A solitary passenger alights, before setting off at a pace across the metal road bridge – once a toll bridge – to the other side of the river.

I make my way in the other direction, across the sizeable car park and into the welcoming confines of the Tal y Cafn Hotel.

It’s been part of the scene here in the village of Tal y Cafn for centuries. This has traditionally been a crossing point across the wide expanses of the Conwy, ever since the Romans decided to link Chester to Caernarfon.

A ferry regularly crossed here from the 15th century until the bridge was built in 1897, and drovers from Anglesey and Caernarfonshire would congregate here as they took their cattle to the English markets.

It was a natural place for a hostelry, but this former coaching inn has certainly seen the changes rung. as villages struggle to cope with rural depopulation and the distinct lack of political will to help them.

It’s less of the farmers’ pub than it once was, in an area that increasingly looks to the tourist for its daily bread.

Having recently undergone a lavish revamp, the Tal y Cafn is unashamedly after the diner’s dollars.

The menu is remarkably varied, but among the pub staples you’ll find an 8oz ribeye steak selling for £13.95, a ploughman’s salad with three Welsh cheeses (£8.25) or good old haddock, chips and mushy peas (£8.95).

It’s not that it’s tossed aside it’s role as a drinking house: it’s just that a greater degree of comfort and style has been brought into the equation.

The main bar, with its wood-panelled servery and heavily beamed ceiling adorned with the requisite horse brasses, looks for all the world as if it might be waiting for the ghosts of those drovers of long ago.

However the snug boasts coffee tables and leather-look sofas that one can snuggle up in looking much like an airport’s VIP lounge, while perusing an extensive wine list.

Meanwhile the pretty beer garden with kids’ play area makes one yearn for those long summer evenings spent with an ice cold cider.

I feel like an intruder as I prowl around the place, the only customer in here in this quiet period, with lunches having stopped at 2.30pm and evening meals not kicking off again until 6pm.

I swear I hear the earthy tones of those drovers chortling uproariously over their jugs of ale as they decide to wait another day before setting off again. But perhaps not. With that, I’m informed they’re closing for the afternoon, and I’m politely shown the door.