Whether travelling by car, cart, or on Shanks's pony, few intrepid explorers of the highways and byways of our green and pleasant land, would dispute the gratifying sense of reward one feels at finding a place of rest, worthy of our custom. It goes without saying that we each take pleasure in different delights, but the warmth of a welcoming smile, an open fire, a plate of fine food, and a glass or two at the end of the day, is the raison d'etre for many a weary traveller.

Whilst the armchair explorer may traverse the far corners of the globe, he or she will still be deprived of that missing ingredient ; -we call it hwyl in Wales, atmosphere in England, and fair craic in Ireland! Strictly speaking these terms may be applied to the general 'feel' of a place, coupled with the type of characters one might encounter; but I believe all these attributes as essential.

Privileged, as I have been to explore some of the back-roads and country lanes of Wales, I feel it almost a duty to share with you a few of my best loved 'watering holes'.

Periodically, I intend to divulge more of my favourites, but am aware that there are many, many more interesting places of character, still deserving of custom and mention.

If you have a favourite place, anywhere, why not share it with us?

Having spent a Tuesday morning in the busy little town of Brecon, my companions and I decided to continue our journey on to Abergavenny for lunch, only to find that there too, it was market day! The streets were alive with the bustle of holiday makers mingling with farmers and farmer's wives, as they haggled at stalls searching for bargains, or set about their weekly shop.

Whilst both fine towns have a sufficiency of good pubs, hotels and restaurants, time was getting on and everywhere appeared to be very busy. We decided to leave the confused hubbub, and headed out of town for the hills!

Where to? Well, we opted for the A465 to Hereford, with several keen eyes on the look-out for a promising looking pub. About eight miles out of town we came to the village of Llanfihangel Crucorney, a small hamlet still within the Welsh border. A handsome looking, red stone building that bore the sign SKIRRID INN high above the front porch, caught our collective eye; we drove carefully through the low archway into the car-park at the rear of the building. The building had all the appearance of being an old coaching inn, and we were not disappointed to discover its contention to the title of being Wales' oldest inn!

The pub is named after, and lies at the foot of the Skirrid mountain, one of the Black Mountain range, east of the Brecon Beacons. The recorded date of the inn goes back to the year 1110 AD, at which time it was called 'MILLBROOK'.

For those that chose to visit the place, there is a warm welcome from courteous staff, and the interior has a feel and appeal of centuries past, with stone flagged floors and an extensive wealth of old oak panelling and beams, from which, it is claimed, more than one hundred and eighty sheep rustlers, highwaymen, footpads and other miscreants, were hanged by the neck, during its macabre use as a courthouse!

There are leaflets available on the subject of its intriguing history, but these are usually in great demand. If you are fortunate to obtain one you will find it a fascinating read, as such notorious names as 'Hanging' Judge Jeffries, Owain Glyndwr, William Shakespeare, and the devil himself, feature in the local legends.

A good choice of home cooked food is available from the black-board menu in the main bar, and draught beer is available. For those who opt for the 'door-step' sandwiches, beware - they are the size they say!

Refreshed, we continued our journey, and on leaving the car-park took the first turning on the left, and followed the signpost for Llanthony Priory, along a narrow road following the small river Honddu. (from which Aberhonddu - Brecon takes its name in Welsh) along the Olchon valley. The journey is only about six miles long and is an interesting run, passing a trout farm and a pony trekking centre along the way.

At Llanthony we found that most of the 12th.Century priory lies in ruins, which was to be expected, so it was a delight to discover that part of the structure still serves as a functioning hotel!

The grounds are still privately owned, but a free car-park is available to visitors who come in their numbers. The place is an oasis for ramblers, hikers, horse riders and those, like ourselves, out for a scenic drive, with the hotel bar offering a warm welcome and refreshments, for its nebulous clientele.

From the priory grounds there is access to public footpaths onto the high ridges of the Black Mountains. The site itself is a magnificent reminder of a long lost era, where grand buildings were constructed as hideaways for impoverished souls, dedicated to study and prayer; and of such beauty, that Turner was inspired to record its charms, in one of his paintings. Gerald of Wales, one of the earliest of travel writers, visited Llanthony, and enthused about it in his writings.

Close to the rambling ruins, St. David's church still stands, and is still used regularly for services, and is well worth a few minutes of your time to enter through its hallowed doors to marvel at its simple humility.

Haycastle

My passengers, now replete with 'Dutch courage' from their extensive respite in the cellar bar, urged me to continue the journey along the constricted route from which we had come, and head directly for our destination at Hay-on -Wye, sign-posted only ten miles away.

The journey was one of frayed nerves and frequent nail biting, as the road became more narrow and twisted its way uphill, through a labyrinth of low overhanging branches, with the occasional encounter with a vehicle travelling towards us, adding to the overall excitement. By way of atonement, we were regularly rewarded by views of the valley, ancient buildings and an isolated chapel; the whole area is steeped in history and reminders of yesteryear.

Gradually, the hedgerows disappeared leaving a greater width of roadway, and open hillside. Shortly after having negotiated a cattle-grid, we reached the summit, and the view was spectacular! At approximately 676 metres, Hay Buff looks down on a view that dilates before your eyes! Just to the west, the intriguingly named summit of Lord Hereford's Knob stands at 690 meters, and on a clear day you might think that the whole of the Principality lies prone before your feet!

Hay-on-Wye - Town of Books

Continuing along, what must be the longest ten miles ever recorded, we embarked on the slightly less precarious descent, into the village of Hay, itself.

Hay-on Wye is commonly referred to as 'the town of books'. This once sleepy village has been taken over by book shops, and there are over thirty establishments selling publications of all type. During the summer months, coach loads of visitors arrive daily to browse, buy, or simply wonder at this unusual nonpareil. With literary events and an annual jazz festival of international recognition, Hay has established its name amongst the arts, and is visited periodically by celebrities from their associated field of interest.

Kilvert's Hotel

Our journey terminated at Kilvert's Hotel. Named after the nineteenth century vicar and diarist, whose writings evoke an accurate account of the locality in those times, and the inner struggles of a cleric, with an eye for the ladies!

This small hotel is situated in the centre of town, and plays an active part in many of the activities hosted by the town each year. Every summer a marquee is erected on the lawns, providing a venue for some of the jazz and literary events.

Accommodation is comfortable, and the public bar attracts a veritable mixture of locals, jazz enthusiasts, bohemian artisans, and the inevitable dusty bookworm or two! Local draught beer is available and the choice of bar meals is good. For a more substantial meal, the restaurant is excellent, with a good choice of wines available.

Meurig Jones