As my mother and I got off the train at Conwy, our bags trailing behind us, it began to rain. We heaved our suitcases over a bridge and through the main part of town, a beautiful collection of wood and stone houses, some dating from Elizabethan times. At the city walls, part of a castle built by King Edward I, we asked a gentleman directions to our inn. He pointed up a very steep hill to our B&B, perched like an eagle’s nest overlooking the town, and we dutifully tucked our heads against the downpour and trudged up the hill.