Are you Amanda from Canada?

The train arrived in Caersws (basically pronounced CARES-use) about 15 minutes late and Romy, the homeowner who I was to house-sit for, was nowhere to be seen. She told me she would be waiting in her old 2CV, the car I get to use while I'm staying here, but there were only new vehicles in the parking lot.

There was a man waiting for the next train and I asked where I could find the nearest pay phone. His response was to laugh at me and say, "Ah, you're at the back of beyond" before he gave the instructions.

I went into the village (population about 600-800) and found the phone. I tried Romy's cell - no answer so I left a message. I tried her home - no answer so I started leaving a message and a woman picked up the phone and said, "Are you the lady Romy is picking up from the station?"
"Yes, that's me!"
"Ah, yes, well there's been a terrible accident on the road between here and Caersws and she's been trying to reach you but hasn't been able to. Her friend Bernie is coming to fetch you by taking the long route around the hills, but he may be a while."

I told her I would wait at the train station and hung up.

On my way back to the station I was met on the road by a little old woman who looked at me strangely and asked, "Ah, are you Amanda from Canada?"
She held out a little note with "Amanda (Canada)" written on it and told me Romy had called the garage and I was to wait at the tea house and she would take me there. Along the way she explained that the man at the garage thought she lived along the way past the station but she didn't but she didn't mind fetching me before walking home.

When we opened the door at the tea house/grocer/deli the woman behind the counter asked, "Are you Amanda from Canada?"
She told me I was to wait at the tea house and Romy was sending someone to fetch me because there had been a terrible accident.

A man soon walked in with "Dave" written on his name tag.
"Are you Amanda from Canada?"
He asked the woman behind the counter what time the tea house closed and she said 5:00 but that they do cleanup until 5:30 so I could stay until then. He told me I was to come to the garage next door when the tea house closed and Bernie would fetch me there.

About 25 minutes later Bernie arrived at the tea house and laughingly said, "What the h*** are you doing here? I need a pint woman - you're supposed to be waiting at the pub!"
I burst out laughing and said, "You must be Bernie."

We left the tea house and Bernie asked a man on the street about alternative ways to avoid the accident site. The guy said stuff like, "If you turn right at the S-curve near ...insert unpronounceable Welsh word... you'll head up the hill. Take a left before ...insert farmer's name... cottage and continue round the bend until you reach... blah-blah-blah."
Bernie smiled and nodded as if he knew exactly how to follow the instructions. I later asked if he had any clue what the guy was talking about and he said he had no idea. We just drove through the hills until he figured out where he was.

Bernie's car was parked outside a pub and he asked, "I don't suppose you drink? I could really use a pint before the drive back."
I told him I don't drink and I started to get the feeling he didn't need another pint to add to the ones already affecting him.

The car was a frightening sight. It was an old Volvo and the trunk/back seat area was piled high with all manner of junk. He opened the passenger door and a huge Golden Retreiver jumped out. Romy had told me about her friend Bernie and his dog Billy when I first spoke with her about house-sitting so the twosome wasn't a complete shock. The floor in the front seat was covered in junk and he told me to just flip the blanket over on the seat so I wouldn't be covered in dog hair. I got in the car and it reeked so badly... smelled like a combination of smelly dog, chicken coop and alcohol. Thankfully Bernie rolled the windows down a bit and I kept mine down for the entire trip, occasionally stifling my gag reflex. I glanced at the dashboard and noticed a huge hunting knife. I kept thinking, "I don't know if I should laugh or be absolutely terrified."

As we drove out of the town a couple waved to us from the doorway of another pub and called out, "Is that Amanda from Canada? You found her alright?"

Bernie chattered away and eventually revealed that when Romy phoned him to beg him to pick me up (he was closer to Caersws than she was) he was sitting in a pub after dinner, planning to get right hammered as it was a Saturday night (she told me later that she had no idea about his state). He said he had already had a pint too many so needed to avoid the police while driving. I don't mind being around people who are having a glass of wine or something, but I hate hanging around with drunk people and I'm terrified of being in a car with them.

We pulled up to Romy's gate (finally) and she had hung a big cardboard sign that said, "Welcome Amanda! (you made it!)" She greeted me in the front yard with a big hug and we have laughed many times about the little adventure that got me to the cottage. She asked me to tell everyone at lunch today (there were nine of us here for lunch - stories and photos coming soon) and they all got a kick out of it.

Bernie and the welcome sign.

From the reaction of the people in Caersws I figured that's where Romy did all her shopping so everyone knew her. I discovered today that Romy doesn't know anybody in Caersws - she just started calling any shops she could find, gave them a sob-story about a girl travelling alone from Canada, and the people in town did a wonderful job of taking care of me and making me feel welcome. I love small towns!

Billy in the front doorway of the cottage.