Wales

A long time ago, in what now seems like a galaxy far, far away but is, in fact, merely my childhood, I underwent a life-changing experience. Just a few weeks before my eighth birthday, my parents took my sister and me off for a family holiday in Wales. For me, it was the start of a love affair that persists to this day, more years on than I care to contemplate (and more years than I'm prepared to admit to on a website).

The journey was a truly revelatory experience. I saw, for the first time in my life, mountains; real mountains, covered in places with beautiful purple-flowered rhododenrons; mountains that climbed to the clouds and gave me a cricked neck as I gazed in wonder from the car windows. I saw the lush green of the upper Dyfi valley as we drove through Mallwyd and Dinas Mawddwy. I saw the wild moorlands as the car staggered up a mountainside and into the wild, lonely pass of Bwlch yr Oer Ddrws. I saw the looming bulk of Cader Idris, the mighty mountain that defied even the indefatigable Roman legions in their days of conquest. And then we descended to the little grey stone town of Dolgellau, and on into the Mawddach Estuary; few who have visited this region would disagree that this is the loveliest spot on earth. Even the signposts were a source of excitement, with their strange unpronounceable names.

Finally, in stunned, unbelieving wonder, I turned to my father and, in awed tones, I asked the time-honoured question: "Are we nearly there yet, dad?"

I've visited Wales almost every year since then. There have been lean times when we couldn't afford a holiday - this year looks likely to be one of them - but most years we've managed to go for a long weekend, or sometimes a short week, in the early part of the year, and a fortnight later on. My boys, Lee and Jack, look set to continue the tradition. A couple of years ago Kath suggested we should go somewhere different, and we started planning a holiday in the Channel Islands. The boys got very excited - but then Lee said "Dad... we will still be going to Wales as well, won't we?". Bless him.

Well, this section is devoted to Wales and to all things Welsh. I've probably taken more photographs there than in the rest of the world put together, so this is always likely to be the largest section of the site. I've never yet taken a photograph that truly captures my experience of Wales in the way that I'd like to, but those shown here are probably the ones that come closest.

For those who have never visited Wales, the following three-minute "rough guide" may be of some use...

 

Croeso i Gymru

Uncle Pete's Three-Minute Rough Guide to Wales

Where is it?

Well, it's attached to the left-hand edge of England or, as cartographers would term it, "the west". On all roads into Wales you will see a large roadsign at the border saying Croeso i Gymru, which means "Welcome to Wales", but the inhabitants produce their signs in Welsh in order to discourage the English from taking the welcome too seriously. From the south-west of England where we live, the road crosses into Wales via a long toll bridge that crosses the River Severn. For some strange reason, tolls are collected from the westbound traffic, but not from the eastbound. Much has been made of this curious arrangement; in effect, you have to pay to get into Wales, but you're allowed out for free.

Geography

Geography is generally considered to come in two distinct flavours, known as physical geography and political geography. Wales suffers from both of these to some extent.

Physical Geography. In Wales this is mostly vertical. It gets approximately horizontal in the valleys, and also on the tops of the mountains. In the latter case, it can go from horizontal to vertical in an alarmingly sudden manner. Although Wales is often thought of as exclusively mountainous, it does also have plenty of valleys. In almost all cases, though, the valleys have mountains on both sides.

Political Geography. This consists exclusively of sheep.

Scenery

The physical and political geographies taken together comprise Wales' famous scenery. In addition to the mountains and the valleys, there are lakes, woodlands, moorlands, rivers, waterfalls, beaches, and many other wonders of nature. All of it is spectacularly beautiful, but the sheep get everywhere and simply have to be accepted as part of the scenery.

Weather

Wales has an awful lot of this, to be honest. There's a rainy season, which begins in March and persists through to the end of October; after that the weather takes a turn for the worse. On the whole, Welsh weather is exactly like English weather, only more so.

Culture

There's an awful lot of this too. The Welsh have a predilection for the Noson lawen, (lit: "merry evening", approximately), where people gather to drink the cwrw da ("good ale"), and sing Ar hyd y nos ("all through the night"), which would probably annoy the neighbours were it not for the fact that they're usually invited along. Male voice choirs are also popular, especially in the south. Poetry and music are celebrated regularly at the famous eisteddfodau, and you can't get much more cultured than that. Also popular is the singing of soft, Celtic songs accompanied by the plangent tones of the Welsh harp. This type of music is so hauntingly beautful that visitors should seize any opportunity to hear it without hesitation.

Cuisine

Wales is reputed to produce lava bread, which is made from seaweed, but I've never actually seen any and suspect it of being an urban myth. More real are Welsh Cakes, which are small, pale crumbly things sprinkled with sugar that go down an absolute treat around teatime. Even better is bara brith (literally speckled bread), which is a sort of fruit loaf, vaguely similar to malt-loaf but without that ghastly teeth-clinging gooiness. Spread a slice with a little butter, and with a nice cup of tea it's the most delicious thing there is. I usually eat a couple of loaves while we're there, then buy one to bring home with us.

Language

Wherever you go in Wales, you will hear people conversing in a strange, incomprehensible language full of mangled vowels and strangulated consonants, which makes them sound as though they're gargling with used engine-oil. Do not mistake these people for Welsh - they're tourists from Birmingham, and they get everywhere (I myself was born in Birmnigham, and I therefore feel perfectly entitled to take a pop at the place whenever I feel like it). The true Welshman usually speaks English better than you do (though not, of course, better than I do). In the central and northern parts of Wales, though, the Welsh language is very much alive; it is actively taught in schools, and many people grow up with Welsh as their first language. Despite that, most of the native population is fluently bilingual, and people tend to switch back and forth between the two languages almost without realising they're doing it. This causes consternation and outright paranoia among the English, who imagine that Welsh-speakers switch to speaking Welsh whenever they want to talk about the English; the Welsh, for the most part, have more interesting things to talk about.

History

Although Wales has an awful lot of many things, history is probably what it has in greater abundance than anything else. There are castles and historic buildings dating back to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. My own particular passion is for bronze age sites; there are literally hundreds of megalithic monuments such as cromlechs (chambered tombs), passage graves, standing stones, stone circles and, more rarely, stone rows. Unfortunately, the rest of the family don't whole-heartedly share this passion, and visits to obscure megalithic sites have caused more family friction than anything else over the years. In addition to the various forms of stonework, Wales has a sprinkling of famous historical figures who crop up everywhere: Llywelyn Fawr, his grandson Llewelyn ap Gruffydd, and the legendary folk-hero and freedom fighter Owain Glyndwr who, in the late fourteenth century, so nearly united Wales and freed her from the yoke of English oppression. You will also trip over legends of King Arthur wherever you go in Wales. Such tales are fun, but you shouldn't take them too seriously because Arthur was most probably fictitious. I shall be happy to retract this assertion if I hear from his solicitors any time in the next month.

-=o=-

Well that, in a nutshell, is Wales. If you still don't understand my passion for this beautiful land, just take a look at the photographs and all will become clear.