A Canadian in Cardiff

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

in the air

I am heading off very, very early tomorrow morning for two weeks in Canada and the U.S. to visit with friends and family.

I am very, very ready.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

coasteering with kin

Kelly and Wendy on path between Langland and Caswell Bays on the Gower

Mid-afternoon on Thursday, May 10 my brother Kelly and his wife Wendy arrived at my front door in Cardiff, having found their way there on their own from the airport in Birmingham; no small feat, as streets in Cardiff are poorly signed and I happen to live on one with no exit.

It was so, so good to see them, the first of family to visit since I have arrived here. They came and brought the sun with them -- also no small feat -- as until Thursday midday we had been having a continuation of the rainiest April in 100 years.

They added the journey to Wales onto the tail end of a German business trip which they had turned into a European vacation, my sister-in-law joining Kelly in Germany from where they travelled to Prague in the Czech Republic. After three days at my place in Cardiff they returned to Germany to spend a few days exploring the Rhine with a neighbour from back home in Michigan.

So, with the sun shining, and Wales in all its green-grassed, blue-skied glory, we explored the Welsh coast in their rented car -- the Gower Peninsula near Swansea on Friday and Pembrokeshire on Saturday. It was our own version of coasteering.

The beaches are endless and stunning. I have been to Rhossili Bay before, but never walked to the coast guard station at Worm's Head. We walked to that point, stopping to photograph the ponies along the way, and afterwards Kelly and I walked almost the complete length of Rhossili Bay and back (while Wendy opted for some relaxing book time).

Horses at Worm's Head, Rhossili Bay

Worm's Head at Low Tide

Kelly and Rhossili Bay

Horses and their balancing act at the cliffs of Rhossili beach

That night we spent a delightful evening at a small Italian restaurant in my neighbourhood which I had always wanted to try, but is rarely open. We found the owner, Mario, a short, round restaurateur in his 70s, who is officially 'retired' but opens this place, the Amalfi, on weekends. He played the organ between greeting guests and writing up the bills. His friend, Spanish-born, also a septuagenarian former restaurateur, helped him serve, and Mario's wife, whom we never saw, cooked the honest, homestyle food in the back.

I love to eat out and would, if not for financial realities, probably eat out every night of the week, trying different restaurants and cuisines. As it is, I treat myself to one meal out a week, usually at a favourite cafe down the street, and two to three outings for a coffee, pot of tea, or half a pint. Cardiff has an excellent array of ethnic restaurants, which unfortunately I am unable to explore as I would like -- otherwise this blog would probably be called A Canadian Eats Her Way Through Cardiff. But on Kelly and Wendy's visit we ate out three nights in a row, as well as two breakfasts. On the Thursday evening of their arrival, after a walk to show them part of Cardiff's city centre, we went down to an unusually subdued Cardiff Bay where they treated me to a birthday dinner, also Italian, at Signor Valentino's.

On Saturday, we headed to Tenby on the Pembrokeshire coast, where I had been once a couple of years ago on a day trip. On much of the way we were sharing the roads with cyclists. I don't know how my brother did it -- driving on the 'wrong' side of the road, driving stick which he doesn't normally do, and passing cyclists on narrow roads with oncoming traffic. It made me nervous and I was a passive passenger. The cyclists were part of the Carten 100, which I have since found out is an abbreviation of Cardiff and Tenby and that they were travelling the same 100 miles we were. Apparently there were more than 600 riders this year.

On the way to Tenby Wendy spotted a sign for a castle in the town of Laugharne. Wales' beauty is never-ceasing: one beach more beautiful than the last, one town more picturesque than the previous one. Laugharne served up a double treat as it was the last home of the Welsh bard Dylan Thomas. Situated on a quiet estuary, Laugharne is graceful and restful and a new favourite place.

Laugharne Castle

An accident in town brought an emergency helicopter landing

The writing shed of Dylan Thomas (with a bit of reflected glass)
-- the views from this shed would inspire anyone

Our coasteering made a long day and Kelly and Wendy had a longer day yet as they faced the two-hour drive to Birmingham Saturday night. A quick meal at my local Chinese cafe, where previously I had only ordered medicinal hot-and-sour soup as a takeaway, and they were on their way to further adventures along the Rhine.

St. Catherine's Island at Tenby

Tenby's North Beach and the old Coast Guard station, now a private home, at bottom of picture

As usual, I could have used an extra day to recover from the holidays, but it was back to work on Sunday, totally and utterly and joyously exhausted.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

April in Aberdare

Entering Aberdare from the overpass near the train station

I had the day off on my April 28 birthday this year and it coinciding with a break in the rain (April on record as the rainiest U.K. April in 100 years), I jumped on a train for an hour's ride to the town of Aberdare in the Welsh Valleys.

Among Aberdare and area's claims to fame are that it is the birthplace of tour operator and friend Paul Harris; it holds a statue of the famous choral leader Griffith Rhys Jones, also known as Caradog; and the original members of the rock band the Stereophonics hailed from nearby Cwmaman. The town also holds a very fine little museum on the area's industrial heritage.

I was pleasantly surprised by Aberdare. Online the town looks like an unpromising destination, less desirable than Merthyr Tydfil, a scrappy Valley town which bravely keeps standing up against hard economic realities, not unlike the champion boxers which have hailed from there. More so than Merthyr, Aberdare is flourishing, filled with small, busy businesses and cafes and a townsfolk that carry on in that pleasant, joyous manner I find among the Welsh.

Live models 'on display' at a local bridal shop -- different models appeared later in the day

A part of the town centre

I liked it a great deal and it is worth easy daytrips and a lovely train ride in the future.

I received two birthday phone calls from family while I was in Aberdare: one, from my brother Kevin, his wife Diane and my niece and nephew Sarah and Shawn, came in as I was on the train approaching the station, so it was fun to receive but difficult to hear patches as the train approached the platform. The second came later in the afternoon from my stepmother Flo in Florida as I was walking to the Visitor Centre in Aberdare Country Park, a walk that was unmarked in distance and took much longer than expected. But it was a pretty walk among moss-covered trees through a woods and I sat on an old log while I connected with her across the ocean.

Before the walk through the park I visited the Cynon Valley Museum and Gallery. Despite the often severe hardships endured by the Valleys peoples during the industrial revolution and often afterwards, both this museum and the one I visited in Merthyr, pointed out that subsistence farming, the life most people led before the industries came, was often as cruel and that many flocked toward industry to provide, hopefully but not necessarily, a better standard of life.

As Merthyr had its boxers, Aberdare had its cyclists, in the 1890s. Another intriguing glimpse of life in the Valleys, especially during the 1920s and Depression, was the appearance and flourishment of what were called 'jazz bands'. The photos on display at the museum reveal, mostly men and boys, dressed in outrageous Mardi Gras-style costumes, sometimes in black face even, wielding simple instruments like the kazoo.

At an intersection, 'Teeth' in front of me and to the left, below:

Apparently, a garbage bin under the sign a requisite as much as body parts

'my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils'

March in Bute Park

I'm a little backlogged with my posts. Here are a few pics from the lovely March we had here in Cardiff, with the bequiling daffodils, the national flower of Wales, covering the parks. The post title comes from the last lines of the poem by William Wordsworth, which you may or not remember from elementary school: I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud.

The yellow-gold of these bright ambassadors of spring surfaces in mid-February and lasts at least a month here. During the days of late winter they are a much-welcome gift of sunshine on the grey landscape. On days when the clouds disappear their beauty is doubled. I spent an idyllic March afternoon reading among the flowers in Bute Park.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Swansea siesta

On the Monday following my Sunday return from the St. Malo mini-cruise in early March, I boarded a morning train to take me the hour down the track to Abertawe, as the Welsh call it, or Swansea as it is better known.

Last fall at a work-related Hallowe'en party I spent £1 on a chance to win an overnight B&B stay at one of several affiliated hotels in the UK. It ended up being the best buy for £1 I have ever made. I won a stay at a resort in south Wales that was quite far off the beaten path, was able to get it exchanged for a stay in Swansea, and now, as part of my holiday was cashing in on the prize.

The hotel in Swansea is right on the beach and I had an amazing view from my second story window. I was still feeling quite under the weather with the head cold and the long day walking in France. I went for breakfast at the Swansea Market, bought a cup of cockles salty fresh from the sea, and then took my camera on a scale of the heights of Swansea which I had never done before.

Looking over Swansea Bay with the Mumbles on the horizon

Circular building, on one of highest points in Swansea, is an elementary school

Swansea's Liberty Stadium at bottom of the hill

Returning from my Swansea wanderings I bunked down in the newly refurbished hotel room, jumped for joy on the mattress and luxuriated in fresh sheets. I was afraid that working in the hotel industry would destroy the sense of joy associated with travelling, but I think the fact that everything was FREE just tossed any such professional lingerings aside.

I ventured down to the leisure club, enjoyed a pummelling in the jacuzzi and a brief swim in the pool and then returned to my room, climbing under the sheets for a night of watching the telly.

Facing Swansea from the beach, with Swansea Prison the large structure to the left

The next morning the amazingly good weather we were having continued and after eating a little of everything at the fine FREE breakfast spread, I checked out of the hotel, walked a few minutes away onto the seawalk and plopped myself down a bench for the rest of the day, read my book, let the sun seep into my tired body and watched people playing by the sea.