Our group has divided into two factions: those who want to go climbing and those who want to hike. I have a great fear of being attached by a rope to a spotty teenager, whom I will inevitably crush when I fall off. And who will no doubt then turn out to be friends with a particular ex-boyfriend of mine, to whom he will recount the story of The Big Bottomed Lady Who Fell Off And Crushed Me. I can all too clearly see myself asking plaintively whether there isn’t someone just a little larger that can supervise me. It seems like humiliation waiting to happen and I opt for hiking.
The day before, attempting to escape the traffic, we discovered a particularly intriguing road. I have a penchant for tiny, winding roads and this one was so steep and wiggly that the driver, being a nervous sort, had palpitations and insisted we turn around. Today, with calmer hands behind the wheel, we decide to try again.
Ffordd Clegir is a single track which winds up and down the steep hillside behind Llanberis. From the top, you seem to stand almost in the clouds and a vista opens up across mossy green carpeting, spiked with grasses, to the purple and grey-bruised mountains. We park up and wander across the top, up and down, scrabbling over rocks, and tumbling ourselves down the hillside only to climb on hands and knees back up again. Our only companions are a few lambs, who bleat for their mothers as they scurry past us.
After this excitement, we drive to Betws-y-Coed for ice cream. It is predictably rammed with tourists. We fight our way through the crowds and queue patiently, before taking ourselves off forthwith for quieter pastures. The ice cream is worth it, in case you’re ever in the area.
We decide to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring as many tiny roads in the mountains as possible – a decision which requires a great deal of consultation with an uncooperative Google Maps. We drive all over, 70s rock music blasting, stopping whenever the mood takes us. This way, we discover tiny, silvery streams to be crossed by ancient, tumbledown bridges; a great gleaming lake nestled in the trees in the bosom of the mountains; and the ruins of a castle, the crest on the wall barely visible through the ivy. There is nothing quite so freeing as wandering aimlessly through mountain roads with no place to be, no fixed plans, and nothing to do but marvel at the views.
