Priodas yn Gwalia

It is rare when I am able to rove the world over in such a short period of time as it still feels like the Napa wine is still flowing through my veins… but this time it was much closer to our local shores. Once again, we did not have to officially deal with another language as we had with our prior forays into Prague (Czech Republic), Argentina and Naples (Italy).

Forget the above Gwalia (used more in Victorian times) and think more about Cymru (present day Welsh term) but for the more contemporary, let us call it Wales. Not many people know (or even care) where this region is but for those who are interested, it is in central eastern Great Britain west of Birmingham. The city of Liverpool and the Sea of Ireland are to the north, the Saint George Canal to the west (separating them from the Fightin’ Irish), and the Carmarthen Bay and Bristol Canal to the south. With the Cambrian Mountains smack in the middle, our adventures took place south of these peaks… in the more desolate lowlands filled with sheep… and very few Welshmen. The Welsh language (oldest in the United Kingdom) is an essential part of the country’s identity spoken by about one quarter of the population. For those of you who may not know, Wales lays claim to fame with the world’s longest place name (or village) : Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch !! Fifty-eight letters meaning “Saint Mary’s Church in the hollow of white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of Saint Tysilio near the red cave” named in the early 19th century supposedly by a local humorist to confuse the English. Interestingly enough, the locals call it Llanfairpwll (pronounced “thlan vire puth”… oh, that helps…) Just to digress a bit (and become completely ridiculous), New Zealand has staked its claim on a Maori name for a hill near Hawkes Bay which has 92 letters (in the Guiness Book of Records). And to end with sheer folly, now Thailand boasts that the original word for Bangkok was Krungthep………… kamprasit (or a total of 163 letters ! ). Back to reality, raising sheep, agriculture, and less so metallurgy seem to be the only industries in this enclave of about 2,8 mn people (slightly more than the population of central Paris). Do not mention the English to them as they really do not like each other (Wales has been autonomous with their own parliament since 1997)… as proven by the Rugby Tournament of the Six Nations (France, England, Wales, Ireland, Scotland and newly-admitted Italy). In mentioning the tournament, Wales seems to be going for the Grand Slam (winning every game), a feat not accomplished since 1978 ! On the wedding day, Wales crushed Scotland in Edinburgh by an impressive 46-22.

So back at the farm, why the trip ? Several months ago, Antoinette (AA, of course) received a “priodas” (or wedding) invitation from Maria Idilia Mackey and her fiancé Anthony (pronounced Antoni) Colin Parfitt, a local Welshman. Maria is an “old” partying buddy of Antoinette’s from when she first moved to Paris eleven years ago. The invitation was the most original I have ever seen with its shape (folded four times for a total of sixteen sides), colors and its contents. Maria and Anthony were to exchange vows on Saturday, March 12th on top of cliffs with God as their witness. This was to take place in Pembrokeshire, the only coastal national park in Great Britain. The attire expected of the guests was also original : boots (hiking or anti-rain), a sweater, rain (or wind) gear (à la Gore-Tex) and they had forgotten to include gloves or mittens, scarves, long underwear, hats (or bonnets) which many fortunately brought along as accessories. Of course they had been praying for good weather (which actually arrived but the wind would have shorn the local sheep without the need for any scissors) as outside activities had been planned… and one could check them (or one) off on the invitation before replying. Activities included face painting, an inflatable castle (for the kids), badminton (tough in the wind), bingo, scrabble (both games assiduously played by the elderly crowd), sand modeling (at the beach) and two walks (one inland to lily ponds and the other a “prayer walk” alongside the cliffs). One other rarity was the fact that the couple did not want any wedding gifts !!

We reserved spots on a low-cost airline (an airline which we had never heard of prior to our reservation) suggested by another invitee Catrina Blanco (a long-time friend of Maria’s) whom we had already met on at least one occasion. Her husband was not able to join her but would you believe that he and Catrina (CB) had dinner about six years ago over at my old house in Villa Médicis (small world ! ) We joined her at CDG airport before embarking on the hour-long flight to Cardiff, Wales’ capital. We were also joined by an older couple who were cousins of Maria’s, the gentleman (or more ruffian I should say) owning his own media press delivery service. This “no-frills” airline (have to pay for food or drinks… even 3 $ for a cup of tea ! ) which we boarded was called bmibaby.com (and the plane was packed on the way there… on a Friday morning… and half-full on the way back on a Sunday… very odd). Actually it was not until the intercom loudspeaker in the waiting room started to squawk when we learned that bmibaby was the offspring of (B)ritish (Mi)dland. At their prices, they can “be my baby” anytime. Upon arrival in Wales (at one of the smallest “international” airports I have ever seen… they only had one ATM… or automatic bank teller… in the entire airport, and it didn’t even work ! ), CB, AA and I rented a comfortable Volkswagen while the other couple leased an even more spacious gold-colored Mercedes (“I can’t drive anything else but!” he said in French… as the couple could not utter a word of English). CB works for Europcar so we were able to get a reduced rate.

We decided to take the coastal route which we thought would be nicer… but the black piping of Port Talbot (like Le Havre in France… filled with refineries) was not a delight in which to partake. On quickly to the motorway (or British highway… if that is what they call that style of two-laner) and north-west to Swansea (pronounced Swanzee). We stopped off for lunch in Carmarthen, an ugly looking town but the meal was actually correct as AA had the local vegetable soup (“cowl”) while I had “bangers” (local sausages). Some local warm draft (or beer) and our appetites had been satiated. My only regret in that place was the bank teller machine at the local HSBC as I discovered that the network ripped over 6% as commission !! We then cruised in a southwestward direction with CB at the wheel. I was added on as a second driver but I would be damned if I was psychologically prepared to drive on the “wrong” side of the road. CB has English origins so we sheepishly let her drive. The entire trip (ex-lunch) was slightly over two hours as we neared the coast to our final destination on that Friday night. The three of us were part of a seven member party staying in a cottage (named East Trewent Farm) would you believe in the hamlet of East Trewent ? This hamlet was part of Freshwater East being part of Pembroke being part of Pembrokeshire… part of Wales, part of Great Britain, part of etc…Being publicized as a quiet holiday location, the farm was located about fifteen minutes by car from the wedding and reception (but most importantly “only” ten minutes from the local and lone “tafarn” (or pub)… the St. Govan’s Inn… as no alcohol was allowed or imbibed on the premises during the entire wedding day… due to the danger of a daffy drunk duffer ( a “twp” in Welsh) falling over the cliffs… the couple didn’t want to take the chance ! ) Our particular cottage was part of a three-cottage complex (plus a small bed & breakfast accommodation) in which several members of Maria’s family were to stay. Maria and Anthony were to spend their wedding night in the chic cottage adjacent to ours. Our cottage was very homey with electric heating as well as a wood-stoked oven in the living room which the proprietor kindly lit while we slurped on the bottles of alcohol that we had brought ourselves… over the two nights, we had a selection of Jack Daniels, Baileys, champagne, a “bendigedig” (or excellent) 12 year special reserve of Glenfiddich single malt whiskey… and I am embarrassed to tell you all how many were remaining. Another childhood friend of Maria’s named Chris(topher) Boissière (actually her first boyfriend when they were about sixteen) joined us at the pub early in the night. He is a métisse (half black) with noble origins as his family name was originally Valeton de Boissière, and he turned out to be the most interesting guy of the entire trip. Working as a corporate lawyer for Global Crossing (remember that high-flyer during the tech/telco go-go years ? ), he actually wants to leave that aspect of the corporate world and get into… architectural landscaping. The last three guests in our cottage were Paul (Maria’s last flame before Anthony… but that was over ten years ago), Jeeti (of Sikh origins) and Annie (an American without her husband in for the weekend from Denver, Colorado !! ), all knowing Maria from her prior employment (as a headhunter) and cruising in from London by car… about five hours away. They showed up late at the pub which adroitly extended their closing hours (of 11 PM) especially when they have paying guests as well as being part of a hotel (or inn). The seven of us returned to the cottage at about midnight and we tried to “coalesce” (get to know each other) until 2 AM with the bottles open realizing the dry mouths were to be had the next day (but not “cotton mouths” due to the result of a hangover).

The next morning at 9:50 AM, we sped off to the cliffs as the day was bright with large white billowy clouds soaring overhead as the brisk wind frizzed the hair of all without a hat. A two-person chair was placed at the top of the cliffs facing inland as Maria and Anthony arrived in their ski outfits to “dathlu” (or celebrate) their union… looking happy and soulful. The sermon, readings, exchange of vows and rings, and final blessing occurred over a period of about 30 minutes helped along with some sort of vicar (a certain Tom Torok married with several children) and another “clergyman” named Hew Gregory Smith (I just get a kick out of these names). Few were able to hear (about 150 were invited to the wedding as most were locals and from Anthony’s family) and audio-tapes were sonically warped due to the whooshing of the wind. All were happy for the ceremony to end (about 11 AM) and many made a bee-line for the nearby marquee (a large tent) located in a small dell and with fantastic views of the cliffs across the bay. Tons of “Welsh food” had been voluntarily cooked by the guests and it was a hodgepodge of insipid quiches, cardboard pizzas, limp salads, a salmon mish-mash (without lemon ! ), crackers, crisps and bland English cheeses (AA had very kindly brought some French cheeses of which we saw neither hide nor hair… Maria had picked them up that same morning… maybe for their own private consumption… and after seeing the Welsh cooking, it was not surprising). The Welsh invitees themselves were a sight to behold… a homely (bordering on… ugly) race I must admit with most never having visited a dentist in their lives. I don’t know from where their origins sprout but maybe the desolate wastelands they live on render them vigorous yet the gods have not been generous elsewhere. So we ate (or choked) on the food and drank teas, kid’s colas and other sugary concoctions… while wishing for the “bubbly” to wash down the rest.

Several lapses of time were had where nothing was to be done as no activities were planned… and it was difficult to approach and have some semblance of a normal conversation with the Welsh. Several asked if I had already been in their lovely area before… other than a frisbee tournament in Ross-on-Wye (opposite side of Wales) about six years ago with my Invalid ultimate team, I just had to answer in the negative (and I didn’t have the courage to tell them that there was a very strong possibility that I would never return… just too many other places to see on this vast globe). AA and I had chosen the prayer walk at 4:30 PM mostly for the cliff-side views as the waves licked at the cliffs and you could see the erosion in progress. Our “walk” led us over a “closed for the day” military target shooting range where normally tanks roam and large guns shoot from bunkers out to sea. It was barren land with scrubby shrub pock-marking the landscape and the occasional sheep bleating away. We eventually walked down some steps and through a miniature stone cathedral nestled in among the rocks… as we crawled over boulders down to the sea. Several invitees gathered together in the “church” and continued the religious vibes (Maria and Anthony were with us… as we had the largest gathering on our walk). We returned and had another lapse of not much to do before dinner rolled around and a barbecue was offered… umm, how scrumptious we thought. We started to eat about 6:30/7 PM and we thought that the eats could only be improved upon… but to our dismay, the hamburgers were tasteless, the bangers banged up and the chicken heavily skinned and boned. The buns and condiments ran out very fast with plenty of meat readily available all night… maybe since after one round, no one was returning. Several guests had “disappeared” during the afternoon including Maria’s notoriously drunkard of a father (the parents divorced long ago due to this problem and its consequences), her younger brother and others as they sneaked off to St. Govan’s Inn for a quaff of the local brew and most likely the televised rugby game. Some never returned while others came back for the disappointing barbecue and eventual… dancing with “cerddoriaeth” (or music).

The music started with some sort of jig in which Maria’s father invited Maria to dance (no, he did not fall… many drunks are able to handle themselves)… and then they started the barn dancing (very popular in common Welsh weddings) or line dancing with the song’s words explaining to each “couple” exactly how to “dos si dos”, sashay in and out, etc. I definitely was not into this despite having done this in the past (20 years ago at the Mount Kisco Dam in New York). AA participated in the last portion of the dance… and hated it. We couldn’t wait until the more modern music so that we could do the French “rock” (we were the only ones to do it the entire night) but they played too much 1970s disco music which got me riled. It was too late to complain as the lights on the dance floor dimmed at 9:30 PM (originally it was supposed to stop at 9 PM) and the party was terminated. Back to the pub to rejoin others who had left way earlier disgusted by the barn dancing (they eventually regretted having missed the other music) and at closing (11:30 PM), we fled back to our cozy cottage. AA was exhausted and still kept her peepers open until 1:30 AM… I hit the sack at 2:30 and eventually found out that the final three continued to converse and imbibe until 5 AM (including our driver CB).

It was time for “hwyls” (or good-byes) as we bade farewell to Maria and Anthony (right next door) and we were on the road at 11:45 AM for our 4:45 PM flight from Cardiff. We eventually had lunch in one of those “family eateries” twenty miles outside of Cardiff. Chris had joined us so that he could take the train back to London from the center of Cardiff. Paul, Jeeti and Annie were also with us as they were returning to London. We had not noticed the time going by and we were actually in a heated rush to drop off Chris (the other couple in their Midas Mercedes also had to drop off their niece at the train station). CB was actually having respiratory and gastric problems as she was fretting about arriving at check-in in time (or was it her whiskey hangover ? ). After dropping them off (our car was caught speeding on one of Cardiff’s strips as we were flashed… and just for another “digression”, I have learned on the radio that 7 000 dignitaries… politicians, policemen, ambassadors and other high-profile wankers were flashed while speeding in 2004 and were never tossed a fine), we hied to the airport and arrived at the counter at 4 PM (with fifteen minutes to spare before the counter’s closure). But with CB’s stress, we were not able to fill up the car with petrol so of course our final bill will be rather “salty”.

Another hour flight home, the RER back into Paris (where it seems that the cold spell has finally snapped as coats no longer are needed and it has been extremely warm for the past two days) and another adventure comes to a close… despite what you may be taking for complaints, we (or I) still had an interesting experience, meeting new people, a new culture, a varied and stupendous coastal paysage, and being accompanied with Antoinette… is always a memorable event.

Duw bendithio chwi cwbl


Eric de F.