"My Welsh Experience is Complete"
To start, a picture of our courtyard:
Some of you may be wondering what I've been doing when not devotedly writing for this blog (as, of course, I ought to be). There's a simple answer, which is that I was trying to upload photos of Carmarthen last night when Safari crashed on me-- so I gave up and went to the Castle Green with my entry mates, which is our new favorite pub.
However, they're keeping us busy here with five hours of class a day, as well as evening social activities. We do two units a day (one each on Saturday and Sunday), and are supposed to give up English (Saesneg) and Spanish (Sbanaeg) after unit 15. We finished unit 12 this morning. Last Tuesday, they assigned each of us one of these kick-ass binders:
I had forgotten that everything in Wales is emblazoned with dragons-- even the lining of my dresser drawers carries the red dragon. Those are not, however, *my* baby-poop-orange curtains: I was sitting at my friend Kat's desk. Mine are slightly more tolerable.
"My goodness," you may be thinking to yourself, "that's certainly a large binder." Well, yes. Paper here is A4 size, and the width is absolutely necessary: here's how many hand-outs I had on Saturday afternoon:
And just to hit it home, here's Saturday's pile-o-flashcards, with book for scale.
Our class schedule is as follows:
9:00-10:30 class
10:30-11:00 tea/coffee break
11:00-12:30 class
12:30-4 free time
4:00-5:30 class
5:30-6:00 tea/coffee
6:00-7:00 class
after which those of us "in hall" are served dinner in the refectory. We have class from 9:00-12:30 (with coffee break) on Saturdays, and 5:00-7:00 on Sundays.
Last Tuesday, we had a Twmpath Dans (folk dance) in the student pub. It was very much one of the most fun things ever, in part because almost everyone, including the students from Aberystwyth, was willing to participate. Try getting 19-21 year old college students to do something like this in the US.
Corollary to these photos: while there exist some cute British boys, they all seem to posses unfortunate sideburns, girlfriends, or both. Note the skirt.
On Friday night, the band which played for our Twmpath was playing in a pub in town, so most everyone in the class went down to see them (not that there's much else going on in town). Before I left, Larry told me to learn to sing while in Wales, and let me tell you: everyone here claps and sings along-- that is, those of them who aren't dancing. Nor do I mean the arhythmical writhing that passes for social dance in proms and bars at home: people here know their jigs and reels, and how to pull them off in a crowded pub. When the band played Ar Lan y Mor, everyone knew the words-- as did I, for that's the song we used for my senior one-act.
Not that Wales is all roses, lillies, and the sea shore: another song they played (written by the main singer) was called "Dirty Old Town". The refrain was something like this:
I met a girl down by the old canal.
I met a girl by the old canal.
Dirty old town,
Dirty old town.
I kissed a girl by the gas works wall.
I kissed a girl by the gas works wall.
Dirty old town,
Dirty old town.
"Hrm," I thought, "how Southern Wales."
As we walked back to the college that night, my friend Kat (from Massachusetts--how do I always surround myself with Red Sox fans?) said, "we have to go back there--that's just what I thought Wales would be like. My Welsh experience is complete."
We watched a great deal of football in the Campus Pub. I sat with the Patagonians, who are awesome ("wicked awesome", says Kat), for the second half of the final. This has continued to affect my Welsh, because now I'm thinking half in Spanish-- although just enough Welsh was used to create some comedic situations. "Hw-yl!"* interjected Valeria as Zidane was sent from the field,** and Esaiah had his first Mars Bar.
Esaiah: Maaars...
Erin: Mars.
Esaiah: Hoffi!***
Sunday night also happened to be the birthday of one of the Aberystwyth kids, who was rather more than tipsy by the end of the evening. His friend James had some trouble explaining this to me in Welsh, and finally gave up and said, "Phil is pissed. Oh, shoot. That means something different in America." Phil ended up ranting in broken Spanish about Welsh Nationalism. "I've seen Phil like this before," said James. "In a few minutes he'll be offering us each a penny to die for Wales." It never got to that point, but about fifteen minutes later (after I had complimented the dragon earrings worn by one of the Patagonian women), James asked, "Have you seen Phil's Welsh bling? Phil, show her your bling cymraig." Kat and I have since judged "bling cymraig" to be our favorite Wenglish phrase.
Our social activity tonight is a mini-Eisteddfod, also held in the campus pub. Both classes have been taught Welsh songs, which we are supposed to perform, and we've been invited to bring traditional songs or performances from our own cultures. Kat, Erin, and I (the three Americans) can't think of anything. But then, we've been busy exploding stereotypes.
A: Dw i'n ddim yn hoffi teledu.
Adam: You don't like TV? Isn't that the American stereotype, sitting down in front of the telly with a big bucket of... of...
Erin: Kentucky Fried Chicken? Yeah, but we're from San Francisco/Berkeley.
I think that's most everything I have to say. I promise I'll get Carmarthen pictures (and pictures from our Lampeter hike) up as soon as possible. I'll leave you with a few more quotes.
Erin (given the vocabulary word "Canolfan Hamdden"): What's a leisure center?
Adam: It's like a gym, but with a pool.
Erin: A gym should have a pool.
Adam: It's like a Roman bath.
Alice: Vicky, you call everyone a twat.
Vicky: That's not true. We're all *lovely* people.
Erin: We're Americans and we don't know anything about the beer. Well, that's not true, we know Coors is crap, so don't try to sell us that.
Right. Beer. I've just been ordering anything with a dragon on the tap, which has always come out as a nice medium bitter. Quite a few people drink the apple cider, though, which is Kat's favorite-- and the Aberystwyth kids get it with blackcurrant syrup in it, which is so British it doesn't even bear thinking about. I did, however, get to buy Kat her first beer (like me, she was waiting until she was legal to drink it) on Sunday night. On the bartender's advice, she got a Grolsh in a (fancy) bottle.
Alice: She's never had a beer before.
Bartender: And by never had a beer, you mean...?
Alice: No, not that she's never had a good beer. She's never had a beer before.
And some of you might just know me well enough to know why it's so fitting that I've made friends with another American of Welsh descent whose name happens to be Kat.
___
* Hwyl- "Good-bye"
** There's an International Summer School program going on on Campus, with grade school students from Italy, Spain, Portugal-- and as of Sunday, France. "I think it's great that there are French students here," Mathieu said at dinner last night, "maybe they'll start head-butting the Italians."
*** "to like," as in "Dw i'n hoffi coffi"= "I do like coffee."
Some of you may be wondering what I've been doing when not devotedly writing for this blog (as, of course, I ought to be). There's a simple answer, which is that I was trying to upload photos of Carmarthen last night when Safari crashed on me-- so I gave up and went to the Castle Green with my entry mates, which is our new favorite pub.
However, they're keeping us busy here with five hours of class a day, as well as evening social activities. We do two units a day (one each on Saturday and Sunday), and are supposed to give up English (Saesneg) and Spanish (Sbanaeg) after unit 15. We finished unit 12 this morning. Last Tuesday, they assigned each of us one of these kick-ass binders:
I had forgotten that everything in Wales is emblazoned with dragons-- even the lining of my dresser drawers carries the red dragon. Those are not, however, *my* baby-poop-orange curtains: I was sitting at my friend Kat's desk. Mine are slightly more tolerable.
"My goodness," you may be thinking to yourself, "that's certainly a large binder." Well, yes. Paper here is A4 size, and the width is absolutely necessary: here's how many hand-outs I had on Saturday afternoon:
And just to hit it home, here's Saturday's pile-o-flashcards, with book for scale.
Our class schedule is as follows:
9:00-10:30 class
10:30-11:00 tea/coffee break
11:00-12:30 class
12:30-4 free time
4:00-5:30 class
5:30-6:00 tea/coffee
6:00-7:00 class
after which those of us "in hall" are served dinner in the refectory. We have class from 9:00-12:30 (with coffee break) on Saturdays, and 5:00-7:00 on Sundays.
Last Tuesday, we had a Twmpath Dans (folk dance) in the student pub. It was very much one of the most fun things ever, in part because almost everyone, including the students from Aberystwyth, was willing to participate. Try getting 19-21 year old college students to do something like this in the US.
Corollary to these photos: while there exist some cute British boys, they all seem to posses unfortunate sideburns, girlfriends, or both. Note the skirt.
On Friday night, the band which played for our Twmpath was playing in a pub in town, so most everyone in the class went down to see them (not that there's much else going on in town). Before I left, Larry told me to learn to sing while in Wales, and let me tell you: everyone here claps and sings along-- that is, those of them who aren't dancing. Nor do I mean the arhythmical writhing that passes for social dance in proms and bars at home: people here know their jigs and reels, and how to pull them off in a crowded pub. When the band played Ar Lan y Mor, everyone knew the words-- as did I, for that's the song we used for my senior one-act.
Not that Wales is all roses, lillies, and the sea shore: another song they played (written by the main singer) was called "Dirty Old Town". The refrain was something like this:
I met a girl down by the old canal.
I met a girl by the old canal.
Dirty old town,
Dirty old town.
I kissed a girl by the gas works wall.
I kissed a girl by the gas works wall.
Dirty old town,
Dirty old town.
"Hrm," I thought, "how Southern Wales."
As we walked back to the college that night, my friend Kat (from Massachusetts--how do I always surround myself with Red Sox fans?) said, "we have to go back there--that's just what I thought Wales would be like. My Welsh experience is complete."
We watched a great deal of football in the Campus Pub. I sat with the Patagonians, who are awesome ("wicked awesome", says Kat), for the second half of the final. This has continued to affect my Welsh, because now I'm thinking half in Spanish-- although just enough Welsh was used to create some comedic situations. "Hw-yl!"* interjected Valeria as Zidane was sent from the field,** and Esaiah had his first Mars Bar.
Esaiah: Maaars...
Erin: Mars.
Esaiah: Hoffi!***
Sunday night also happened to be the birthday of one of the Aberystwyth kids, who was rather more than tipsy by the end of the evening. His friend James had some trouble explaining this to me in Welsh, and finally gave up and said, "Phil is pissed. Oh, shoot. That means something different in America." Phil ended up ranting in broken Spanish about Welsh Nationalism. "I've seen Phil like this before," said James. "In a few minutes he'll be offering us each a penny to die for Wales." It never got to that point, but about fifteen minutes later (after I had complimented the dragon earrings worn by one of the Patagonian women), James asked, "Have you seen Phil's Welsh bling? Phil, show her your bling cymraig." Kat and I have since judged "bling cymraig" to be our favorite Wenglish phrase.
Our social activity tonight is a mini-Eisteddfod, also held in the campus pub. Both classes have been taught Welsh songs, which we are supposed to perform, and we've been invited to bring traditional songs or performances from our own cultures. Kat, Erin, and I (the three Americans) can't think of anything. But then, we've been busy exploding stereotypes.
A: Dw i'n ddim yn hoffi teledu.
Adam: You don't like TV? Isn't that the American stereotype, sitting down in front of the telly with a big bucket of... of...
Erin: Kentucky Fried Chicken? Yeah, but we're from San Francisco/Berkeley.
I think that's most everything I have to say. I promise I'll get Carmarthen pictures (and pictures from our Lampeter hike) up as soon as possible. I'll leave you with a few more quotes.
Erin (given the vocabulary word "Canolfan Hamdden"): What's a leisure center?
Adam: It's like a gym, but with a pool.
Erin: A gym should have a pool.
Adam: It's like a Roman bath.
Alice: Vicky, you call everyone a twat.
Vicky: That's not true. We're all *lovely* people.
Erin: We're Americans and we don't know anything about the beer. Well, that's not true, we know Coors is crap, so don't try to sell us that.
Right. Beer. I've just been ordering anything with a dragon on the tap, which has always come out as a nice medium bitter. Quite a few people drink the apple cider, though, which is Kat's favorite-- and the Aberystwyth kids get it with blackcurrant syrup in it, which is so British it doesn't even bear thinking about. I did, however, get to buy Kat her first beer (like me, she was waiting until she was legal to drink it) on Sunday night. On the bartender's advice, she got a Grolsh in a (fancy) bottle.
Alice: She's never had a beer before.
Bartender: And by never had a beer, you mean...?
Alice: No, not that she's never had a good beer. She's never had a beer before.
And some of you might just know me well enough to know why it's so fitting that I've made friends with another American of Welsh descent whose name happens to be Kat.
___
* Hwyl- "Good-bye"
** There's an International Summer School program going on on Campus, with grade school students from Italy, Spain, Portugal-- and as of Sunday, France. "I think it's great that there are French students here," Mathieu said at dinner last night, "maybe they'll start head-butting the Italians."
*** "to like," as in "Dw i'n hoffi coffi"= "I do like coffee."
3 Comments:
What a fantastic new stage name: BLING CYMRAIG! I can't WAIT to have that printed on my calling cards. Now, what to wear? (Something glittery, but with a VERY modest hem, I would imagine... given the snapshots you're sharing.)
And speaking of photojournalism... I fear it's only a matter of time before we see a post of you seated jauntily upon the counter at said local Pub, dragon-brew in hand, belting out that lusty ditty with the DIRTY OLD TOWN refrain.
By
Anonymous, at 1:42 PM
Ahh! I'm so jealous! Dragons and five hours a day of foreign language class?! Alice, you sound like you fit in perfectly. You should just stay there.
Not that I am eager to be rid of you. Nor, I think, is our Viking friend... (Why is he a Viking again, anyway?)
By
Stephanie, at 10:35 PM
Yeah, leaving is going to be very hard. I think I'm addicted...
Although we're missing vegetables.
By
Alice Teresa, at 9:50 AM
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