Advertisement
Published: September 10th 2007
Edit Blog Post
I've always said that when my fiance and I combine households, we are going to drown in books. Today I worked hard to contribute to our impending deaths by book avalanche. With my recent trip to Scotland and my adventures in England, I decided to go for the hat trick and go to Wales. Barely. My destination was Hay-on-Wye, just over the border.
Hay-on-Wye, or "Ham-on-Rye" as a friend suggested to me, began to build its bookish reputation when a London bookseller relocated to just over the Wales border, where the taxes and overhead costs were lower. Book buyers started making the trip, so other book sellers went to where the book buyers were, which were followed by more book buyers... and you get the idea. It snowballed. If you want a list of the bookshops, click
here. And apparently someone just published a book called
Nobody Had Heard of Hay, which I have NOT read, but I have a feeling it recounts this story.
Anyway, dozens of bookshops. I had mentioned to my friend Joe that I was interested in going, and the next thing I knew, Joe had organized a trip. So five of us bundled into
Joe's station wagon and headed for the nearest iconic sandwich.
When we arrived, I sprang out of the car. Not only had we been somewhat wedged in, but I spied a shop that said "Crafts," and I love books. I love old books. I love that moldy smell of old books. I love shops full of moldy books that aren't alphabetized correctly so that you don't know what you'll find. We went to the tourist info center, got maps of town, then went our separate ways.
The shops are great. Many are just general old bookshops, but some are specialized - there's one of just children's books (with expensive signed Harry Potters, etc.) and one delightful one called "Murder and Mayhem" that has fantastic paintings on the walls and floor. The largest bookstore is actually in the town's old movie theater.
After two hours, we met at the car for a book dump, then had lunch together. It was clear that splitting up had been a good idea, because everyone was thrilled with their own purchases and a little mystified by everyone else's. For example, no one was as excited as I was about the book of
knitting patterns that takes Beatrix Potter drawings and turns them into cute children's clothing. Philistines.
After lunch, we separated again for two hours, then met up and filled up the trunk of Joe's car, then had tea. Then we split for another two hours. I got three knitting books, an old Daphne Du Maurier book that I haven't read, a couple Wilkie Collins, several new thriller paperbacks for a pound each, and a few presents for people that I will not mention in case they are reading. I also inquired about a first English edition of
Anna Karenina (one of two books I've read in Russian and the source material for what was definitely the worst musical I've ever seen) and recoiled in horror when the woman told me it was 1,000 pounds (about $2,000). The woman compromised and told me that she could let it go for 950 pounds. I told her I didn't get that much allowance and left when she gave me a weird look. I also did some (unsuccessful) antique hunting for my mom.
We piled back in the car with bags of books between our knees, the car riding a little lower. And
then I pressured everyone to make a detour. On the way, I had seen a sign that said, "Arthur's Stone." We followed the sign - I had visions of yanking Excalibur out of a rock and declaring myself Queen of the Britons. What we found was
completely different, but still fascinating.
Arthur's Stone is another Neolithic burial chamber on top of a hill. Although the stones were once covered with earth, now it has eroded, so you can see where the tunnel leading into the chamber, covered with a giant rock that has now cracked. You really have to wonder how they leveraged it up there. The spot gets its name because of a legend that one of King Arthur's battles took place there (so I wasn't off in my assumption that it was THAT Arthur... the people that named it were). The view from on top of the hill was beautiful.
Cram back into the car and drive another hour or so home... to read.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.115s; Tpl: 0.014s; cc: 12; qc: 32; dbt: 0.0659s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb