From the Poet's Mouth

Dylan Thomas, Swansea-born poet, called his place of birth an "ugly, lovely, town." That line has been circulating in my head since I got here. So much of Swansea is glorious--the seaweed-littered shore, the well-kept gardens, the unexpected doorways, the Welsh, English, French, and Brazilian accents, the ever-steaming kettles.

At first I was aghast that he would call this city ugly, but I'm realizing that on this earth even the most paradisical place has blemishes. Smoke here congregates in stifling clouds around doorways, the borrowed bus stinks, the floor above me creaks like it's going to fall in, in the city scaffolding marrs old, stone structures, and on campus colorful 80s designed buildings rise like a jester against the gray sky.

 

But it's the ugliness that makes the lovely all the more worth having. Or is it the other way around? The loveliness makes the ugliness worth giving a chance.

Joy has declared multiple times already, "We are moving here!"

I am happy to have no choice in the matter.

 

 

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Aubergines, Bonnets, and Chavs

"Alien" always seemed like such an extreme descriptor to apply foreigners, but now I see it's aptness. Just the differences between British and American English make me sometimes feel like a visitor from another planet. For example,

"aubergines" are not a fancy French delicacy, as I guessed, but your common, everyday, purple eggplants, and

if I asked for biscuits and gravy here, people would look at me like I was mad. Who wants meat sauce on their cookie (although they do like meat spread on their toast!)? Then,

there is the chav. I haven't met one yet, but according to Wikipedia chavs are individuals who exhibit "loutish behavior, violence, and particular speech patterns." Apparently they are also recognizable by their designer (or imitation) brand sport clothes and "bling".

I'm learning my ABC's all over again. It's quite entertaining most of the time and involves copious amounts of laughter and raising of eyebrows.

 

My fellow Americans, what do you think of this offer?

"We are having ice cream for pudding. Would you like hundreds and thousands on it?"

Hint:

pudding=dessert

hundreds and thousands=sprinkles

 

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Signage

Visiting Bath, with its monolingual signage, the weekend before last I missed seeing written Welsh. All official public signage here is required by law to be bilingual, so it is everywhere. On road signs, posters, university emails, international mail stickers. In the south it's English first.

The top left photo is of a sign at Cardiff Castle. The others were taken in Swansea.

On the left, the Meridian Tower is making a subtle debut.

I don't know how much these signs help cultivate the Welsh language. Even as a dysgwr Cymraeg--Welsh learner--after just 4 weeks here I have to make a conscious effort to actually read the bottom half of the sign. My brain almost filters it out. But I like that the Government promotes Welsh, I like the look of it, and I will try and make the most of my city-wide vocabulary flash cards.

 

 

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A Day With Parklands

I've been in Swansea a month now. Sundays are definitely my favorite days of the week.

Today my walking buddies Joy and Connor were in Amsterdam, so I took a sunny 12-minute walk to Parklands church on my own. It's quite safe, Mama!

I am not very good at getting pictures with people in them, because I feel like a creeper. But I promise that some future posts will be of animate objects!

Pastor Brian's message was on redemption. It was a rather sobering message for today. What struck me was that, as much as we talk about God's love, it's also true that the terrible, terrible torture that Jesus willingly endured in order to redeem us, to buy us back, was real.

Valentine's Day is just gone. People got bears and chocolates and flowers and jewelry. No one can top the love Jesus showed a day 2,000 years ago.

(A bit of wood near the university)

 

After the service, we went to Pastor Brian's house and had delicious Sunday lunch. I have to say it's a grand tradition that we need to replicate in America! Peas, potatoes, parsnips (also broccoli and melt-when-you-touch-it cauliflower), and roast beef followed by hot custard on apple crumble!

After lunch, people scattered to watch football, watch rugby, or go home and revise (=study for a test).

In the evening I went to my first pub quiz with some of the Parklands people, at Bryn y Mor pub. Let me tell you, people get into these quizzes! There was a lot of "Oh, oh, oh, I know it! I'll remember in a second!" and "No cheating!" At one point it was suggested we have an exchange--the name of an actress for the name of a footballer.

Girls vs boys, boys won. I was pretty much useless on my team, since I don't know who was on the Green Party in a certain year or which childhood TV show features Bingo and Sporky, but it was still good fun.

I had a J2O passionfruit juice not a Guiness, but my camera died, so no photo of either my drink or the team. Sorry!

 

 

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Hendrefoelan Student Village

 

 

Before I came to Swansea, I didn't have a clear picture of what my accommodations would be like. As it turns out, all of us Brad Henry Scholars live in the Hendrefoelan Student Village. It is about a 10 minute bus ride away from uni, but I've taken to walking at least one way, which takes about 25 minutes through some nice neighborhoods and a park.

 

 

There are flats, and there are houses in the Village. I live in a house with 10 private bedroom with 2 shared showers, 1 bath, 2 toilets. The sinks ("hand basins") are in the rooms.

 

 

There isn't an abundance of space in my room, but I think I am using it quite efficiently.

 

 

(My desk is a lot messier now) The radiator keeps me toasty, and my window can lock open if I want fresh air. Also, the curtains block the light really well (it's bad the mornings my alarm didn't go off!)

It's quite nice, except for the lack of fridge/freezer space in the kitche, and the increased number of daddy-long-legs I've been discovering in my room. :[

 

 

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The Sea

Prynhawn da, pawb! Good afternoon, everybody!

 

I turned in my 10-source, 2400 word essay yesterday at 4:02 p.m., exactly one hundred-twenty seconds after the deadline. Dr. Bryn did say in perfect seriousness that it would be counted late even one second after 4:00, but I'm hoping he has some merciful bones in his body!

On a happier note, I got all my pictures uploaded, finally! This is from our Mumbles field trip, or maybe this was Rhossili? I don't know the Bay well enough yet.

 

 

It was cold that day, can you tell? I hurried back to the bus right after I took my selfie.

And after I stopped to take a picture of the chalky white seashell, rocks, and Welsh sand.

Literally across the street from Fulton House, the main university building, is the beach, but I was too cold and hungry this afternoon to go. Instead, I vacuumed my room (hoovered, I should say) and rearranged the furniture so I can get to my radiator more easily, so I can dry my laundry for free and none £1.10.

The gray sky outside seems to be saying today should be a reading day. My bookshelf is stocked up with travel articles about Italy, The Jane Austen Pocket Bible, Anne of Green Gables, The Telegraph, and The Waterfront. All I need now is a cup of tea.

 

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Bath Continued: Artifacts

It didn't seem right to give Bath only one blog post. This is my quick collection of notable displays.

 

 

 

A live tour guide had a group there, but I didn't mind just listening to the recording.

Apparently, this was the hairdo of the day.

One of several impressive tombstones.

Throughout the museum were depictions of the Roman sun god Sol.

This next one made me laugh. Read the third "curse" paper from the left. Bath towel thievery.

 

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Saturday in Bath

Saturday was an all day trip to Bath, England, the city on which Rome left such an imposing mark (and as Joy delighted repeated, the place where Jane Austen walked). The two-hour bus ride gave us Americans a view of idyllic English countryside.

Here are the tan stone buildings as you enter the city.

It was like stepping into a history documentary, but instead of the man's voice to narrate, there are street performers--buskers I think they're called--playing for tips. They were amazingly good! Better than any X-Factor performer.

I didn't have to pay admission--the field trips are part of our culture course!

Here's a look up from inside.

I took my time listening to the audioguide and looking at the coins and statues and lots of old stone from graves, walls, and stairs.

The artifacts were interesting, and I took my time listening to the audio guide, but it was the actual bubbling, hot bath that impressed me.

Looking at the green, popping, dust-swirled pool surrounded by uneven walkways and tan columns, I sensed the age--the hundred and hundreds of years of rain and dirt and continued water-bubbling-up-from-under-the-ground--of the place.

After the Roman Baths we spent an hour an a half exploring the city. Lots of tiny shops (one was creatively called The Small Shop), a market, more musicians, beautiful little narrow alleyways. There was too much to do and see in such a short time, but at least I got a taste.

Goodbye Bath! Until next time.

 

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