Lost in Wales... (Literally)

This summer my husband and I rented a car and drove through the Welsh countryside.  This gave me the experience of driving on the left hand side of the road, and driving from the right hand side of the car.  I can't tell you how many times Bram went to the driver's side in attempt to get to the passenger's side, or how many times I had to think very hard how to deal with a round-about going in a counter-intuitive direction.  And only a few times did Bram yell "Sidewalk!  Sidewalk!" or "Wall!  Wall!" or "Ahhhh!  Gnomes!" if I got too close to the edge of the road.

But as we got farther from civilization, sides of the road no longer really mattered.  We drove down a two-way road wide enough for one car, with high hedges on either side of the road.  We were really, truly, in the middle of nowhere.  Luckily we rented a GPS, although we had to put complete faith in the machine.  If you note in the picture below, we are driving on, what the GPS simply called "road".  (And even that description was sometimes questionable.)

I really hope the GPS is not leading us to our dooms.

Still on "road".

Where is it taking us?
 

Is this even a road anymore?

I'm really beginning to doubt the GPS now...

But in the end, we were led correctly to our destination.  The views we were treated to were awesome.

At our destination.  And we get a chance to read Welsh!  One of my favorite languages, it sounds beautiful, but when you read it, it looks completely impossbile to pronounce.

A point if you know what Beth in Welsh means!

Bram and I visit our first castle of the day.

The castle Carreg Cennen is located on a very defensible hill, overlooking prestinley green countryside. 

Can it get more perfect?

Looking back down over the green hills.

Sheep randomly distributed in the field below us.

Bram taking aim from the arrow slits.

Most of the castles we saw are just ruins, but they show evidence of the great fortresses they used to be.

This is the fireplace and chimney of a large fireplace in a hall.

You can see the outline of the rooms, and where the floors used to be.

My initials are carved into the rock!  (Perhaps by an ancient ancestor?)

Underneath the castle was a huge cave, complete with staligtites.

Bram emerging from the cave.

Bram smiling at lunch in the rustic restaurant. 

Some of the cool place names in Wales.  It was fun to follow the GPS as it said "turn left towards Mynyddygarreg".

Nesteled within a small town is Kidwelly Castle.   We walked across a bridge to reach it.  Then we walked through two portcullis (portculli?) to the main castle.  Above the second portcullis was the Bishop's quarters, and acess to murder holes, down which boiling oil could be poured.

The keep.

This part of the castle was the chapel.  You can still see the windows that look so similar to churches still standing today.

On the castle walls.

One of the long halls within the walls of the castle.

Kidwelly Castle was the castle of the Midget King Bram.

And his very regal, royal Queen.

The Queen leaves her quarters to go on a walk.

Bram illustrating the size of the fireplace.

He's actually still a midgit here, so the fireplace isn't too big...

We got a bit close to the wildlife.  Bram tackles a deer. 

Walking along the castle walls.

The last castle we went to, Pembroke.

Across the castle green, overlooking the massive keep.

The hall of the castle.  I can imagine having a party in here for sure.  Maybe a wedding reception?   

I'm sure they rent it!

Looking down on the town from the castle walls.

Back on the road in rural Wales.

We spent the night in a very romantic bed and breakfast owned by a very sweet couple.  Each room was its own cabin. 

The wife made a really wonderful dinner for us, and the next morning, she cooked up a great Welsh breakfast.  Bram even tried the black pudding (at my insistence!)  After all, we would need energy for what would happen that day...  Find out what happens in the next blog post!

People

While learning French, everyone is always taking the time to correct my grammar.  But I had a chance to give back yesterday.

Three of my friends, (one German, one Syrian, and one French), all of whom I would call fluent in English, recently asked me if people is plural or singular, as in:
- There is people
or
- There are people
I said it was the latter and that it's plural.  They then asked me what the singular of people is, and I said person.

And it blew their minds!  They were almost bowled over in shock that two words that don't even share the same root can mean essentially the same thing.

It feels good to give back.

Oh, the irony...

My husband and I recently went to see the movie Made in Dagenham, another great movie from the UK.  But unlike other movies I've seen from the UK, in this one, the actors spoke true ENGLISH, as in British English, complete with thick accents and British sayings that no American could hope to understand.  We found ourselves not being able to understand the English, so instead, we were reading the French subtitiles to figure out what was going on.

I never thought I would understand French more than English...

Lost in Translation

Yesterday, one of my French friends, who has taken it upon herself to introduce me to the wonderful world of French food, came into my office and asked if I would like to try some of her next dish she will make... gopher.

Gopher?

Yes, gopher.

I find that the French are a bit more adventurous in their meat choices than Americans, but this didn't seem right.  I did a quick image search on google and this is what popped up:

 

"That's a gopher," I said.  

She said "What the heck is that?"  Apparently they do not have gophers in France.  But more importantly, that meant she did not want to feed me gopher.  

Phew.

She instead meant gaufre, which is French for waffle:

 Now that I will happily eat.  :-)

Language - a role reversal

I have talked about how learning the French language in France is one of the most challenging things I've had to face.  But today I realized how it works "the other way".  For some people, I am the only truly native English speaker they talk to.  And as such, they look to me for the correct English grammar!   The horrors!

It has made me very conscious of all the "slang" I use, or the verbal shortcuts, that would not be any problem with another English speaker, but for a non-native speaker, watch out.  

The result?  A small microcosm in France of people that all speak like me!

For fun, here's Things we say wrong.

The Language

A lot of people have said I am brave to come to France without speaking French. My response to this is "brave... or stupid". Some days I'm more inclined to go with the latter.

It's ok. I have found ways around my lack of knowledge of the French vocabulary. My iPhone comes in very handy sometimes - I type in what I want to say into translate it tells me what to say (even though most times I just hold it up to whoever I'm talking to so they can read it). Hey - it works. It got me a bank account.

Or trying to buy shampoo the first time. I spent a good 10 minutes staring at a wall of body wash before I realized that none of them were shampoo.

I'm taking a French class, and just being here is slowly allowing me to learn more and more French words. I even had a full conversation in French with a woman trying to sell me a cappuccino machine! Little victories!