Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Cardiff
All B&Bs, Hostel and Hotels welcome to list their property here – one of these areas then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Aberdare, Bargoed, Barry, Bridgend, Caerphilly, Cardiff, Cowbridge, Dinas Powys, Ferndale, Hengoed, Llantwit Major, Maesteg, Merthyr Tydfil, Mountain Ash, Penarth, Pentre, Pontyclun, Pontypridd, Porth, Porthcawl, Tonypandy, Treharris, Treorchy, Cardiff
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.
List your Hostel in Cardiff
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 supermarket was already busy with holidaymakers clutching cartons of milk, sticks of bread and yesterday’s editions of the Daily Mirror and the Sun. One man, dressed in knee-length, green Hawaiian shorts and with a white T-shirt tucked in at one side, shuffled across the car park reading the day-before-yesterday’s sports news. An open-top Porsche narrowly missed him as it screamed past in first gear. The young, blonde driver acknowledged the close call with the barest of sideways glances, while the oblivious sports fan carried on reading. It was nine in the morning and Mario, one quarter of the previous partnership in ownership, not in bulk; he made up four fifths in that department was already slicked in sweat as he carried two crates of empty Dorada beer bottles to the outside store cupboard under one of the stairwells. Mario was the kind of man that casting directors would have hunted high and low for to play the part of an archetypal ice-cream vendor. His chubby face was decorated with a handlebar moustache and two other tufts of hair protruded above his ears like upturned question marks. His hairy belly poked out from between a grubby white T-shirt and an inadequately-sized pair of blue shorts. ‘It’s flickin’ hot,’ he smiled, ‘You gonna love it,’ he added with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. The worry fairies set to work. I show you how for four days, then you on your own. Piece a cake. I tell you who’s trouble and who’s OK. OK? OK, let’s go.’
Aberdare, Bargoed, Barry, Bridgend, Caerphilly, Cardiff, Cowbridge, Dinas Powys, Ferndale, Hengoed, Llantwit Major, Maesteg, Merthyr Tydfil, Mountain Ash, Penarth, Pentre, Pontyclun, Pontypridd, Porth, Porthcawl, Tonypandy, Treharris, Treorchy, Cardiff
We decided to take the scenic route, walking around the perimeter of the complex, down past the sea and back up what I breathlessly dubbed Cardiac Hill. Two or three florid bathing caps bobbed in the gentle wake a hundred yards from the rocky beach where neatly folded towels lay waiting. For the last few working days at the market, a vision of early morning dips in the warm ocean provided a constant distraction from my ice-cold fingertips and interminably damp feet. It was one of many anticipated pleasures but for now it would remain just that. The supermarket was already busy with holidaymakers clutching cartons of milk, sticks of bread and yesterday’s editions of the Daily Mirror and the Sun. One man, dressed in knee-length, green Hawaiian shorts and with a white T-shirt tucked in at one side, shuffled across the car park reading the day-before-yesterday’s sports news. An open-top Porsche narrowly missed him as it screamed past in first gear. The young, blonde driver acknowledged the close call with the barest of sideways glances, while the oblivious sports fan carried on reading. It was nine in the morning and Mario, one quarter of the previous partnership in ownership, not in bulk; he made up four fifths in that department was already slicked in sweat as he carried two crates of empty Dorada beer bottles to the outside store cupboard under one of the stairwells.
Joy was in the kitchen scrawling down a breakfast order on the fridge. She stopped writing. I turned my back on the spitting eggs. The cavalry had arrived. In the doorway stood Carole and Faye, our mothers. Both had broad beams and outstretched arms as though welcoming back a long lost relative. Mum!’ Joy couldn’t hold back the tears, which instantly released a tide of emotion in Faye. My mum, never one to miss out on a good cry, dabbed tears from her eyes. I wiped away some sweat that had begun to trickle down the bags under my eyes. To a passer-by it may have given the impression that I was also crying. What are you doing here?’ I said. David phoned to tell us Faith had left,’ said my mum. ‘I spoke to Faye and we decided to lend a hand.’