B&Bs and Hotels in Llandudno

Good Hotel Guide

Hostels and Hotels in Llandudno

If you have a hotel in any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.

Aberdovey, Abergele, Amlwch, Arthog, Bala, Bangor, Barmouth, Beaumaris, Betws-Y-Coed, Blaenau Ffestiniog, Bodorgan, Brynteg, Caernarfon, Cemaes Bay, Colwyn Bay, Conwy, Corwen, Criccieth, Denbigh, Dolgellau, Dolwyddelan, Dulas, Dyffryn Ardudwy, Fairbourne, Gaerwen, Garndolbenmaen, Harlech, Holyhead, Llanbedr, Llanbedrgoch, Llandudno, Llandudno Junction, Llanerchymedd, Llanfairfechan, Llanfairpwllgwyngyll, Llangefni, Llangollen, Llanrwst, Llwyngwril, Marianglas, Menai Bridge, Moelfre, Penmaenmawr, Penrhyndeudraeth, Pentraeth, Penysarn, Porthmadog, Prestatyn, Pwllheli, Rhosgoch, Rhosneigr, Rhyl, Ruthin, St Asaph, Talsarnau, Trefriw, Ty Croes, Tyn-Y-Gongl, Tywyn, Wrexham,

For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.

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Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.

Short Extract

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The terrace had emptied except for two teenage lads attempting to impress the daughter from table five with their pool prowess. Her parents had left her with strict instructions to follow them across the car park to the hotel before midnight. With shoulders pressed back and pubescent chest thrust forward, she was obviously in no need of any posture advice and was lapping up the attention of the two pool sharks. Inside, Joy had her elbows on the bar, her head cupped in her hands as a couple kept her ‘entertained’. I switched off the kitchen light and went to join her for a much-needed nightcap. After pouring, drinking and pouring another pint of Dorada, Joy, whose eyes had long since glazed over, introduced me to the couple. Joe, this is Betty and Eric. They have a guesthouse in Blackpool,’ she said with feigned interest.

Siobhan’s mood did lighten however, when we told her about the plan, and even though it meant that she would have to get on a plane to Tenerife herself, she was somewhat heartened that action was now being taken. In the meantime, we had appointed a ‘team of detectives’ to find out more about the couple of squatters. Barry, our occasional helper, was put on static surveillance duty. Before becoming an airborne trolley dolly he had flirted briefly with the police force, and thus was deemed the most qualified. His job was to keep track of the movements in and out of Siobhan’s apartment. He stationed himself at a bay window seat in the apartment of Mrs Tanner, one of El Beril’s elderly year-round residents, diagonally opposite to Siobhan’s. Not only did he have a clear view of the steps leading up to the one and only entrance to the apartment, but he also had an unlimited supply of tea and home-made scones that Mrs Tanner forced on him with remarkable regularity. Wayne was assigned to tail Pedro in the Smugglersmobile (when we weren’t loading it with beans and tuna). We were curious to find out what the Spaniard did during the day and whether he worked or not. Wayne, not one of the world’s most patient characters, said he would have preferred to just beat him up and torture our requirements out of him. I explained that this would invariably lead to me being arrested, and thus he would more than likely be out of a job with us. Frank took on the last of our tasks, accompanied by his detective sidekick and Spanish translator, Danny. They were to take the Polaroids to the Hotel Conquistador and make enquiries as to whether the Czech girl was actually working there.

At 5.30 we returned to the bar to get it ready for the usual six o’clock start. The preparation was kept to a minimum during this quiet time, a bit of salad to chop, Canarian potatoes to boil and a few chicken fillets to tenderise. I grabbed an iceberg lettuce from one of the Tupperwares in the fridge, twisted the stalk off and held it in the sink while I turned on the tap. Nothing happened. I remembered Frank’s mission and reached further under the sink for the pedal with my foot. I probed from side to side but failed to locate the new installation. Even when I stepped back to peer underneath there still didn’t seem to be a pedal. I was just about to phone Frank to ask him what went wrong, when I noticed the shiny edge of new stainless steel hidden behind the rubbish bin three feet to the right. Now on all fours, I pressed it with my hand and, sure enough, a whoosh of water could be heard overhead in the sink. However, when I tried to turn it on standing in front of the sink, I discovered it was just a few inches beyond reach. I bent my left leg and pointed my right foot like an overweight ballerina but it was futile. It was impossible to stand at the sink and use the foot tap at the same time. Frank entered the bar. ‘Thought you might need this,’ he said. He held out an old golf club, a nine-iron to be exact. ‘It’s one of Danny’s. He’ll never know, he’s got loads.’ I opened my mouth but words failed me. I stood back as Frank stood in front of the sink, prodding at the foot pedal with the club. ‘Hmm, you’ve still got to lean a bit. Might be better with a wood.’ Frank? Call me simple, but I kind of assumed you’d be able to use the foot pedal with your foot,’ I said.