Conwy & Llandudno: A 72-Hour Welsh Odyssey of Castles, Statues, and Saucy Shenanigans

Enter Michael, the Transatlantic Tornado, and Jan, the Jet-Lagged Explorer Extraordinaire

Before the castle walls, goat less goat hunts, and pasta-induced poetry, there was Michael, Trisha's brother freshly imported from the USA like a caffeinated hurricane in sneakers. But this time, he brought backup: Jan the Jet-Lagged Explorer Extraordinaire, on her first-ever trip to the UK, armed with a suitcase (a very small suitcase) full of optimism and absolutely no idea what a bap is. Together, they formed a glorious spectacle of American enthusiasm and British bewilderment. Michael spent half the trip hunting for pork pies like it was the Holy Grail, except the Grail probably had less chips and didn't come with a side of mushy peas, while Jan bravely navigated roundabouts, warm beer, and the national obsession with apologising for everything. From mispronouncing Llandudno to asking if Conwy Castle had Wi-Fi, they were a delightful storm of curiosity, confusion, and camera rolls full of selfies. This blog is dedicated to their glorious cameo a whirlwind of Caesar dressing inquiries, weather-based panic, and an uncanny ability to find chips in any postcode.

Day 1: Conwy Castle - Where History Meets Duck-Chasing

We kicked off our Welsh adventure with a visit to Conwy Castle, a stone beast built in 1283 by Edward I, who clearly had a thing for dramatic coastal fortresses and intimidating the Welsh. With eight towers and a view that screams I conquered this, it's a UNESCO World Heritage site and a medieval marvel.

Naturally, we admired its grandeur for a full five minutes before wandering off to the river edge, where we engaged in the ancient Welsh tradition of chasing ducks and pretending to be pirates. Conwy's walls may have withstood sieges, but they were no match for our quest to find the perfect bakery.

That evening, with rain slapping us like a soggy stagehand, we staggered into Romeo Ristorante where the pasta was so passionate it practically recited sonnets, and the wine whispered sweet nothings (mostly about how we wished it had more backbone. It was the kind of vintage that pairs well with regret and tap water, but we drank it anyway, because nothing says holiday like pretending your wine has a personality). Dinner was a full-blown Shakespearean affair: dramatic, indulgent, and mercifully free of betrayal (unless you count how quickly we abandoned our diets).

Day 2: Llandudno Statues, Storms, and Spaghetti

Llandudno, the seaside town that Queen Victoria once adored, greeted us with Alice in Wonderland statues scattered like Easter eggs across the streets. Inspired by Alice Liddell's childhood visits here, the town went full Wonderland. Naturally, we took photos arguing with Alice herself because nothing says holiday like a heated debate with a fictional Victorian child carved in bronze.

We then strutted down the Victorian pier, dodging seagulls and existential thoughts, before the heavens opened and we took refuge in Dylan's, a stylish spot where the cocktails were strong and the roof was stronger. It was the kind of rain that makes you question your life choices, but Dylan's made us feel like soggy royalty.

Later that evening we wrapped up the day with a good traditional hearty meal at The Cottage Loaf, a cosy pub that sounds like a bakery but serves up meals so comforting they could revive a fainting knight. We left full, damp, and deliriously happy.

Day 3: The Great Orme Goats, Gusts, and Geological Glory

Our final day took us to the Great Orme, a limestone headland that's been rising dramatically from the sea for 300 million years give or take a few goat selfies. We climbed, huffed, and wind-swept our way to the summit, where the views were so stunning they briefly silenced our sarcasm.

The Orme has seen Bronze Age miners, Viking raiders, and now us armed with cameras and questionable footwear. We didn't spot the famous Kashmiri goats (they were probably avoiding our camera angles), but we did feel like mountaineers with a penchant for dramatic posing.

It was the perfect finale: windswept hair, and windswept thoughts before the drive back home. But we weren't done yet. Fuelled by flapjacks and ambition, we headed to Chester for one last hurrah: a walk around the city's ancient Roman walls. Built nearly 2,000 years ago (yes you heard that right) to keep out invaders (and possibly tourists with selfie sticks), the walls offered panoramic views, dramatic arches, and the kind of smug satisfaction only achievable by walking in a circle and calling it history. Michael declared it like a medieval treadmill, while Jan asked does this have an ending. We nodded solemnly and kept walking.