When I plan a trip, I create a folder in my inbox in which to put booking confirmations and e-tickets. Generally, these folders have names like: “Malta: May 8-15.” “Italy: June 2-14.” “Swansea, May 25-27.” The current folder is called: “Avoidance Tactics: Indefinite.”
Why I am in self-imposed exile from Cardiff is a very long story, but the upshot is that I will be doing the gypsy rover routine from now until I run out of either funds or Wales. (As Mom put it: “When the going gets tough, the tough get on a train.”)
At the moment, I’ve washed up in Conwy. This is the town that made me fall in love with Wales on that family road trip all those years ago. (I’m sure my memories of that trip are rosier than Dad’s, since he was the one behind the wheel of a rental car with the steering wheel on the wrong side, driving down Welsh country roads so narrow that they don’t have a wrong side.)
Conwy has some of the best-preserved medieval walls in Europe:
There’s more than a kilometer of battlements almost entirely encircling the town. From the highest guard tower, you can see the entire wedge outline.
These defenses were built in the late 13th century by King Edward I (of England) during his conquest of Wales. The English invaders lived inside the walls; the Welsh lived outside. The defenses are pretty intimidating:
The fortifications strategically guard the river:
The town itself is quite pretty. This is a 14th-century merchant’s house:
And speaking of houses, this is the smallest one in Britain:
Castle post forthcoming.