Country Drives, Cows, and Elizabeth I

One day, before we headed to the hospital to see Uncle Harold, Mom and I decided to take a country drive. Initially we were going to head to Christ’s Church, which is at the top of a hill overlooking Caerleon and offers a wonderful view. But on the way there we saw a smaller side road and following Mr. Frost’s advice, took it.

It was a classic English road, about 1½ lanes wide, with hedges or mini-hills banking each side. After the first scare with an overly abundant shrub, I opted to keep my elbow inside the vehicle and spare myself any more vacation-related injuries.

Despite its miniature stature, the road was lovely. Gorgeous trees towered overhead, a breeze blew us along, not a hint of rain anywhere, just blue skies and white fluffy clouds. And we spotted four squirrels and one bunny. I know, who cares about squirrels, right? Well, I do. And I miss seeing wildlife of any kind in Cairo – the dusty ancient men perched on plastic chairs on the street corner just don’t do it for me!

We drove through a few small villages and at one point we came upon an old church. Thinking it’s a good time for a leg-stretch, we parked alongside the graveyard (all English churches are surrounded by graves). I grabbed my camera and we started ambling through. Our presence was obviously noted, as suddenly we were hailed by a tall man walking towards us. He was the church warden and was kind enough to find a brochure on the church for us, as well as unlock it and let us in and give us a little history of the place.

We were standing in the Church of Saints Peter, Paul and John in Llantrisant, Wales. The oldest part of the church is a small narrow window, which is believed to be from the 13th century. The main section was built in the 16th century, and the tower and porch are from the Tudor period and have “1593 ER XXXV” written high on the wall, indicating it was erected during Elizabeth I’s time. The exterior is stone, and the interior is very simple whitewashed walls, stark wooden pews, and one stained glass window that was dedicated in 1981. They’re in need of a new roof, and I could see determined (possibly devout?) vines were actually creeping through the walls. There were heaters all along the floors in front of each pew and the warden told us that since there was no heating in the church, and the congregation was getting older, they had recently opted for the electric heaters. It was all really quite charming.

We left Llantrisant and continued on, after the warden assured us we would see signs for Usk (which we knew how to get home from). Along the way, we stopped in front of a stretch of deep green fields with happily grazing cows and sheep. We ate our vegan sausage rolls and watched the cows. Afterwards we took a little walk and tried to get closer to the cows, who managed to maintain the distance regardless of where we stood (stupid cows). So we then turned our attention to the sheep, but realized that the ‘edges were a tad too tall to see over (about 10’ tall) and too dense to see through, so we gave up and merely watched from a side-angle.

A little farther on we finally saw signs for Usk. So we drove through the town (which is much like Caerleon, I think), back to Caerleon and then on to the hospital for visiting hours with traveling tales and vegan sausage rolls to share.

Driving Flip-Side, Still Better than Cairo

So, my mom was doing all the driving about town in Uncle Harold’s relatively new car (I think there were less than 300 miles on it). She was doing a good job, what with the whole opposite-side-of-the-road thing. There were a few close calls, grazes, even curb bumps on the left side during turns, as we’re just not used to gauging that side. And with the roads also being so narrow, as a passenger I soon felt most comfortable with my arms fully inside the car. I’d already learned the hazards of dangerous car parts such as like side-mirrors in Cairo. But I will say, on the occasions where Mom was hesitant to squeeze between cars or buildings, based on my personal observances of physics-bending in Cairo, I would urge her on pointing out that she had gobs of room in the two inches separating us from the wall.

After a few pointed questions as to whether I was going to attempt driving, I finally relented and agreed to drive home from the hospital one evening. By now I knew the route so I could put most of my concentration into the actual mechanics of driving a car on the opposite side of the road. Luckily Uncle Harold’s car is an automatic. I wouldn’t want to add the layer of figuring out how to shift with my left hand to the mix. There were a few quick-breath intakes from the passenger seat as Mom apparently felt I was too close to something on the left, but I figured there were no sparks nor scraping sounds, so under my guidelines we were far within “Cairo limits.”

I did have a bit of an issue, as did Mom, with the turn-signal and wipers, as they are on opposite sides of the steering wheel to what we’re used to. So when we’d come to a corner, our car would suddenly appear to have a spastic fit, with wipers going, blinkers indicating right then left then right again, and finally with some arm flailing and a few “Blaenavons” under our breath, we managed to stop the wipers, and indicate the correct direction we were intending to turn.

So I managed to get away with only driving the one time. But you know, being a passenger is not merely a spectator sport – it requires quick thinking, lightening reactions and the ability to not scream out loud and frighten the driver. All things I learned in Cairo.

Husband Antics

I’m not sure about the adage, “When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” but I can say, “When the wife’s away, the husband will eat strange concoctions.” Ron admitted one night that after boiling pasta he got lazy (because boiling pasta is so taxing) and merely poured sauce directly from the fridge over the pasta on his plate, creating a rather unappetizing luke-warm globby mass. Then another night, he managed to cook dinner well enough (good old frozen pizza), but when having a newly purchased frozen fruit bar, he managed to reenact the scene from “A Christmas Story” and got it stuck to his tongue and cheek. He said the extraction was rather painful and I would think most likely removed a hefty dose of epithelial cells from his mouth. Those things should have a warning label (like, “Only consume in the presence of a fully-conscious adult.”)! He did pay the housekeeper, do some grocery shopping (in addition to the frozen fruit torture bars), and fed and entertained the cats as needed, so all in all he did fine. But it’s always nice to hear that I was missed, even if it’s primarily for my dinners and ability to dial the phone when he’s saying, “Helb, the o‘sicle i uck oo eye fae.”

As a side note: I did come home to find that this brilliant man I married managed to, with quite a bit of struggle I would imagine, put new sheets on the bed – sideways – fitted and all. I continue to be bewildered in my married life by the fact that fitted sheets and cutlery drawers with four sections (knives, forks, large spoons, small spoons), completely befuddle my dear betrothed. He can build a computer with a bit of twine and an old button, and can recite Plato's breakfasts preferences, but under his control cutlery drawers become a jumble of steel and have him make the bed and it turns out looking like a one-armed blind man had to do it in under 30 seconds. The mysteries of marriage continue to unfold.

Sticky Pud for everyone!

My first visit to a grocery store in Wales was quite the adventure! The size, the cleanliness, the vast array, the lack of being side-swiped by someone’s cart, the recognizable products and brands, the lack of dust coating everything. It was all so delightful. Mom and I spent well over an hour looking at everything, spending most of our time in the chocolates, biscuits and frozen food aisles. I am on a mission to taste-test as many veggie food products as possible to determine what’s worthy of being bought in bulk and brought back (some may deign to use the word “smuggled”) to Cairo. So I chose a few to try – particularly the fake-meat sausages. It’s such fun having so many options! (No particular complaints about our commissary, but any supplemental goodies I can find will be well appreciated – by me.)

In addition to oogling the options and variety, we also had great fun just reading all the different names. English is not always English, and it certainly does vary when it comes to localisms. I mean, you’d never see a product in the states called “Sticky Pud”. But there it was, sitting on a shelf (it’s essentially a bread pudding with a sugary-toffee syrup that’s served hot). Or “Toad in the Hole,” or “Cornish Pasty,” or “Sausage Rolls.” And the flavor variations! It’s not just the wild and crazy salt-n-vinegar crisps (potato chips) anymore. They even had cream cheese that came in flavors such as Thai and lime and BBQ. Odd (we did not try those).

Even some veg have different names. Since I have yet to find any fresh spinach or fresh (or even frozen) sugar snap peas in Cairo, we grabbed some, along with some fresh mangtout (simply snowpeas). Eggplant is aubergine, zucchini is courgette, and if you ask for squash here, you’ll be directed to the soda aisle as it’s typically diluted fruit juice – which I forgot, however quickly remembered when I tried the blackberry-cranberry we bought and found it so thick and sweet my throat practically closed up.

I believe I may have mentioned my partiality to English chocolate and biscuits. You can blame my grandparents for introducing them to me, or you can agree that they’re just better. Either way, I’m delighted to have access to them in Cairo, although it’s apparent we do not have access to all of them. Mom and I checked everything out with great glee. We did not sample everything, but we certainly sampled some – including some wonderful cappuccino Kit-Kats (they also had dark chocolate and orange), German hazelnut or chocolate filled wafer cookies that looked like little hippos, some old childhood standbys of Jelly Babies (far superior to “gummy” foods) and Maynard’s Fruit Gums. Now, all this gorging was not just for personal gluttony, we also took daily treats to the hospital for Uncle Harold (as well as oranges, pears and apples from his own trees -- which I managed to make into my first attempt at tartlets -- and other non-chocolaty items).

In regards to the biscuits and sweeties that are on sale, I will comment that English shops have far more of these for sale than U.S. shops, even on non-holiday days (holidays such as Easter and Christmas make you feel like you’ve wandered into Wonka-land instead of the local grocers). And typically these aisles are often crowded with all ages, from the young grabby children to the elderly carefully choosing their favorite digestive biscuit or chocolate Penguin assortment. And yet despite the volume of sweets that are being consumed, the English are typically rather fit. So it’s either the combination of sweets and a lot more walking than is done in the states, or while distracting us with the Spice Girls and David Beckham, the English have found a way to circumvent calorie absorption and just refuse to share. You choose.

Other shopping ran to the far less fun, but more practical realm of grout paint (I just can’t find any in Cairo and would like to spruce up our bathrooms), cat treats (I know, but Ron did remind me to look as we can only get one flavor at the commissary and the poor deprived fat felines do like variety), and even a small metal trashcan for our compost (as the plastic one I bought recently broke, and when you can actually find a non-metal one in Cairo it’s outrageously expensive – I did verify that the new can will fit in my suitcase and I’ll just stuff it with t-shirts or even fake sausages!).

Now, I will say that the one main, and very important, thing that Cairo has going for it is prices. The UK prices are quite high, higher than the states, and therefore ten times higher than Cairo. So you pay a little more for variety, cleanliness, dust-free products. But I had vacation-brain on, so prices were not a primary concern of mine.

I did end up choosing two fake-meat sausage brands to bring home – nine boxes total. When I was asked at the airport if I had any food, I quietly said, “Some chocolates and … uh, vegetarian food.” No one blinked an eye, or even rolled one.

Roman remains & Welsh lessons – or “Cymraeg gwersau”

My grandmother’s family (including Great Uncle Harold) were raised in Caerleon, which is a small town just north of Newport, which is right on the Bristol Channel that separates southern Wales from England. Other than my grandmother, who moved to southern England, everyone else stayed in Caerleon.

Caerleon has an amazing history, with records dating back to 830 AD listing it as one of Britain’s 33 cities. It has the remains of Roman Fortress Isca, actual walls of a Roman bath, and some believe it may even be the location of King Arthur’s Camelot. In addition, they have excavated remains of a hill fort that dates back to the early-middle Iron Age, ~300-600 BC, and right next to the current elementary school and local library, are the remains of a Roman amphitheater. According to the 2001 census, Caerleon had just under 9,000 residents (I can claim to be related to seven of them).

Ron and I had serious discussions about getting married in Caerleon, at St. Cadocs church where my grandparents, and all great aunts and uncles were married (my parents were married in Weymouth, where my mother grew up). Sadly, I’ve attended many family funerals at St. Cadocs, but no weddings. It’s a wonderful old stone church, with parts dating back to the 12th century, and I will admit to having some dreams as a little girl of getting married there. But logistically Ron and I felt it was just too cumbersome, so we opted for Baltimore and lots and lots of friends.

Growing up and visiting my relatives, I didn’t know (or really care) about any of its history. I do remember finding it odd, however, that despite being in Wales, this area of southern Wales did not speak Welsh. Now, in the last ten years, I’ve noticed that that’s starting to change. They have started posting signs (street signs, traffic signs, grocery store directories even) in both Welsh and English, and there are some television channels in Welsh, but you never hear it spoken “down the town” or “down the pub.”

Welsh is a very interesting (strange) language to listen to. After trying to read the signs and listening to the soap operas, I came to the conclusion that it sounds a bit like Swedish, backwards. I tried to capture some of the signs I saw around, just to give a flavor. Some of the town names are good examples: Cwmbran, Croesyceiliog, Pontnewynydd, Llanyrafon, Blaenavon (this last one, my mom told me my grandmother would use as a curse word – we have no idea why but towns always seem to have a healthy rivalry with the next town, don’t they?).

(Is anyone else envisioning a large ficus ambling across the road?)