The New Digs

We moved! Hurrah! It's been a week here, seems less--probably because it just been so busy and with the new Term starting up time seems to be collapsing like a spent accordian ... (just something I was trying out. yeah, not the best metaphor).

Our new digs are quite unlike our previous place ... infact if you think of almost an exact opposite, this is it. Beck House was like a student reservation, removed off the road by a wall and parking lot, set apart, with several blocks for students. There were the fire drills and the 4 a.m. revelries. Our place was on the bottom floor, almost like a basement because it was partly dug into a hill, cold, damp, not particularly light. With no view (except the parking lot) and quite large (but in an empty, echoey kind of way since we didn't own anything to fill it up.

Our new place, though still managed by the Uni is a flat in a row house on a real honest to goodness Swansea street (and a crazy busy one at that). Bryn Y Mor is a main thourofare back and forth from the Uplands area to downtown. So we are now a bit closer to town and though it may be a tiny bit further from school it's only maybe a 5 minute difference in the walk (about 20 min.) It's on the 3rd floor, nearly the attic, and is a studio, so pretty small. We've got amazing light, skylights, views of the bay and of trees. It feels like an entirely different universe.

After a year of a tiny nasty shower that I couldn't stand to get in (okay, I will admit that I didn't shower quite as often as I probably should have because I just hated it so much), we have a shower/bath. And with a huge skylight you can stand in the shower with the curtain partly open and look at the clouds. I plan on having my first bath tonight, by candle-light ... looking up at the stars and moon.

And I am totally in love with the kitchen, which has a floor to (low) ceiling window and a huge skylight as well. And a "breakfast bar" with stools. It is much smaller than our old kitchen but arranged so that it feels like a much more useable space.

So, lots of pics to share, but since I can only load five I will try and give an overview ....



Coming up the stairs -- there is a nice airy landing which I might use for my office ... a little unconventional, but ... why not?



Bedroom/Living room combined -- but it's a nice space.



Bathroom with tub and skylight!




The gorgeous kitchen.





One sample view from out the kitchen skylight over the rooftops!

Rainy Day

It's raining in Swansea. Which is the natural state of things, I know--and not the bright and sunny days we've been having for so much of the summer. And honestly, I do love rain, but today for some reason it feels like a rainy day in almost a kind of Winnie-the-Pooh sort of way. (Perhaps I should make some tea).

The cloud is seamless, low, enveloping. The rain is coming down steadily now in a fine fast fall. Poor Christien is out in it. Everything in the world is damp. The papers on the table are beginning to buckle and curl, the clothes in the cupboard come out of it damp. The cotton shirts I am wearing feel slightly chill with faint wetness.

Ah, sea and rain, I do love you ... but why can't my clothes be dry?

I wanted to keep forging on with Llanmadoc--because it really was such a lovely retreat for us. So I posted about the pups last time (miss them still!) and thought I would post a few pics from the walk which was right behind the house--an enormous steep hill from which you get basically a 365 view. In fact you can see Wormshead (our favorite spot KB & WC) as well as out to the salt march and across to Llanelli and Burry Port. And I just looked it up and found out you really can see Tenby from there on a clear day (it's the edge of the Pembrokeshire coast). We walked up it with the dogs on a few early mornings and also by ourselves (hard to stop for scenic sights with three Lurchers trying to bound off after sheep or rabbits).

It is commons land, so there are herds of sheep that wander up and along it and also a herd of wild horses that was often grazing up there. On our afternoon walk we were wandering back along the ridge when we spied another couple wandering very close to some of the horses (they had foaled, so there were several babies wandering with the herd) and then another family came along on the same path. Well the stallion decided that this was enough and we were treated (from a but farther up) to a remarkable display of stallion herding behavior ... he chased after the mares in a wide arch, with his head and neck out flat (which I read was like a mimicry of a snake, scary--and indeed it would worry me if he was coming after me like that), stamping, nipping, chasing the laggards and rounding the whole group (which had spread out pretty far) into a tight circle. Then he stood guard at the edge--keeping the mares in the circle and watching us humans.

So here are a few pics from Llanmadoc Hill.




Coming up a trail (through shoulder-high rain-wet bracken (ie. ferns) and gorse, the trail meets another road.





In this picture and the next you can see the inlet which is essentially north. There is a huge area of sand flats, dunes, a long stretch of pine wood (that used to be a municions test area) and a salt marsh where sheep and wild horses graze.




This is basically of the salt marsh, underwater. We went to the beach the next day and discoverd that high tide has an unpleasant aftereffect--sheep droppings all along the beach that floated in from the salt marsh!




Here is from our afternoon walk to the far end of the hill--that is looking out toward where Tenby would be.




And finally, past the gorse and heather--Wormshead!

Carrington in Chichester

I want to write a bit more about Llanmadoc, but we also had another fun adventure, the week after we got back to Swansea.

We found out in the Spring that there was going to be an exhibition of paintings by our favorite two painters in the whole world/over all time: Leonora Carrington and Rememdios Varo -- at Pallant House Gallery in Chichester. Pallant House is a museum endowed by Edward James, who was a Lord of some kind (I think) who had a taste for Surrealist art and acquired a large collection. The museum, in association with the government of Mexico, developed this exhibition.

Carrington was born in the UK, but at a very young age she fled her family's social demands (she was a debutante and supposed to behave and marry well) and went first to London to study painting, and then to Paris--where she met the Surrealists and fell in love with Max Ernst. She and Ernst were together for only a short time before the threat of the Nazi's interrupted their artistic romance. Ernst, as a German alien in France, ended up in a camp. He was released briefly but ended up back in a Nazi camp after the Germans invaded. Carrington stayed in France for a while but eventually was forced to flee to Spain. In Spain she had a breakdown and ended up in Santander Asylum. Her family meanwhile tried to get her designated insane and committed permanently in another asylum in order to try and mitigate her "damage" to the family name. She was released from Santander, managed to give her family's agent the slip, and got away. She married a Mexican diplomat in order to obtain a visa to be able to leave Europe. After some time in New York she went to Mexico City. There she divorced (it had been a marriage of convenience, for the visas) and later married Emerico Weisz, a photographer and expatriate Hungarian Jew.

In Mexico City she continued to paint and develop a truly unique artistic style and an amazing body of work. She is now considered a Mexican artist--though she also spends some time in the US each year. She is about 93, still working.

So consider this part one.

As a p.s. There was a contest to write 150 words about the story behind one of Carrington's paintings. There were 3 paintings, 3 chances. Christien and I both wrote little poems to go with the images. So I will include one here to go with the image of one of the paintings ....




Are you really Syrious?

It is a dawn sky, the first of summer. Sirius rises: flame, fire. He noses up from the underworld where for two months he scented out the tunnels and caves, tracking through the maze. Weaver webs his progress on a loom of sails, each line of feather-fine silk is a line of light that Sirius scored through the dark. And now he is returned. There are dances to be done, another mark to carve on the totem. The long nails of the dogs scratch patterns across the marble tiles. They will all go hunting soon. Rabbits, through the dew-damp flowers. Antelopes, through the tall bent grass. The dogs will chase the hard hot heartbeat, hearing it far off in the cool morning, following its echo down toward the waiting river.

Puppies, puppies

Quite behind as usual ...

So--we were house-sitting out on the Gower for two weeks. It was gorgeous. A lovely house, lots of light. Our bedroom had windows to the north and south. South was a great rising hill topped with cairn/ruins. North was the trailing arm of the dunes out toward the tidal inlet, and a skeletal metal lighthouse (which once went on auction for 1 quid--they just wanted someone to take responsibility for the place's upkeep).

Morning one was us waking up at quarter to 7, stumbling downstairs to make sure the dogs didn't need to burst out of doors. But no, Lurchers seem to be a little bit camel (in the opposite sense) and never in a huge rush to go out and pee in the garden. But they were quite keen to get out on their walk and we rushed out the door, unbrushed, half-dressed, trailing bits of dream and sleep in our wake and bounded up the hill top (gasping desperately for air). Lurchers are part greyhound, sleek, fast, strong. Even Bella, with her injury, was a handful. They pulled us up and down. They long to chase and heaven help the sheep, rabbit, or cat who dashes past their nose if we were to lose the leads. (We managed, sometimes painfully. I brusied a finger holding onto Lyra when she lurched after a cat on one of our evening walks.)

After that first scattered business we learned how to cope better--if not gaining the upper hand exactly, we made a sort of compromise with the dogs. I came down early, let them out, had tea and a few almonds. Christien came down a bit later after stretching, and then I went up to change for the walk. Much more coordinated and organized.

First round here I will post a few pics of the dogs ...

Sweet Bella, who broke her foot in February, had just started wearing an orthodic brace and taking longer (45 min) walks with the rest again.


Lyra is the rescue that was abandoned in a parking lot. She is very shy--but warmed up to us by our first walk that evening and by the end of our two weeks we were very close. She loved to play and fetch. Can't believe a person who abuse such a sweet creature.


Terran was the baby, antsy, energentic and wicked strong! She loved to run straight up the garden and straight back again ... forget fetching.

Updatey

Just an update on the doings here.

Starting Saturday Christien and I will be house-sitting for two weeks for a family in Llanmadoc, which is out on the far north end of the Gower (right down the road, about 20 miles from Swansea, you'll remember us talking about Rhosilli, we will be north of there). Not the most glamorous of house-sits, we had looked into some in France, Spain, and Ireland ... but the most practical for us right now, basically no travel costs, etc. The owner is a Professor at Swansea U, so they were glad to get someone there associated with the school and who knows the area. Plus we figure with a "local" recommendation (all things going well, hopefully) we will have a good start toward some holiday getaway/house-sitting gigs in the future. They have 3 dogs, Lurchers (which are a mix breed, with greyhound in them) which need lots of walking. The house is right below a hill which we will be walking with the dogs every day, with 360 degree views of the sea and peninsula. They are just up from pine woods, dunes, and beach. No market except a tiny co-operative place just down the road. A real Welsh village. So we will take lots of pics and I will update how it goes! We will have internet, but not on our laptops, so I will have to post pics later.

In other news, our move will likely be the week of Sept 10th, sometime between the 10th and 17th. We are moving into a studio apartment -- which will take a little getting used to after all the enormous amount of space we've had here at Beck. However, with fire alarms and workmen and landscapers and 3 a.m. students talking outside our room, I think we are looking forward to a change. And the place will be cheaper, as well, which is good cause we need to save money, as usual!

I leave you, then, with a Swansea shot ....



This is down at the boardwalk near the beach looking back up into Brynmill and toward the Uplands. The lights and stands of the Cricket/Rugby grounds you can see right in the foreground.

California Dreaming?

Is it me, or are these California Poppies? They really look quite like them. There are a couple plants growing from a wall down on Pantygwdyr Street. I've now seen a few similar flowers at the botanical gardens in Singleton Park, but not in the pure golden California shade.




I've realized that in the past we've been very bad about taking atmospheric shots of places that we've lived. We take shots on special sorts of trips, like hikes, or of special kinds of things, like castles ... but I've realized that so much of what makes Swansea interesting is just the streets and the garden walls, and the alleys (I love the alleys) and the way you know you're in a sea town, even when you can't see it.

C & I both had a working Sunday this weekend, wrote, etc. -- but we stopped at 5 pm and walked down to the beach together. The tide was in, which I always like because then I get to touch the water. There were a number of fishermen down on the beach, and a whole group of sail boats doing S's around the buoy's out in the bay. Very lovely. Anyway, why did I bring that up ... oh ... cause I realized that even sitting in the flat with the breeze coming in through the window, you know there is sea out there--its just in the smell of the air, and the salty, seaish feel of it .... How's that for brilliant description? Hmmm, yes.

Back to the poppies--they could be transplants, there are so many plants here from all over the world. And the weather here is very California coastal ... a bit cooler perhaps. We've been averaging in the 60's -- low to high -- but that is beach weather I suppose.

I include, besides the poppies, a couple of my attempts at recording more of the everyday atmosphere of Swansea....







If you take a zig-zag route through Brynmill (neighborhood) down toward the bay you have to climb. You come out at a spot where there is a school with a gorgeous and very nautical bell on it with an amazing view of the bay and the lighthouse at Mumbles, and a great white fence. Just up from here is a pub and a chip shop (of course)


I just love rust ...

rain and cloud

After a sunny June and a fairly sunny April and May, the rain has returned to Wales. Mornings of drizzle followed by afternoons of deluges and evenings of light patter. Never realized how many kinds and qualities of rain there can be. A few days ago the rain was so tiny and faint that the droplets were alive, buzzing and drifting like insects rather than like water.

Today after a morning and afternoon of writing I hiked up to Town Hill, behind our apartment. From the edge of Uplands I could see I'd be walking into the cloud which covered the top of the hill. But its interesting because as you walk up it doesn't look like cloud--but it rains harder and harder. It was wet, but beautiful--looking at the wet beach and the ocean far below. Waves of rain rolling up the hill over the trees.

Some new pics

I am trying to get better about pictures. I just wanted to post a couple of nice ones from recent walks. June was amazingly sunny--we're told this is quite unusual, though it is the sunniest of all the months apparently. We took a long, 8 mile walk from Rhossili around the coast to Port Eynon a few weeks ago. It was beautiful if a little muggy. We saw a seal down at Mewslade beach, and "wild" horses up on the trail near the fields.

Another walk up onto Rhossili downs last week. Which is the higest point on the Gower, so a steep trek. But you could see all of the Gower penninsula--we were so lucky going on a really clear day--even when its sunny sometimes it can be so hazy. But we could spot the smoke coming out the stacks of the steel works at Post Talbot in Swansea Bay, 30 miles away. Gorgeous views.

So here are a few from those trips.

at the chip shop last night ...

I went to the chip shop late, near 10, though it was still light. Hungry cause it was a long day yesterday at Writer's Day, and our dinner was tapas, which never satisfies, unless you're willing to spend a ridiculous amount of money. Anyway, the guy at the counter, (young, perhaps in his late 20's, dark hair with a very conservative cut, dark eyes, olive skin, could be middle eastern, greek ...?) is the one who gave me extra chips last time and we had shared a quick knowing smile when he added another scoop. I came in, smiling, flirting my way into extra chips. But of course this time somehow instead of just saying "large chips, salt", a pantomine of customer and clerk, I repeated myself, stumbled, spoke the words over twice. A dead give-away. He said, "Where are you from?" "America" I said, already deflating, but still playing along with this game that is starting to become familiar. His hand, hovering, let's go of the scoop, he starts to wrap up the normal ration of chips. "Where do you think I am from?" A minefield. He gives a half-smile, looks at me narrowly. A horrid and terrible minefield I refuse to step in. If I say Greek he could be Turkish, (and they are enemies from way back), if I say Syrian or just Middle Eastern, Iranian? I keep repeating "I don't know" lightly, as he keeps saying, "Guess...", insistent now, and with a look in his eye that is not joking. Finally he says, "Iraq". I only hear the hard "kk" at the end, "Where?" "I'm from Iraq", he repeats. His eyes are intent, are asking me to answer some other question--not the one he just asked. No I am not making that up, it is not just a poetic or metaphoric device. There is a whole volume of words behind his look, just as there is when I turn to look back up at him again, flirtation over, thinking like a flash, "I'm so sorry," but biting my words down because this is a chip shop and he and I are just two people, and I have no idea what his life is or who his people are ... I can guess that with deaths from the war estimated at over 1 million in a country with a population of about 30 million, with 1 in 30 dead he knows someone, some friend or relative or colleague, who died due to the war, the violence, the starvation. And he says, "One pound seventy five" and I hand him 2 quid and he gives me my change. And I leave the shop with my wrapped packet of chips, and walk the alley back home, as the twilight turns the sky purple, streaked with red.

market day

Market day today, which means a walk down the 60% grade of Bryn-y-mor Crescent to Saint Helen's Ave. past 3 charity shops (ie, thrift stores), the Uplands Diner with its windows open and the smell of ketchup and eggs, past the posh new Noah's Yard--which is apparently a bar and live Jazz venue, but it has the oddest hours and we still are not quite sure of its real purpose in life, past sad, empty Mr. D's our favorite Chip shop that closed a couple months ago when Mr. D got sick--it's been cleaned out of its fridge full of sodas and squash ... so I am afraid he is not coming back, down past Eaton Crescent which for some reason we think of as the Bank's street (from Mary Poppins), and the tiny little corner coffee and panini shop on Kind Edward's Rd., and the pubs down on the flat part of Bryn-y-mor, and the Chinese grocery with its bright red-painted door and unreadable (to me) signs, where sometimes I get tofu, bok choy, bean sprouts, or rice noodles, on past the pickled eggs in the window of the chip shop at the corner of Bryn-y-mor and St. Helen's and left, past "Serenity" where they offer ear candling and aromatherapy sessions, to my favorite grocery shop, Exotica--which always has pallets of produce out front being unloaded. Have you ever seen 3 dozen flats of cilantro (or rather Coriander as its called here)? Exotica is filled and piled and stuffed with asian goods. I wouldn't know what to do with half the veg and fruit--but I want to. There are at least a dozen kinds of chilies. And where else can you get 3 tins of tomatoes for only 1 pound? I am always tempted to get something new ... chutney or lichee's or something ... but usually I don't. Meanwhile Christien is off to the enormous Tesco downtown for our more "English" staples: oatcakes, pasta, treacle (ie molasses), and salted peanuts.

And not a bad day for it, high 60's and the sun is shining. And now I am hungry ... hmmm, what's for lunch?

May, oops, I mean June ...

May was busy, but in a marvelous way--Kirsti & Chris came to visit! We had an amazing time touring around Wales. We took two lovely coastal hikes on the Gower, walked down to Mumbles to see the Castle and the cemetery, and have a pint at the White Rose, went to a couple films at the Swansea Film Festival, hiked up Corn Du during a icey dagger rain storm, stayed in a lovely B&B on the Wye River at Hay and marched through a dozen or so used book shops. And then we had a great time in London, ate Ethiopian and saw St Pauls, and wandered around the streets. Busy and wonderful and much much too short. Who's next? And when are K & C coming back?

A couple pics from the visit.

Gregynog

Nope, that is not a made up word describing what happens when Greg takes a nap -- its the name of an old Tudor manor and grounds in Wales (couple hours north of here, in the mid-section) which is owned by the U of Wales. They use it for conferences and such and a couple weeks ago I was there overnight for a U of Wales post-grad conference for lit.

Apparently part of the whole thing about being a PhD student is to go to these conferences and read your paper (tuned to the theme of that particular conference) and defend it (sometimes apparently the academic snipery is epic) and meet others and schmooze and make your name know and then you get a teaching job when you graduate, rather than a really really really expensive piece of paper that leads to a hot fryer ....

So I thought I'd "practice" writing an abstract, but they accepted it and then I had to write the darn thing--a 20 minute paper on my research, ie my novel and its critical and philosophical background--particularly relating to their theme which was ... (drum roll) "Beyond here lies nothing, the bounds of literature" .... very post-structuralist of them. Anyway my main argument for my paper was: "Los Angeles does not exist" ... And I went on from there to talk about its "landscape of erasure". Sounds pretty out there but there were talks using deconstructivist theory applied to Fantasy novels, about Ekphrastic poetry, comic books, a re-interpretation of the character of Ophelia, doping in the GDR, and apparently about Necrophilia ... (didn't hear that one). I know! Who knew lit conferences could be so bloody weird!

The drive in was an adventure in middle of nowhere country village driving--lanes the size of half a car, and NO signage. C and I always thought New Mexico was bad for signage, but country Wales is MUCH worse. You really just had to go by feel. I have a theory that I may actually still be out there driving around and around the same village.

The manor itself was pretty cool. I have not gotten used to the peppering of OLD buildings everywhere here and being used for all kinds of things. In the states an old building might be 50-100 years old (in L.A. 30!), here an old building is 400. The whole thing wasn't old, there had been additions--but the inside was all carved wood and impressive stately rooms and massive fireplaces. And one spiraling staircase with the banister carved into the stone--very cool. There was one toilet (wc) left in the place of the old type--a square board and a long dark tunnel down to .... The best feature by far was the bar down in the old wine cellar (think that was it). The ceiling was old brick, painted over yellow and red--but it was in this amazing pattern of arches--It was like a bunker/bar, something you'd see in a movie about Berlin during the war perhaps. I did not, however, stay to drink much--just a fizzy water thankyou, because I was on the 3rd day of a migraine and had my paper to present next morning. Ah well, too bad.

So, including a couple pics that will be self explanatory--the manor, me, and then a shot of some wood and sheep pasture where I went on a walk during tea time (yes, there was tea time the first afternoon--with about 10 kinds of tea, coffee, and about half a dozen types of cake and biscuits (ie, cookies).

But still American...

And misssspellling things ...

Like Brolly!!!!

You know you've been in Wales for 6 months when ...

I know--its been years since my last blog. A biggy-hugo mid-life crisis got in the way. But it seemed time to offer up something and so a few brief thoughts as we've just passed the 6 month mark.

You know you've been in Wales for 6 months when:
1. Out walkin' in drizzle--no rain jacket
2. Out walkin' in a light rain--maybe the rain jacket but no hood up.
3. When on the way to the market (here's 4. market, not store) it starts to pour and even though pretty close to home you keep on goin--drenchedness and all.
5. When it starts to hail madly while walking up Bryn-y-mor Crescent (a killer hill, those who shall visit us, you'll see!--oh and site of our future tiny studio apartment ... probably) with a backpack full of potatoes, apples, cans of beans and tomatoes, tahini, etc. you exclaim: Bloody Hell!
6. A pound is a pound is a pound (what's that cost in dollars? don't know, didn't even wonder).
7. Still no brawley but unlike the first two months when you considered giving up chips for 3 weeks in order to afford one, now you just think--Brawley? Why?
8. Brawley ... not umbrella.
9. You know what the Seven Nations Tournament is.
10. You know its about Rugby.
11. You know that as long as the English lose the Welsh will be smiling tomorrow.
12. You know that Wales' patron saint St. David invented the concept of distiguishing uniforms for soldiers by passing out leeks to Welsh fighters to stick in their hats--a way they could tell each other apart in battle--thereby not killing their own side ... and this is why leeks are the Welsh vegetable and daffodils the welsh flower (since they have leeky type leaves)
13. A month long spell of only occassional rain qualifies as a drought.
14. You automatically spell programme, centre, theatre
15. You are seriously considering buying some Laverbread (and know what it is--which, by the way is sea algae--Swansea Market is one of the only places you can buy it, in styrofoam cups, by the kilo.)
16. Everything is the Naz ... no, wait ... that's just a Bowie thing.

And so: ta, cheers--Sorry this post is rubbish, and bore da to you!

Re: parte 3 below

Um -- you'll note the numbers and pictures don't match--the pics were in the wrong order and I accidentally hit publish instead of edit.

But we'll make it a game, if you can correctly match the photo with the commentary you win ..... a pint on me in Rhossili when you come to visit....

How's that for a prize?

Rhossili parte 3 -- The beach

It's the big beach scene.




1. The building up there is the pub--so you can imagine the view. Tide was out and it was amazingly hazy--with mist refracting light all over.




2. That's Christien, way out there on the beach.




3. There was a cave--a very wet cave. Christien is in further taking a pic of me near the entrance.




4. And drumroll ... shipwrech. Very Daphne DuMaurier.



5. Hey--there's our bus!

Rhosilli, parte 2

For the original blog with more wordiness, see below.



1. On the other side of Wormshead, looking east--more beaches and cliffs.







2. I really loved this wall--it was fields over the other side and huge bluffs and cliff edges on our side, with the sea below. The way the hill was bellied out it made the space feel warped and huge--hard to get a sense of it in the picture--but the light on the wall was quite fairy.









3. Christien sighting land to the south -- the Devonshire coast across the Bristol Channel.






4. Looking back at Wormshead from the other side--wait--can you see it? tide is going out and here comes the land-bridge.







5. Okay, okay -- another wall shot ... what can I say?

Rhossili

A couple weekends ago we finally figured out the Gower (that's the peninsula we live at the edge of) bus system and made chickpea & veggie pancakes and packed apples and peanuts and headed off across the peninsula to Rhosilli, which is a beach a the other end of the Gower. Once through the Swansea suburbs we were in countryside of gorse and grass, sheep and stone walls. There was a castle ruin visible from the bus about half-way in. A wood. And the roads are so ridiculously narrow that in some parts only one vehicle can get through--though a few time there were squeezes with the bus and cars inching past each other that seemed very inadvisable. I am not sure I would ever want to drive here--and if I did I'd get the tinest possible car, maybe a KA. Rhosilli is a little village of stone and whitewashed houses, cottages, (farms), a pub and church. There are stone walls looking like ancient ruins separating the cliffside paths from fields of cabbages and pastures of sheet--but also sheep ranging the steep hillsides over the sea. There is a choice to walk out along the cliffs and around--or down to the beach. We walked the cliffs first, then down the beach later in the afternoon when the tide was out. There are ship-wrecks down on the beach which become visible when tide is low--just jutting timbers and rested metal crusted with chiton--but cool all the same. Just overlooking a stunning view of the beach is a pub with a patio--so although we didn't do it I think a pint overlooking the sea and watching the sunset seems like a great idea. Here are a few pics, and I will post a few more following.





1. Looking down the beginning of the path toward Worm's head. And then a closer shot of the rock (from Wyrm, for dragon)--at the very lowest tide you can get from the mainland out to the rock but you only have a couple of hours to get out and back.



2. Looking back at Rhossili village.



3. View of the beach from the beginning of the cliff path--this is at relatively high tide. Lots of surfers!



4. Sheep on the cliff!

Every sha-la-la-la

About a month ago, early January, I went to English Corner for the first time. It’s a weekly program run by a local Presbyterian church (about 2 blocks down the hill from us), bringing in international students and recent immigrants who would like to improve their English skills. I’d been invited to come-- “We always need native speakers” by, Siew, who works at school in the International office (she miraculously remembered my name, and Christien’s, when I saw her at a meeting 2 months after she’d helped us out in September).

I may or may not be surprising anybody to say that early January was not the best time for me. Christmas was okay, and the New Year turned with a sense of promise—but it was swiftly followed by a strange becalmed lull that turned icy, dark, and daunting--peopled by characters from Coleridge’s “Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner” (Rime-crusted gods and eyeless ice-demons cackled and danced in the rigging, playing dice for my soul—And I swear, it wasn’t me who shot the Albatross…).

So, with an itch of obligation, some curiosity, and a former-English teacher’s sense of “duty,” I finally made myself put on the coat and hat and go out (alone) into a frosty January Friday night for a couple hours of selflessly helping out people who were struggling with English.

I arrived promptly at 7 pm to find out that the gathering process takes about 40 minutes. But I was welcomed warmly by the minister, his wife, various volunteers and students—given tea and peanut candy—fussed over (“American! I’ve been to Texas!” “Wow, a PhD student” “A novel!”) and was even told by a sweet-faced young Chinese girl that she thought I was a European film star (because they’re pretty but in a different way… ooops, not that she didn’t think I was pretty!)

Then we sat in our seats. And I found out the sessions begin with singing. I cringed and feared the worst. I was afraid EC was about to be revealed as a missionary exercise—and I might be its latest victim: a Buddhist with a Jewish Surname … must convert! However, with Siew at the piano and a laptop hooked up to a projector displaying verses we all sang “On Top of the World” by the Carpenters. And then “Circle of Life” from the Lion King. And yes, “Miracles Can Happen,” an English hymn.

About 5 songs later (all those earnest voices with their various accents) we got into groups to discuss Global Warming. Between us we represented every continent (well almost, no Aussies). You’d think we might be able to solve it. America was given some blame, I heartily agreed. China was determined to be a big problem (which a Tibetan by birth, ousted from his homeland by Chinese who still occupy the country—made no bones about mentioning). A few of the older volunteers wondered if perhaps Global Warming were real after all. Ah. Some joked at the mention of the Maldive President holding a cabinet meeting underwater, in scuba gear, to draw attention to the fact that his country, soon, could be completely underneath the ocean. And some, like me, clenched our fists.

By the end of the night I walked home realizing that even if I might have explained the word deforestation, or corrected some pronunciation, something completely different had happened to me than what I’d planned. I walked home humming. People. I’d talked to people. Different kinds. With so many different voices. I think perhaps the ice-gods and salt-demons shrugged and packed up their dice.

Yes. There was a large dose of humor to the whole thing and quite a bit of post-ironic content which I just refuse to go into because beneath it all was this almost unimaginable strain of sincerity. I felt like Linus, finally having found the most sincere pumpkin patch in the whole world. And yes, the post-pop irony in the above is absolutely intended.

I dragged Christien the following week. Everybody was so excited to see another American. We sang “Yesterday once more,” by the Carpenters first (Every sha-la-la-la, every wo-oh-oh-oh still shines …) and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Then we all sang, “What a wonderful world” by Louis Armstrong. And of course I cried. During the discussion about crime and punishment (not the novel, law) that followed, a math professor from China, a student from Iran, and a Welsh volunteer all suggested that perhaps the vast majority of crimes are committed because of the huge disparity between the rich and the poor.

And I thought to myself … what a strange … what wonderful world.

Of course singing “Old MacDonald” in English and then in Welsh (Just imagine 60 people with an insane range of accents, many of whom had never heard it before, belting out: with a moo moo here, and a moo moo there) … well, that came the next week.

E I E I O, acha hon ffarm cadd buwch, ag a moo moo 'ma, a moo moo 'na.

"In war, good guys always become bad guys." – Howard Zinn

I was reading my emails this morning when Christien, over at his computer, gasped, “Howard Zinn died.” I’ve been spending the past hour or so finding quotes of his online, reading tributes and obits, watching snippets of interviews and the preview of the documentary that was recently made of “Voices of a People’s History of the United States.” He is and shall remain one of my heroes. Howard Zinn was one of those rare and astonishing human beings whose innate morality was combined with critical intelligence and clear perception.

"Civil disobedience is not our problem. Our problem is civil obedience. Our problem is that people all over the world have obeyed the dictates of leaders…and millions have been killed because of this obedience…Our problem is that people are obedient all over the world in the face of poverty and starvation and stupidity, and war, and cruelty. Our problem is that people are obedient while the jails are full of petty thieves… (and) the grand thieves are running the country. That’s our problem.” – Howard Zinn

I came to know about him rather late in life—I didn’t read “A People’s History of the United States” until the fall of 2001. Perhaps it was the combination of reading it alongside the events of that fall, and the months that followed, that made its emotional impact so intense for me. I remember sitting on our porch in Sacramento reading the book, looking up to see the long sunset light hit the flags that dotted every lawn in the neighborhood. I cried in frustration, sadness: the bombing campaign in Afghanistan had started and I could feel it in the air. As if each impact, each shattering of stone and air and bone reverberated in the air of northern California. There was nowhere to hide from the horror—neither the horror of 9/11, nor the vengeful horror that swiftly followed.

"There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people." –Howard Zinn

A People’s History is a book that inverts the usual paradigm, where history is written by the victors, the ends justify the means, and the moral imperative is the property of a few with the power, wealth, and prerogative to manipulate and create a system which will act as a feedback loop to perpetuate and consolidate their own power and wealth. Zinn’s book reads American history from the point of view of the people, the ones suggested but not really represented by the phrase “We the people” – women, African Americans, Native Americans, workers—it is their voices that Zinn brought to life in his book, his achievements that he acknowledges.

"If those in charge of our society - politicians, corporate executives, and owners of press and television - can dominate our ideas, they will be secure in their power. They will not need soldiers patrolling the streets. We will control ourselves." – Howard Zinn

For all his criticism of U.S. policies, Zinn was fiercely democratic and also fiercely hopeful. His death is a huge loss because he never stopped challenging the status quo, whether manifested as the endless power-greed of the wealthy ruling class or the tendency for all of us, “the people,” to want to forget, ignore, go to sleep, let someone else deal with it.

"TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory." – Howard Zinn

When I read A People’s History I remember being amazed, outraged, indignant that it had not been on the reading lists of my high school classrooms, or college courses. It should be standard for every American citizen. (Of course some might say it’s not “objective”—but to that my only answer is that it is entirely laughable to think that ANY history book written by anyone (in particular the corporate-sponsored textbooks of today) is objective … its only that the bias of Zinn’s book is clearly owned and announced, and that it is not the one accepted or available in the mainstream. I know I will be buying a copy for my nieces and nephews when they are old enough to read it.

"I'm worried that students will take their obedient place in society and look to become successful cogs in the wheel - let the wheel spin them around as it wants without taking a look at what they're doing. I'm concerned that students not become passive acceptors of the official doctrine that's handed down to them from the White House, the media, textbooks, teachers and preachers" – Howard Zinn

Long live Howard Zinn.

"Historically, the most terrible things - war, genocide, and slavery - have resulted not from disobedience, but from obedience." – Howard Zinn

In the interegnum .... what?

There will be a fun and exciting and super interesting blog really soon. No really. I even know the title ... "Shoo-be-do-lang lang" -- ah yes, now you're really interested, right?

But in the meantime since I got such very nice feedback about posting pictures, I thought I would do another few pics with a little detail on what they are.

And so ...




1. Our first LONG walk we walked all around the Bay, past the lighthouse, then to the coast trail and got past Limeslade up to where we could see Langland Beach and the curve inward toward Caswell beach. But we didn't get that far. This shot is looking back on the coast trail east/south. I like the light, it was getting "late" but we took this walk in November, so the sun set at like noon or something ....


2. The second LONG walk we made it all the way to Langland Beach. In all it was probably about a 13 mile walk, round trip. Quite worn out by the end, but it is a beautiful walk. So the next few are all from that walk. This shot is on the beach at Langland. -- Can you see the surfer? Yes, indeed. There is quite a surf-culture here in Wales, who'da thought? It's cold a heck, but that doesn't stop them. The best/real surf beach is at Rhosili, which is about 35 miles away, at the end of the Gower --we might be going there tomorrow via bus/hike!



3. Next we have another Langland beach shot. That is the surfer's dog, hanging out near the waves.



4. Behind us, on the beach--these are Beach huts. There are rows of them. No electricity, heat, or anything but apparently families pass down their leases of these little huts for generations because its hard to get one. I guess we will see in the summer if they are filled with families with umbrellas, towels, and long-legged striped bathingsuits ...



5. And lastly an establishing shot ... from the trail looking West/slightly north you can see Langland Beach in the distance. Oh wait, that's Christien! Beyond the next bend in the coast is Caswell Bay. Somewhere out there we saw a seal!






Okay, only lets me load 5 at a time, so that is it for now. More soon!