I’m sure Richard would have had something to say about the carpets in the Cadwgan, But I know he’d appreciate the beauty of Aberaeron, a place I can’t believe I’ve spelt correctly so far.
Only a second trip to the Times reader’s favourite West Welsh resort (I didn’t actually do any research for that, don’t sue), the last in 2015 while we stayed in a caravan in New Quay like real people do.
Like a lot of Wales, it’s the colour that gets you.
It looks very grey in these photos, so perhaps it was.
I bought a tub of pate from the deli in Market Street, and came to the conclusion that although the Landlord of the Cadwgan was sitting outside at 11.30 he wasn’t letting me in early.
So I did the town walk, using the little town guide from the TIC. Plenty of towns larger than Aberaeron have long dispensed with tourist information, but then when the internet hasn’t arrived you need a human to look at lists of lodgings for you.
I expected the Cadwgan to be packed with seadogs and confused Yanks when I arrived at 12:08, but it was just me.
Admit it. It looks great.
A beer from Bradford (why ?), a beer from Wisbech (why ?), a beer from Cardiff. Easy choice, then.
A wordless transaction, some dull music I’ve forgotten, a Hancocks HB I left.
There was no-one at the bar, I didn’t want an argument about a half that wasn’t quite vinegar. So I left it, without even the joy of a plant drenching.
Just shows, good looking pubs with great beer are the exception, not the rule.