My Cardiff Adventure - Part I

"I’m sitting in the waiting room at the Port Talbot train station with about 15 minutes to spare until my train to Cardiff Arrives. An announcement just came over the loud speaker in Welsh. Not only did I not realize until the last two weeks that Wales had its own language, but the language itself is very similar to Gaelic (Scottish). I’ve always loved Celtic culture; it’s all enchantment and magic, fairies and folklore and the language is actually quite beautiful. So, my first solitary adventure in a foreign country is upon me. I feel like I’m at the threshold of some kind of a milestone; a step into the unknown."

"We’re on our way. The countryside is beautiful; lots of pastures and really old houses and stables. I can’t believe I’m here, traveling through Britain on a train on a beautiful summer’s day all by my lonesome; it seems a little unreal, like, "Am I really here? Could I possibly be this blessed?""

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"Back on, what I hope to be, the right train. What a wonderful day; although it’s only 3:15. The city of Cardiff is gorgeous and the weather stayed perfectly warm. There is absolutely nothing scary about exploring a foreign city on your own; it may as well have been Vancouver. Although I do have to say that I know it would have been that much more enjoyable had I had someone to share it with. By the end of it, I was tempted to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the street just so I could talk to someone. My first stop along the way was St. Johns Church; a beautiful old building right in the centre of the city surrounded closely by shops and restaurants. Imagine my surprise to see a poster on the gate advertising the next Alpha course? - Why is it that on a train that’s not even a ¼ full, an older gentleman has decided to sit directly across from me and stretch his legs out under the table to sleep, leaving me no room to put my feet? I swear, every time I readjust myself, he’ll move so his foot is just touching mine; I’m getting annoyed enough to switch seats. Ah, he finally twisted; he was starting to creep me out. - Back to Cardiff: I then went to Cardiff Castle and bought my ticket for the next available tour, scheduled an hour and a half later. Perfect, I thought, an hour and a half to see the city, then a tour of the castle and a train ride home…and it was. I visited the museum (although I was bored after 10 minutes), the law courts and city hall, watched a bit of a show that the students from the Welsh College of Music and Drama put on for the tourists, and perused the shop-lined streets, taking in the incredible architecture and the flurry of life around me. In one of the shopping centres, the walkways were about 4 feet wide and the ceiling was more of a yellow-hued, frosted skylight. Above the old-fashioned store faces were beautiful arched windows with flower boxes and trellises, so walking through felt like walking through an outdoor shopping centre in Tuscany, at dusk, on a warm summers evening. The only store I entered, and a highlight of my day, was a secondhand book shop that I found and I couldn’t help myself from purchasing just one book before leaving: "The Fancy" by Monica Dickens, printed in 1945. It cost me a whopping 20 pence (about $0.40). The interior of the castle was absolutely dripping with wealth; gold-leafed ceilings, awe-inspiring detail put into the wood work, and marble everywhere. The castle itself dates back centuries, but the current décor was done during the late 1800’s. Every room told a story and some took over 10 years to complete."

"I’ve arrived at the Port Talbot train station just to realize that the mobile number I’ve been given is inadvertently missing a digit and no one is home at the house. So here I sit outside of the station, having left a message on the machine, with not a clue how long I’ll be here for. Am I ever glad I brought my journal and have just purchased a new book. It’s not terribly warm either; the clouds are looming precariously and have taken on a rather dreary shade of grey. So the castle: ridiculously excessive and rather tacky at times, but beautiful none-the-less. At one point we had to walk down about 80 dimly lit spiral steps to the dining room and library; I don’t think I’ve ever been so disorientated. I had to keep telling myself to just put my foot down because at the end of it, I’d hesitate before taking a step because of a strange sensation that there would be no surface to land on. It was worth it, though; the library was a treat with its stocked shelves and large, beautifully carved hearth. All in all, it wasn’t wet-yourself exciting, but I’m glad I took the tour. After a stop at Subway, I made my way back to the train station just in time for a quick wee before boarding the train; which brings me to my current situation: sitting on a block of cement with my journal on my lap and my bags safely tucked beneath my legs. I had a lovely conversation with Catherine’s mom, Ann, over breakfast this morning. She was telling me about a trip to Canada her and her husband, David, took with his choir a couple years ago. They went to Edmonton, Calgary, Banff and Jasper and even stopped in on Vernon because of some kind of a Welsh society that resides there. She was telling me of a certain attraction that they saw on a bus with really large wheels: "The Aberdeen (?) Glashers". She told me this as though I should know all about it, but my ignorance was made apparent by the blank stare I was bestowing on her. She repeated it a couple more times, but that didn’t change the fact that I had never heard of a "glasher"…but wait…"oh, I get it…glacier"; that darn language barrier again. There’s a police station across the street, I wonder if they cross reference mobile numbers?…naw, better not leave in case someone comes by to get me..."

…to be continued…