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Brecon & Hay on Wye |
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Oct. 5, 2002 |
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Long jaunts from short busses |
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Before I go on ranting of chilly late-November strolls on lazy rivers in picturesque Wales, I�d just like to say that tiny busses will be the death of me, and I shall leave it at that. Bright and early, as most of my mornings begin, we upped and piled into a small bus for a day�s journey to Hay-on-Wye, a small border town in the north part of the Brecon Beacons National Park, known for its declaration as an independent country in 1976 and numerous pictures of a guy named Booth in �70�s garb with a big crown on his head. Oh, and its antiquarian bookshops; there are more than 45 in the town. We made a small stop at a hill-side castle (ruined) with a monument to one of the prince Llewelyns � I lose track of which one � and had a bit of fun sledding down the muddy hill in my trousers. We also stopped in the town of Brecon for a not-so-quick jaunt to the very charming cathedral and puttered around the graveyard for a while waiting for Mass to conclude. The site of the cathedral has been a place of Christian worship for more than 1,000 years � and it looks like it. Not so much in the sense that it appears to be falling apart or anything. It�s quaint and rustic. If it had snow on it and a wreath on the door, an illustration of the place would adorn Christmas cards everywhere. Because I was so occupied with its cuteness on the outside, I�m afraid that once I got inside I wasn�t so keen on having a look round as much as I was on finding a restroom � and thus missed the experience. |
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The squat Brecon Cathedral in the town of the same name
Below left: the Wye River along the path of the same name |
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From there it was on to Hay-on-Wye, Wye being the river and Hay the town, or kingdom or whatever, and then from the castle bookshop began our exploration.
I love books � put me in a �city of books� and you�d think I�d go wild, smelling them and flipping pages and restraining myself from sending my wallet into a stage of mild shock. I must be candid though: for a place that prides itself on its bibliopoly, much of it was just a pitiful, half-sheltered stack of books with Terry Pratchett perched in precarious angles next to Bulgarian baking guides� It was more intimidating than enlightening. So one of my mates and I broke away and went in search of picnic supplies |
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for a party along the Wye River path. This made for a most splendid afternoon stroll, as you can imagine. The trail is great, very colorful and peaceful with dramatic views of the river and, across it, England�s countryside, every so often a dog on the path that would muddy your trousers some more or a section on which it looked |
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as though the contents of someone�s attic had mysteriously deposited themselves on the trail. But the vast majority was grand, the coloured leaves lit with that late golden afternoon glow and smell of chimneys � you shiver, for more than the cold. We made our way back to town and through the largest puzzle shop in Wales (some title, eh?) complete with 6 foot teddy bears you had to watch from the corner of your eye, and then found ourselves in a small caf� with cheerful Christmas lights in the window, sipping coffee, compliments of our programme director, and waiting for the bus but silently hoping it will be awhile before it shows up. Fine day, really. Don't like them to end... |
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Above: the Wye River Path
Below: a little secret of the path... beautiful. |
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