Below: Swansea Castle smack dab in the middle of town
Left: The pathway behind the boathouse... a trifle on the lazy-leaf-strewn-path side, no?
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| Swansea & Laugharne | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| The Dylan Thomas Trail | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Swansea - August 29, 2002 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I like places that give you a whole experience in one day. By whole experience I mean that it includes a sort of rollercoaster ride of feelings, sights, sounds, tastes, etc. Swansea, for example. Steep hills, flat beaches, sunshine, fog, peaceful parks, bustling markets, lava bread, Welsh cakes, modern, old world, boredom, worry, hustle bustle, carefree, a touch of homesick, a twang of adventure, and people who don�t understand my accent, or lack thereof. That is Swansea. Oh, and it�s the home of Dylan Thomas, something I�m not sure Swansea would very readily let you forget for half a split second. We began our tour on a ridge overlooking the town and then hiked at a pseudo-breakneck pace straight down, stopping at Dylan�s house, pub, park and what Nigel, our guide, called his �memorial urinal,� and headed into the market downtown. It�s loud, noisy, and if you didn�t know you�ve flown across the Atlantic on a very long journey, you may very well think you were still in the states as every five feet you are bombarded with the GAP, McDonalds, Burger King, and the like. We migrated toward the more market-market, little stands of random wares peddled at the odd pound and the off to the castle, smack in the middle of bustling, modern town. The best part, though, was the maritime quarter. Lots of ships, big ones, small ones, ones that smelled like herring, and a fantastic museum of industry. We did a brief tour and watched a few ships bobble on the sea, giggled at the story behind the nearby Mumbles jutting out into the sea and made our way back to the American quarter of Wales to return to campus. Day trips. Heh. Feels like a day trip from the U.S. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Above: Market day in what I like to call the "American Quarter" Below: Swansea Castle smack dab in the middle of town |
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| When the mist is just right, hovering over the sea which is gently lapping the coast, and when the breeze stings you through your jeans, rustling the leaves and blowing the smoke from chimneys in your direction � that is poetry weather. Not so much in which I write poetry � no, my poetry is usually accompanied with silly illustrations and following an opener such as �There once was a man from Nantucket�� No, I�m referring to a sort of inspiration that seems to sit in the very air, making you think about everything and nothing all at once. I think that is why Dylan Thomas came here, to Laugharne, to the �strangest town in Wales.� I am not too terribly familiar with Thomas, only that he was an Anglo-Welsh poet (conveying Welsh ideas through the medium of English) who bought a Mars bar every afternoon to keep him company in his quaint boathouse on the sea and ended his life after 18 consecutive double whiskeys (�I think that�s a record,� said he). I�ve read none of his poetry, only heard bits and pieces of his more famous works, �Do not go gentle into that good night,� as uttered in Hollywood films. The town is sleepy. And on a chilly, overcast and blustery day as you wind through the yew trees, avoiding the sticky red berries that cover the ground or take in the fa�ade of a castle and wonder at what type of bird that is ducking in and out of the marshes � it seems as though it has been sleeping for a long time, so you try not to wake it and walk with gentle steps as you pass the old hotel and the post. Even more gingerly as you walk through the churchyard and you say nothing as you stare at the simple wooden cross bearing his name. You don�t feel as though you are in another town, nor even another country. It�s a whole new dimension, sort of a hazy-half-dream place. Beautiful and quaint, but very very sleepy. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Laugharne - Oct. 9, 2002 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Above: The Boathouse, home of Dylan Thomas, overlooking the sea - that's me in the corner Left: The pathway behind the boathouse... a trifle on the lazy-leaf-strewn-path side, no? |
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