Glyn Ceiriog, Wales
Glyn Ceiriog and the Ceiriog Valley
The Ceiriog Valley is sometimes called Wales’s best-kept secret. Tucked away between mountains, it is a place of winding rivers, stone cottages, and a quiet that feels almost restorative. When I first came to Glyn Ceiriog, I understood why poets and travellers have always been drawn to this valley: it is both a refuge and a passage, a place where the landscape itself seems to hold you.
Nearby stand reminders of history that shaped this part of Wales. Chirk Castle, once a fortress, still carries its weight of power and presence. The bridges of Chirk, Cefn Mawr, and Pontcysyllte speak of ingenuity — carrying water and people across impossible heights. When the aqueduct first opened, the Ladies of Llangollen — two remarkable women who defied convention and made their home together in Plas Newydd — were among the first to cross by boat. Their house became a salon of sorts, hosting poets and thinkers, including Thomas Telford, who built the very bridge they sailed across. To me, their story is one of conviction: of living true to themselves in a world that wasn’t always ready to accept them.
Not far away is Llanrhaeadr waterfall, cascading down rocks with a force that humbles you. Nature here doesn’t ask permission — it flows, unstoppable, carving its own course.
But conviction also led me into darker reflections. At Shrewsbury Prison, now marketed as an escape room, visitors “play” at being incarcerated, solving puzzles inside the cells. It left me unsettled. I wondered: is this trauma tourism? Is it exploitative to turn confinement into entertainment, when real people lived through those locked doors? The question stayed with me — where do we draw the line between remembrance, education, and spectacle?
For me, Glyn Ceiriog is more than a beautiful Welsh village — it is the home of the Glyn Valley Hotel, a property my family and I restored and gave new life. What had once stood tired now thrives again, a small hub of hospitality in the heart of the valley. Its renewal felt personal. I spent my hen weekend here; we made Shabbat together in the valley, singing blessings over wine and bread, making space for joy and tradition in a place where Jewish life had never been prominent.
This post I dedicate to my friend, Charlotte Watkin — whose smile and giggle filled the Glyn Valley Hotel with life and love. Charlotte died tragically earlier this year, and every time I think of the hotel, I hear her laughter in its rooms. To me, she embodied conviction too — not in stone or history, but in warmth, kindness, and the gift of making people feel at home.
Glyn Ceiriog is a place of bridges, castles, waterfalls, and memories. But more than that, it is a place of conviction: to restore what has been broken, to honour those who came before, and to carry forward love, community, and belonging in the heart of the Welsh hills.
