UK03 – Thursday, 13 Feb 03

Margie and I had bets on that we wouldn’t leave the B&B for Wales until 11a. It was actually later than that, though it wasn’t so much because of the natural inertia of trying to get three couples moving in the same direction, but because it took over an hour for us and the Testerfolk to get our car hire at the EuropCar near Vic Stn. I think they had to actually go out and buy some cars for us, since the general “Passat” class seemed to be lacking.

(It’s possible some of the problem was due to our booking via AutoEurope. But it wasn’t that they didn’t have our bookings, it’s just that they were terribly slow about getting the frelling transaction finished and us out the door.)

Margie and I both were signed up for one car, Jackie and Doyce on the other. DaveG was originally going to be signed up on the Testercar, but the added cost per driver per day was pretty steep.

Margie and I got a Rover 45 sedan, a comfortable car, well-appointed, with a V6 for pep. Jackie and Doyce, with Lori and Dave as riders, got a Mercedes microvan (a Vaneo, I think), which was quite comfortable for four adults to ride in, but a gutless V4.

We headed out of London, Margie and I in the lead, immediately losing the others (not a surprise, since London driving is, in two words, IN SANE, and so not amenable to following, but not a worry, as we had also gone over the directions in detail before we left, and it was all major routes and motorway).

First stop: Stonehenge.

Of Stonehenge, having been there before, I will say only the following:

It was extremely cool.

By which I mean, it was very interesting, intriguing, awe-inspiring, and amazing, of course.

But I also mean it was bite-ass cold, darkly overcast, with frigid air being blown straight through us with a steady, icy breeze.

Very, very cold.

But everyone in the party seemed to think it was keen.

While there — or upon entering there — we picked up the English Heritage visitors pass. This pass was £27 per couple, for seven days of admission into English Heritage sites.

But wait, you say. Weren’t we going to Wales? Ah, but you see, Margie and I had done this last time. We knew that the Welsh Heritage sites (Cadw) reciprocate with English Heritage. And since there were numerous Cadw sites that we wanted to see, it was a no-brainer. Right?

Heh.

We turned north from there, stopping at Avebury, where a Neolithic stone circle complex is not only amazingly intact, it has a frelling town built in the middle of it. Very cool.

And, yes, in both senses.

We staggered into the little National Trust tea room at 3:30p, cold and seriously hungry. Hey, look, they have soup! And stew! And … they stop serving hot foot at 2:30 …

Well, Margie and I snagged the last of the soup. And cream tea. And the rest had sandwiches and tea and goodies, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Except that they rolled up the sidewalks while we were eating, so that the gift shop and barn exhibit and museum all closed up.

Not a huge problem, since, fortified by hot tea, and with the breeze died down, folks were willing to walk around and look at the stones, and then take some funny pictures and then look around some more. Indeed, fun was had.

Lori even sat in the Devil’s Seat, which would come back to haunt her.

Then, with afternoon and daylight beginning to wane, we headed for Wales.

Doyce managed to stay with me all the way to the motorway, which was a pretty impressive feat, but we split up there. It was a longish drive, another couple of hours, some of it on very dark roads. Good roads, mind you, but very dark. and the darkness was not eased by my headlamps, which seemed determined to illuminate only about 15 feet in front of my car. Which is not far on pitch-black roadways, winding around, in what’s supposed to be a 60 zone.

(Basic traffic speed: 70 on motorways, 60 on highways elsewhere, except as marked — which usually meant 30 through towns, 40-50 in suburban areas. I usually tried to keep it to only 8 over the posted limit, less in the towns. The Rover handled very well, but no use pressing my luck. And, yes, that was all in mph, not kph. Not sure why that’s the only bit of the UK not yet on the metric system.)

I later found a dial that seemed to adjust the headlamps. Unfortunately, it also turned on the fog lights, which, as a number of cars the night I tried it informed me, was not what I wanted to be doing. Ah, well.

So that day we got a good blend of driving in the city, country, motorway, daylight and dark. Yay, us.

Glangrwyney Court (Glan-grew-winny) is a large country house, on large grounds, wonderfully appointed. It resides in the tiny burg of Glangrwyney, on the A40, between Crickhowell and Abergavenny, in the southeast of Wales.

Since Dave and Lori had the small room on the 4th floor in London, they got dibs on the first room, and they chose one with a steam shower in the attached bathroom (bathroom suites! joy!).

We got second choice, but rather than choosing the larger of the two rooms, I cleverly snagged the one up on the third floor with a shower; the other room just had a spray nozzle in the tub. The wisdom of my choice came clear from Doyce coming up to use our shower three or four times during our stay.

As I said, the place was very nicely decorated, the rooms were large, the beds downy and comfortable, the fixtures nice, and the breakfasts good, traditional English fare. It wasn’t cheap — £65/night (booked through AA; note to self: next time book directly), but it was worth it, a little corner of luxury in our touring.

The grounds around the manor house were not at their best, it being winter and all. Still, the grass was green, and the early daffodils and crocuses were just popping up. I suspect the place is not quite as lush as it was once upon a time, when it really was a small manor house with some dozens of acres of land owned around it. But the present owners have done a good job of keeping it up, and making it a very comfortable place to stay.

That night we had recommendations to the Bear Hotel, up in Crickhowell. By the time we got there, though, the limited and rather tortuous parking in the back was all filled up. So, instead, we went to the Blue Bell, just down the road from the B&B in Glangrwyney. It was decent pub fare, perhaps even broader in scope than most pubs would sell, though only fair in quality. The party didn’t seem thrilled, and there was some question whether a couple of folks got some stomach upset from it. As well, there was smoking in the establishment, which meant it was a non-starter for the future.

UPDATE: For pictures related to this post, go here.