back into the sheep fields again, where I told dad to be quiet and stealth in case the sheep saw us because…they knew what we had done last night!!! (read: delicious lamb shank) There are so many sheep in Wales that even when there aren’t any sheep in the field you are walking, there are remnants of sheep that formally were in that field! It was at this time…while walking through the hundredth sheep field of Offa’s Dyke that I came up with a poem about my sneakers…here goes:
An Ode to My Runners

Oh my dear running shoe
In the morning you soak up the fresh dew
Much like that slurpy dairy cow
Sipping water from the Montgomery Canal

You’ve charged through much cow poo
And sheep pellets too
So you smell like a piece of rotting, old fruit
However, dear shoe, I really must say,
You’re much more comfortable than that old hiking boot!
Thank you, thank you…yes it will be available on a variety of greeting cards soon…just stay tuned.

Anyway, after we crested the top of the hill, we started on a long and sharp descent down into the valley. My knees have still not forgiven me! When we finally got to the bottom of what felt like a complete vertical drop, we discovered, to our despair, that we were still 8 miles out from our destination, AND it was already three o’clock….meaning, that if all went well, we wouldn’t arrive in Llanllogen until at least six pm…much too late for our liking! After mulling it over and weighing our options, we opted to pay the seven pounds and caught the bus instead. Thank goodness we did because it was a loooonnng walk up to our B&B, and it would have been additional distance on top of the eight miles we still had ahead of us!
Instead we arrived in Llanllogen around 4:30, so we had some time to explore the town, which seems to be a popular tourist destination, and have some tea in a Tea & Book shop. It was great! I was able to fulfill my retail therapy need and felt much better afterwards!

We made the trek up the huge hill (but not before nearly being hit by a car about fifty times) to our B&B and got checked in.  Dave, a former Londoner, and his wife have a nice B&B called Hillcrest.  After getting settled and enjoying a hot shower, we went off for dinner at the Corn Mill.  The food was pretty tasty, but the scenery was even better! Dad and I sat outside on the patio which was actually more like a sundeck built on top of the river Dee.   While we ate, we watched ducks and a blue heron on the river, while the river flowed gently past us. It was gorgeous, and very peaceful.  While we were eating, we were approached by a woman with bright blue eye liner, a huge fur coat, and looked like she may have spent the better part of the afternoon working her way through the wine menu.  She introduced herself as Becca and told me that “she had been watching me all night”, and that I “had a beautiful face and she would love to use me as a model”.  She then went on to tell us that she was John Lennon’s great niece or something or other, and was about to come in to millions of dollars and she would pay me generously if I were to model for her.  She then wrote her name and number on a napkin and insisted I phone her within the next two weeks.  Yeaaaah…I won’t be calling.  She seemed a little put off that the gentleman sitting next to me was my father….not my husband *shudder*…but still insisted that I call her so she could make all of my travel and lodging arrangements.  Alas, Becca shattered my dreams of being swept of my feet by a gorgeous Welsh countryman.

After dinner we wandered back along the streets of Llanllogen and looked in the shop windows, before making a quick stop at Spars to buy some provisions for the next day (chocolate and wine gums).  We went back to the B&B and relaxed in the lounge for a while.  As the house was old and the walls were thick, I wasn’t able to connect to the WiFi, so I read a magazine instead.  Unfortunately, the thought to read my giant school text book did not cross my mind, when it should have, so Dad and I both caught an early night and went to bed around 9/9:30.  Dad was sleeping on the floor above me, and I had the bedroom near the kitchen and front door, so alas, sleep was not meant to be long, because around midnight, the other houseguests, twelve young women, came crashing through the door.  After several hours of door slamming, drawer crashing, and stomping around upstairs, things settled down and I was able to get back to sleep…Dad, unfortunately, was not so lucky.  His room was right above the rooms that the girls were occupying, so he was kept awake much longer than I was!  Who knows what tomorrow will bring…

Lynstead Lodge

Front Garden at Lynstead Lodge

Lynstead Lodge

The chest high field of knee-scraping-carpet-burning weeds

Former grandstand from the racetrack

Sock changing time…when I pulled off my socks and shoes, about ten thousand little green seeds from the field of doom, also fell out

View of Chrik Castle

View from our table at the Corn Mill

View from our table at the Corn Mill

River Dee

River Dee from the Corn Mill

Dinas Bran (Crow Castle) from Llangollen

Giant water wheel at the Corn Mill

The Corn Mill pub

The roses in the front garden at Lynstead Lodge