Wales is a great place to go for some quiet, some trees, and some hiking.
For the first leg of the trip, I wanted all of these things. I had worked without a day off for over two months, and I was ready for somewhere familiar and relaxing. I remembered Betwys-y-coed as a place that would fulfill all of these desires.
I also remembered it as the place where Annie grew up, and since our paths seem to be oddly intertwined, it seemed the perfect choice.
“You have to stop by and see my parents! They’d love to meet you,” Annie declared over an online conversation we had shortly before I left. She even promised lodging for the visit, but I had just booked a (nonrefundable) bed and breakfast in Betwys, so that part was left up in the air.
“Dad likes red wine.”
What does your mom drink?
“Whiskey. Irish whiskey.”
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After that long day/night/day mashup of airports and ferries and trains, Neuwirth and I arrived in Betws as the sun faded away behind the mountains. Had a quick meal, suffered through a glass of Welsh whiskey, and slept as best as we could. Despite being up for 30 hours straight, it’s still hard to get a full night’s sleep when you’re suddenly on the other side of the Atlantic.
Ate the best Full Breakfast I’ve ever had in my eight-odd years of traveling over there, and spent the day hiking in the hills. As afternoon wore on, we packed a small bag and grabbed a train south to a small town a couple of stops down the line.
Annie had created a map for us, indicating the bridge, the pub, and the local shop for locals. We strolled through the tiny village, enjoying the quiet and the lack of tourists. The road took us out of town, until we arrived at a long lane which led to the home of Bruce and Mary, our hosts for the evening.
Mary was already waiting in the lane, along with a huge black and white dog that promptly reminded us that we were strangers here. It only took a few words and a welcoming hug from Mary to change its mind. Hello, Pablo.
Suddenly Bruce appears from behind the house, and he is exactly how I imagined him, and that is to say that he (and Mary as well) are unlike anything I could have imagined, complete unto themselves. Wild white hair and flowing shirts and wide grins and an uncanny ability to make you feel completely at home.
Wine and whiskey are presented and glasses are quickly filled, and never left empty, for the rest of the night. Talk of travel, of work and home, of Annie’s adventures spreads itself out. Pablo becomes my new best friend, while Cat One and Cat Two wander around the fringes.
Mary is from the west of Ireland while Bruce grew up in London, but Dolwyddelan has been their home and studio for a long time. They are both artists. Watercolors and photography and forest park diagrams and many other projects. Their home butts up against a wood that I ached to explore, but as the whiskey took hold I was content to just sit in a comfortable chair and listen to the talk.
It was a place that filled your head with endless possibilities. I could do this with my life, or this, or this, I thought as I looked through Bruce’s self-published books of photography. At one point I was quoting verse in the sun room with Mary. It was that kind of night.
Slept long and deep in Annie’s room, and then morning arrived, me up before anyone else, woken by the sound of a farmer cutting silage. I sat for a while in the quiet living room, scribbled a few thoughts down, Pablo next to me, the cat curled in a corner.
I could do this, and this, and this.
