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A certain strapping Canadian has put Wrexham on the map for soccer lovers and viewers of plucky reality-TV underdogs.

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But Ryan Reynolds, co-owner of the Welsh football club — now a step closer to the big leagues after its on-the-field and streaming success — is only a small, albeit entertaining, slice of a revived Wales.

Nowhere was this more evident than at this year’s Hay Festival, an 11-day extravaganza heaving with culture vultures basking in the not entirely common spring sunshine. Famously dubbed the “Woodstock of the mind” by Bill Clinton, the brainy bash — now in its 36th year — featured dissertations on everything from drill-rap to disappearing Agatha Christies.

A key event on the Welsh cultural calendar, it has grown every year (the pandemic excepted) since it was founded in 1988 and attracts some of the brightest minds from around the world.

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Held on a self-contained site on the edge Hay-on-Wye, a market town whose population of 2,000 swells to as much as 100,000 for the end-of-May event, it’s a cosy snowglobe of intellectual stimulation in a universe of insta-sensory distraction.

It’s an orderly rock festival where big ideas rule the stage and the drugs are more likely prescription than proscribed.

Accommodation is available within walking distance at campsites and luxury yurts, and it’s easy to get absorbed by the bubble. With fascinating speakers, good food and bookshops, it’s tempting to become a stick in the mud (quite literally when it’s raining).

That would be a mistake, for Hay is a gem in its own right.

Straddling the English-Welsh border, it’s nestled in the Wye Valley and brooded over by the Black Mountains. After London’s frantic bustle, the gentle bleating of sheep comes as a welcome antidote.

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What makes Hay map-worthy, though, is not its stunning natural setting but its love of the printed word.

As the world’s first “town of books,” Hay is a bibliophile’s bacchanalia. With more than two dozen second-hand bookshops scattered about its higgledy-piggledy streets — not to mention pop-up stacks in alleyways, fire stations and outdoor taverns — there are enough spines to crack to have you wondering if “digital-first” is but a fantasy.

The first folio, so to speak, belongs to Richard Booth. In 1977, the self-styled “King of Hay” gained international renown when he declared the town an independent kingdom of books, seeing off the likes of Amazon and Kindle to create a print-lover’s paradise.

As the town’s promoters explain it: “Property was cheap, big libraries were being sold off and before long Booth had filled the town with books and booksellers.”

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No bookworm should leave Hay without a visit to the three-storey shop on Lion Street founded by Booth, who died in 2019. His memory lives on through Hay Independence Day — on April 1, natch.

Anyone charmed by killers, crimefighters and Columbo will thrill to Murder & Mayhem, a tight-squeeze two-floor emporium in thrall to the golden age of crime fiction, replete with film-set touches such as a chalked-up body outline.

And Hay’s 13th century castle, now open to visitors for the first time after a lengthy renovation, is an inviting place to sip a coffee in a deck chair while reading your latest acquisition. Or you can sup a cider while devouring a Dickens at the 17th century Old Black Lion pub.

If the call of the (Oscar) Wilde is strong in Hay, so too is the call of the wild.

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Running through town is the 285-km Offa’s Dyke Path. Named for the “ruthless” King of Mercia, the Eighth-century earthwork fortification roughly follows the border separating Wales from England and traverses unspoiled farm fields, narrow tracks and sheep — dozens and dozens of sheep.

It can be sampled in a day, but the more adventurous plan multi-day hikes with B&B stops along the way.

Hay is blessed by its location at the northern edge of the Brecon Beacons National Park, one of three in Wales. Unlike Canada, though, these parks are very much living places, their wonders lying side by side with the workaday.

Covering 1,350 square kilometres, the Brecons cover a good chunk of southwest Wales and the best spot to get your bearings (and ballast in the form of a hearty café lunch) is at the visitor centre, where a picnic area looks over the 885-metre Pen-Y-Fan, the tallest peak in the park.

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Transport links are limited so renting a car is the preferred option for exploring its scattered settlements and hiking paths. After all, who can resist the lure of mounting Lord Hereford’s Knob, a 690-metre hill in the Black Mountains more politely known as Twmpa.

Just north of Hay is one of those gems — Wales’ first lavender farm. Located near Builth Wells, the windswept hillside spread is run by a Canadian, Nancy Durham, a former CBC journalist who settled in the area with her husband and fellow Canadian, Bill Newton-Smith.

Sadly, former Oxford professor Newton-Smith — described in a Times obituary as a “maverick” philosopher — died in April at the age of 70.

But Nancy continues to welcome visitors to her café and shop, while overnight guests can stay at a defunct moving van converted into a glamping pod and take a dip at the wild swimming pond. She sells her lavender products through the flagship Farmers’ shop in Hay, where an adjacent townhouse is also available for bookings.

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If heading north from Cardiff, the buzzing capital two hours by train from London and well-served by car-hire outlets, a break at Caerphilly is recommended.

It’s known for its cheese, a fez-wearing British comedian (also a bit cheesy) and an amazing castle.

Castles are almost as much a byword for Wales as sheep and it’s said the country has more per capita than anywhere in the world — as many as 600. Suffice to say: you won’t need any Indiana Jones skills to plunder a medieval fortress or two — for pictures only, of course.

While Caerphilly’s 13th century fortress is not as renowned as some of its compatriots, it is notable on several fronts: it’s the largest in Wales; it’s the second-largest in Britain; and it was one of the first to use lakes, bridges and concentric fortifications for defence.

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It also boasts a curious “leaning tower” propped up by a 2013 oak statue of the Marquess of Bute, the castle’s wealthy benefactor who saved it from ruin.

Back in the Brecons, visitors will soon discover why so many stressed Londoners have decamped here.

Take Crickhowell. Sheltered in the Usk River Valley, its main draws are the Georgian main street, the remains of a castle (no surprise there) and a peculiar stone bridge (it has more arches on one side than the other). Lunch at the Bear Hotel is a must.

While Wales strides confidently ahead, its forgotten valleys and throwback towns keep it grounded in simpler times. With a population of three million — outnumbered by 10 million sheep — that is perhaps happily inevitable for the “Land of Song.”

The love of music is reflected in the delightfully lilting Welsh language, which adds a reassuringly exotic aspect to a holiday here. Roughly 25 per cent of the population speak Welsh, and the devolved Parliament wants to see a million speakers by 2050.

Long belittled as a jokey geographical reference (“…about the size of Wales”), the little nation of leeks, lamb, rugby and now worldwide Wrexham (thanks Ryan!) is firmly back on the tourist trail after the ravages of the pandemic.

Just be prepared for a bit more bleating than usual from those 10 million sheep.

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