The climb out of New Quay in Ceredigion on the Wales Coast Path is short and very steep, but worth the effort, for the views over Cardigan Bay, the choughs and fulmars and bottlenose dolphins.
Back in town, I make for the Black Lion, a 19th-century inn with views out to sea. It looks austere and a bit nonconformist. In April 2013, it reopened as a nine-room hotel. The refurb is very evident. There's a smell of "new" when I come into reception but the decor is plain, pared down, and everything looks sturdy, solid and functional.
My room, one of five with sea views, has high ceilings and sash windows on three sides, with plenty of west Wales light pouring in, even on a drizzly autumn day. Cream, beige, brown and olive linens make the room feel vaguely autumnal too, and an original oil entitled Welsh Winter completes the effect. The bathroom is big and warm, with Cole & Lewis soaps but, sadly, no bath; walkers in need of a restorative soak may want to ask for one of four rooms with a tub.
Owners Llinos and Mike Young are away and their young stand-ins, Sam Knight and Cara Cook, are super-efficient and chatty. But they appear to know little about Dylan Thomas, who lived nearby in a bungalow called Majoda (his "shack at the end of the cliff") in 1944-5 and was a regular at the inn.
The town became popular with cyclists in the 1890s but by Thomas's era it was a bohemian redoubt – perfect for skint poets who liked a drink. Now New Quay draws walkers, nature lovers, foodies and watersports fans. The Black Lion pays discreet homage to Thomas's memory, with black-and-white photographs of him smoking, drinking, being the family man.
The food is posh pub grub, with daily hiker-friendly specials such as hunter's chicken, pasta and meatballs, and steak and Doom ale pie. I dine early on creamy chicken liver paté and fresh chutney. The Black Lion is a free house, with guest ales, including fruity Purple Moose from Porthmadog; I have one with my steak pie, plus a few beers from Mantle, a microbrewery that opened in nearby Cardigan in August.
An army officer tried to kill Thomas during his year in New Quay, possibly because of the poet's communist sympathies, more probably because he was sleeping with the soldier's wife. Nothing so exciting happened during my stay. The pub, like the town, was sleepy, and my own slumber was assisted by the sound of lapping waves.
But it feels new, fresh, hopeful. Sam tells me the Black Lion is fast becoming New Quay's local boozer – important in a town where half the houses are second homes. Next year is the centenary of Dylan Thomas's birth (dt100.info). The pub is firmly on the pilgrim trail. It just needs a few books, some poetry readings, and a bit of the poet's spirit – hair down, glasses full, the possibility of chaos – to be a great inn.
• Accommodation was provided by the Black Lion Inn
