CARDIFF: Ble mae'r ty bach?

When I came in from Croatia, I landed so late that I couldn’t get an overnight train or bus back to Bristol. Thankfully, I let my friend, Jeremy, know in advance that I might be in a bit of a pickle, so I was prepared. I caught a late tube train over to his and crashed. He was in Turkey at the time, so his flatmate let me in, and I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The next day saw a trip back to dear old Brizzle (aptly named for being arguably the wettest part of England) to dump out week-old Croatia traveling clothes and pack in some fresh clothes for Cardiff, and finally boarding a train for the Welsh capital.

This trip was actually quite cool, since I hadn’t seen my friend I stayed with in near three years. We met on a Global Young Leaders’ Conference (GYLC), one of those cheesy things you do in high school to try to seem cool. I guess they actually do make you pretty cool if you manage to finally see the people you meet on them. Siwan picked me up from the train station with her little sister, and in I jumped into the “Deathmobile.”

I hadn’t really been in a proper house until then, unless you count Bristol house parties and student flats, but Siwan’s house was a really quaint home. Well lived-in, and very cosy. I was given her little sister’s room, all the way up stairs with a great view of the Millennium Stadium silhouetted against the grey Cardiff sky. From that moment on, I wanted really badly to be Welsh. I was treated to Welsh beef for dinner, accompanied by Welsh beer and for dessert, Welsh cheeses and biscuits. If only I could have that every night, although that would make for much more of Kyle than you would see today.

The next day, Siwan took me to the famous Cardiff Castle in the middle of Cardiff, which was built on the foundations of already ruined Roman walls. In the middle of the castle yard was the still-standing shell of a Norman keep from the twelfth century. Cardiff Castle itself was built by a guy called the Marquess of Bute, which basically translates into a member of the gentry so rich, he decided to build himself a castle in the nineteenth century to use rarely as a holiday home. The inside of the Marquess’ house was amazing. It was kept really well, and the walls were intricately painted, the mantles and arches were all worthy of being put in an art museum, but when you keep a house that well, the entire thing is an art museum of sorts.

Following Cardiff Castle came lunch, which, for me, was cawl, a hearty Welsh soup with chunks of lamb, potato, parsnips, carrots and, of course, leeks, the national vegetable of Wales. Siwan’s friend Kate insisted that I get Welsh cakes for dessert, which I did without hesitation, and it was a great life decision.

That night, I had loads of salmon. In Siwan’s house, her dad chases her youngest sister around the house with a whole salmon. Unfortunately, we were too involved in watching Madagascar 2 at the time, so the chase was cut short, but it was still good fun to see a salmon head poked through the door.

Of course, no visit to Cardiff would have been complete without a trip to Cardiff Bay. Thankfully, I brought the Croatian sunshine with me, and combined with the Bahamian sunshine I keep in a small pouch for special occasions, it turned out to be a great day. We started out with an ice cream cone from Cadwallader’s, then a jaunt over to the pier, then to a funky thing called the Light-ship, where I had my first taste of bara brith, or “marbled bread,” which is kind of like a fruit cake, but only with raisins, and buttered. According to Siwan, it wasn’t good, and she promised to take me to St. Fagans, a Welsh outdoor cultural museum (this is coming, do not fear). After the Light-ship, we continued over to The Cylinder, which is a cylindrical UFO-looking visitors’ centre, which gives a great view of the bay and the science behind its maintenance.

In the afternoon, Siwan took me to Roath Park, where she and her friends Penry and Ben came along for an outing in a rowboat. It was really nice to go around and get harassed by seagulls for bread that we soon ran out of, and give Penry no less than six heart attacks. I managed to teach three people how to move a rowboat decently, and there was one point at which Siwan, the lone girl, was rowing around three boys. I think the people who passed us in all the other boats had a pretty good laugh.

So, my trip to St. Fagans Welsh museum. In a word, it was awesome. There were mock-ups of an old Welsh village, an old bakery where I finally got some great bara brith, along with Jelly Babies, an amazing gummy snack. On a related, but still totally random note, as my time in the UK winds down, I’m realizing more and more that I’m going to miss the junk food the most. We walked around to a mock-up of a castle with fishponds in the gardens, a little field with sheep and lambs, and loads of other Welsh things, too many to count, including an exhibit of a house through the ages, which was a typical Welsh house as seen in the Victorian era, the turn of the century, the 1930s, the 1950s and finally the 1980s. It was quite cool to see the progression culturally and historically, and to see that in one space, so much could change over a few years. Also, another highlight of the visit was an old store that was used in one episode of Dr. Who, an awesome British TV show, in front of which a piano was dropped. I thought that was pretty cool, too.

Siwan and I then headed back home for a great Easter roast, with chicken, swede mash, roasted parsnips, boiled cabbage and carrots. I do love a good Sunday roast. Of course, Easter Sunday brought all the wonderfulness that usually comes with it, including my first Cadbury’s Easter egg. For the Americans out there, Cadbury’s is a British chocolatier who puts Hershey’s to shame any day, except for maybe the Special Dark blend. Anyway, Cadbury’s makes these gigantic chocolate eggs (not solid, just a creamy milk chocolate shell) for Easter, and they are ridiculously dangerous. See, they just taste so good that they’re gone before you know it, and there’s also a massive Dairy Milk bar in there, as if they were expecting you to enjoy the egg so much that you’d need more (they guessed correctly) and then you start digging into that. Amazing.

Siwan and her sisters and I spent a pretty decent chunk of the afternoon outside, mainly with me trying to stoke her dad’s outdoor fireplace that would not hold a flame for longer than fifteen minutes, even with Welsh coal thrown in the mix. Easy come and easy go, I guess. After I finally gave up, I retired inside to the Dr. Who Easter special, smoked salmon blinis and a nighttime movie marathon of Borat and Trainspotting.

With Monday came my train back to Bristol, but before that, Siwan’s dad took us out for a spin to some of the local castles. Our first stop was Caerphilly Castle, a fortress built by the Normans to suppress the local Welshmen that later that held gunpowder for the Parliamentarians in the English Civil War. The tower that held the gunpowder had been blown up, taking a chunk out of the side of the tower and causing it to lean precariously but stably for the past 350 years. Next on the tour was Castle Coch, a castle also restored by the Marquess of Bute, just for kicks, or something. Then, home again, home again, jiggedy jig, in more than one way. The train back to Bristol was nice, not only because I sat the right way facing toward where we were going, but because I had time to take in everything that happened on such an awesome weekend. Although it’s a week since I’ve been back, I still think it’d be nice to relive that weekend every now and again, and not only for the good home-cooked food. If there’s one thing that needs to be said, it would be a hearty “Dioch!” to the Lloyd family for putting up with me for a whole four days. Oh, and go to Wales. It’s a happy country.