Back to the Farm

Written 18-11-08

Within the last week I've developed a strange habit of yelling "SHEEP!" quite loudly and randomly. It could be that I've somehow managed to contract Tourettes Syndrome through my love for Tim Howard (Everton joke), or it may be because I'm in Wales and there are sheep everywhere!

I don't just mean you see them occasionally. I mean they are literally EVERYWHERE, and give me so much inner-happiness with their fluffy nature that I am quite comically ecstatic all the time. Now, I have never been a fan of livestock, but people seem to think that because I'm from Texas I know a thing or two about farming. I'd like to set the record straight and state, quite forcefully, that I have never felt the urge to milk a cow, get anywhere near a pig, and have never ridden a horse to school...I had a Honda Civic. But these Welsh sheep are hilarious! You can even give directions by them, such as "Go down the unmarked one way highway, turn left at the orange-spotted sheep to the farm with no address, but only the name Bodragolwyn." Ahh Wales, you have my heart, even if I have to put on eight layers of clothing to go near a window.

It has been so nice to get out of the Big City to the small island of Anglesey in the Northwest corner of Wales. My cough has gone away, I can breathe through my nose again, and everything here is ludicrously green. That is probably due to the fact that it rains 326 days a year, but man is it breath-taking. I was going to try not to use words like picturesque, quaint, and hobbit-like yet I have to because they just describe perfectly the lush, rolling hills, the 400 year old cottages people still live in, the mountains in the distance, and of course the sheep.

Not far away from the farm I'm staying on (Bodragolwyn) is the town Bodorgan, which boasts seven houses and a shop. Near there is a town famed for its name of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

That's right. Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. The longest name of a place in the world.

If I remember my Welsh correctly it translates as "The church of St. Mary in the hollow of white hazel trees near the rapid whirlpool by St Tysilio's of the red cave," which makes sense, obviously. And people say the Welsh are crazy? I find them quite divine, even if I can't understand them.

I'm going on and on about the countryside, but the town of Bangor, about 20 minutes from where I'm staying, is actually quite a cool, modern place. My first night, to my amazement, I was taken salsa dancing and then to a "Wild West" night, which is always an amusing stereotype of how the rest of the world perceives the south. Bangor is also host to a large university with one of the best marine biology schools, which is what my friend Adrian is studying.

Adrian. We met in a hostel in Antigua, Guatemala and bonded over our mutual love for the song "This is how we do it" by Montel Jordan and our ability to make complete fools of ourselves in public. He invited me to come out and stay for a bit, and I've been having fun all week trying to revert back to a state of health long lost in the Maddness, also known as London.

The peace of the morning here is intense, curled up with a cup of tea and a book, I can watch the cows graze outside the window, watch the sun and rain come and go. Nice long walks with Adie's decrepidly-old dog Buno are great because we walk at the same pace, me having to waddle because I'm quite literally wearing three pairs of socks, tights, leggings, trousers, four shirts, a jumper, a waterproof jacket, boots, mittens, a scarf, a wooly hat, and looking oddly like the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man. Along with Adrian being an amazing tour guide, dance partner and chef, I have been completely spoiled with our common obsession for cheesy action films, which is a great excuse for watching all four Lethal Weapon movies in one day.

Screw productivity.