We had a fairly leisurely morning here at Chez ADG. Ken had to do some work—which is, after all, why we’re here—so I cleaned out the In Box again and read and drank tea. Can’t complain.

Then we headed into the north of Wales. First stop was Valle Crucis Abbey, on the list mainly because I’d seen tons of gorgeous pictures of it. The day was overcast, and it even rained on us a little while we were exploring it. It wasn’t as impressive as I’d expected, but perhaps I’d built it up in my mind a little too much—plus it had Tintern Abbey and Llanthony Priory to live up to. It did have the last surviving abbey medieval fish pond in the UK, which was pretty nifty.

I had wanted to go up to Dinas Bran, a castle ruin high on a hill, but it was getting late, the weather was iffy, and the hike was said to be a good mile each way. This turned out to be a wise choice, I later realised.

So we headed into Snowdonia and the charming village of Betws-y-Coed (basically pronounced BET-us ee Coid; Welsh looks weird, but is pretty much phonetic—you just have to understand how the letters sound), where we found our Victorian B&B and dropped off our stuff. Our room is pretty; the bathroom small; the shower miniscule. The view, though, is gorgeous.

It wasn’t terribly late, so we went out to Dolwyddellan Castle, one of Llewellyn’s (some accounts say he was born in the castle, but it was more likely he was born nearby, because by all accounts he built the castle). Welsh castles have a different shape and feel than the Edward fortresses, but they’re no less impressive. And since I’m interested in Llewellyn, with one of my personas being around during his time (as opposed to my 7th-century persona, a Welsh cousin of Anglo-Saxon Morgana with whom I share a grandmother), there was a personal angle for me.

In fact, when I found the privy holes, I happily announced, “Llewellyn crapped here!” and took a picture. I am such a geek.

It was quite a hike up to the castle, which is why I was glad, in hindsight, that we didn’t attempt Dinas Bran. I am so woefully out of shape. Sheep bleated at us, mostly disinterested in us. There was sheep dip all over the castle green.

The bulk of what’s left is a massive rectangular tower. The main floor (which is still up some outside steps) has some information about Llewellyn and Welsh history, but is otherwise empty. Then I found the Stairs from Hell.

I don’t always get vertigo. I get it less often than not. Handrails are important to me, and I have trouble walking down stairs without looking at them, but for the most part, I don’t have issue with heights. One look at this steep, narrow, tall, dark stone set of stairs, and I had heart palpitations, to the point that made me wonder if something had happened here, sometime in the past, that I was reacting to.

I did make it up the stairs, though—a little terror wasn’t going to stop me from exploring every inch of Llewellyn’s castle. The stairs led up to the roof, and even though there were no precipices to teeter on, I clung to any bit of stone I could, occasionally whimpering. I have no idea why I was such a wreck, really. Going back down the stairs was far worse—I may have mentioned that it was an exceptionally tall staircase—but I made it. Go me!

The walk back down the hill hurt our already strained thighs, but it was so pretty, how could we care? A burbling stream, dark pink flowers, peeing sheep… We left the trail to discover a little fairy glen with a waterfall pouring out next to some gnarled oaks. The first picture I took came out with a strange spot in one corner—you can’t tell me that wasn’t a fair that didn’t move fast enough! My picture of a leaf spotted with perfect, round droplets of water (aka The Fairy Bar) didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped, but that’s okay. What a magical little spot.

We staggered back to the car and into the tiny hamlet of Dolwyddellan, where we stopped to find a holy well. The path up to it, between a low slate wall and a hotel, was overgrown with brambles and ferns, but I plowed my way through. The well was nondescript, but it was good to see nonetheless.

We came back to Bettws-y-Coed for supper at a hotel/pub, which was nice but nothing spectacular. The cider was good, I have to say. Then we wandered a little by the river that rushes through the town, stopping to sit on the rocks for a bit. A stunning setting and a peaceful end to the day.