On the Welsh Border

From Shrewsbury, we take the train to Knighton, the starting point of our walk across Wales on Glyndwr's Way. Knighton, Wales is so close to the border that, while the town is in Wales, the train station is still in England. We will have the entire sunny afternoon to explore the village and its environs, since our long trek doesn't start until tomorrow.

At the Knighton station, I spot a map of the town posted near the entrance. As I approach it to figure out the best way to walk to the B&B, a man calls my name. It is Nigel, an Englishman from the B&B, come to drive us up the hill and across the little town to our lodgings. I wonder if he always knows his guests from the uncertain way they approached the map, or whether our backpacks give us away (not that there is a huge crowd disembarking at this little village platform). Johnny Bamamfa and I thank him for the unexpected ride, to which he replies, "You'll be walking enough tomorrow." It's true; our agenda for tomorrow is anywhere from fifteen to seventeen miles, depending on what book, map or website you ask.

The B&B is a well-kept, old building, painted white with blue accents. Dana, a motherly Polish woman, gives us a friendly welcome and shows us to our room. I step over the threshold and my eyes are instantly overwhelmed. The room is entirely pink. It's covered with hearts and lace and any type of frill that a six-year-old girl might wish for.
Dana is obviously expecting a response. I murmur, "How lovely," or something suitable and examine the tea tray to give my eyes a rest from the pink explosion. The room (in spite of the color scheme) is lovely and comfortable. Besides the stocked tea tray with an electric pot, there is a cushy futon/sofa and even an extra fleecy wrap in the wardrobe in case of chills. The en suite bathroom is huge and filled with every possible selection of toiletry that any high-maintenance woman could ever need.

Dana gives us a map of the town and very maternal advice on what we should see, where we should walk, and what supplies we should be sure to procure for our long walk tomorrow. Her thorough recommendations sound perfect, and, after a cuppa, we head out to explore.

Tomorrow, our east to west walk across Wales will follow Glyndwr's way, which begins in Knighton, but a north-south trail also passes through the town. This trail, Offa's Dyke, follows an eighth century earthwork barrier that once marked the boundary between Powys and Mercia and still closely follows the border of present day Wales and England.

We follow the path north and quickly leave the buildings of the village behind. We take pictures of signs welcoming us to Wales at the border (and to Shropshire, England the other way) and pass some young people and families relaxing along the River Teme in the sunshine of the warmest day of the year so far. I notice some very red shoulders and legs and reapply my sunscreen. We cross a bridge over the river, and begin a relatively steep climb up Panpunton Hill.
As we climb, we begin to encounter sheep, which we find charming and worthy of numerous snapshots. Little do we know that these sheep and lambs and their incessant bleating to each other (all their "baas" sounding a little different, some harsh and gravelly, others nasally, others that Simon Cowell might describe as 'a little pitchy'...) will be our almost constant companion for the next five days. I will learn to distinguish the different Welsh breeds of sheep and I will witness first hand why sheep are generally considered wretchedly stupid animals. My boots will smell of sheep poo even when I get home. But, hey, the lambs are super cute.

After our introduction to British hill walking, we retrace our steps back down into Knighton. Johnny B. does his good deed for the day by finding a wallet on a bench (with money in it with the ID of a young chap) and giving it to some teenagers who swear they are friends with the owner and promise to return it without pilferage. As it is a small town, and there are some girls in the group, we believe them.

We have dinner at the Horse and Jockey Inn, where, though I am seated with my back exposed to the wait staff and other patrons, no one sneaks up on me with a knife to the back. I also have some very tasty (but perhaps not so Welsh) lasagna to power my fuel cells for a big day of walking (and to re-energize; despite our lift from the station, we have still walked thirteen miles today).

It feels weird to sleep in a twin bed (I wave across the aisle to my main man), but it is comfortable. The weather has been so warm and pleasant, I leave the window open, and I sleep well, except for a interlude or two of raucous Saturday night noise from the nearest pub.

Breakfast in the morning is fabulous. The first course consists of cereals and fruit served from the sidebar. I have a bowl of granola-y cereal with lovely Greek yogurt and various toppings of berries and seeds.

Then Dana brings out the hot breakfast. A delicately poached egg sits between a small pile of cooked mushrooms and another of stewed tomatoes. A breakfast sausage and rasher of bacon (not crispy like American bacon, but more like ham) complete the plate, accompanied by triangles of toast on their own little rack and coffee fresh from the press. It's an excellent meal. There's none of the grease that I remember from the breakfasts during my term in Scotland, but, of course, that was in a dorm dining hall, so it's hardly a fair comparison. I try never to think about the food from the dining hall I endured back in the States.

I think the full breakfast should give me plenty of energy to walk a mile or two. Or seventeen.