One man chased after me waving his stick because my train ticket fell out of my pocket. Another beckoned me down a shortcut into town.
The pasty saleswoman seemed to be competing with me for variety and number of ways to say thank you.
The cafe owner took me outside to show me the Three Peaks (they were hidden by the houses and a dense bank of cloud), describing the distinctive challenge of each and the wonderful views to be had (on a fine day).
I set off down the pedestrianised centre of Abergavenny, clutching my map and compass, in a thoroughly good mood, and in thoroughly the wrong direction.
Correcting my course back to what turned out to be the wrong church, I realigned my map and strode up the lane to The First Stile. Continue reading The First Stile
