The cliched top of the world - Brynithel !
Where the sky and land are divided equally at the horizon. A true mountain village with clean bracing air.
A lorry piled high with scrap metal cuases minor traffic chaos as the driver touts for business, house-to-house, amongst the ex-coalboard houses renovated with pride and council grants. On the first stage of our journey, sleeping policemen, installed to deter boy racers and joy riders from speeding along the narrow roads, cause discomfort to the elderly and infirm.
The switchback road drops hsarply into Llanhilleth, created piecemeal over time in the creases of the valley. Each row of houses built on a different geometric plane, with those on the valley floor appearing as if in miniature.
Sheep wander the rain-soaked slopes as in a watercolour painting.
Brightly painted miners'cottages display neat front gardens to their neighbours, but over the rooves we can see their steep back gardens with brightly painted pigeon lofts, Mediterranean patios or unmown lawns.
Victorian bay widowed houses are suspended above a ferocious stone wall and overshadow the narrow road. Should you miss your way, a delicate iron railings is the only defence from nplummeting onto the stepped rooves of houses below.
The writhing tarmac tortures its way down the hillside, twisting like a demented python. Uneven road repairs, parked cars and oncoming vehicles make for an uncomfortable ride, with staccato progress.
Two crows and a magpie play chicken with the traffic, pecking at a morsel in the road.
ROAD CLOSED
Llanhilleth ends. The result of optimistically locating a road on a precarious ledge on an unstable mountainside. Undeterred, we turn left and rise steeply through a tunnel of trees and greenery, leaving Llanhilleth behind and heading towards Swffryd.
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