A Walk in Hay
If I learned one thing in Wales, it was this:
Wales is not England.
I was warned by more than one person that Hay is not a particularly "Welsh" place. I'd need to dive deeper into Wales to truly experience "Welshness".
Still, everyone I spoke to in Hay and surrounding towns, even the Welsh-born potter with whom I spent a few days in East Anglia at the end of my trip, made sure I understood one thing: They were Welsh, not English. Not English just as my Irish ancestors were not English, I was told.
And so as I trekked along several of the walks published by the tourism office, I repeatedly crossed the border. "YOU ARE NOW LEAVING WALES", my walking directions would suddenly shout out in harsh capital letters. "YOU HAVE NOW ENTERED ENGLAND".
A warning? A welcome? A bit of geographical trivia for hikers? I got the quiet sense it was much more. I've come to no conclusions, but you hear this idea of nations within a nation, whatever word you use, in lots of conversations in Spain these days.
My border crossings were quiet bridges over a stream.
My company was mostly ovine, and occasionally bovine.
I arrived in sandals and wished for Wellies. Aside from that self-imposed discomfort (who knew I'd wind up walking in Wales?) walking in the countryside around Hay, and Brecon, a neighboring town, was a damp, full-bloom treat.
Wales is not England.
I was warned by more than one person that Hay is not a particularly "Welsh" place. I'd need to dive deeper into Wales to truly experience "Welshness". Still, everyone I spoke to in Hay and surrounding towns, even the Welsh-born potter with whom I spent a few days in East Anglia at the end of my trip, made sure I understood one thing: They were Welsh, not English. Not English just as my Irish ancestors were not English, I was told.
And so as I trekked along several of the walks published by the tourism office, I repeatedly crossed the border. "YOU ARE NOW LEAVING WALES", my walking directions would suddenly shout out in harsh capital letters. "YOU HAVE NOW ENTERED ENGLAND". 
A warning? A welcome? A bit of geographical trivia for hikers? I got the quiet sense it was much more. I've come to no conclusions, but you hear this idea of nations within a nation, whatever word you use, in lots of conversations in Spain these days.
My border crossings were quiet bridges over a stream.
My company was mostly ovine, and occasionally bovine.
I arrived in sandals and wished for Wellies. Aside from that self-imposed discomfort (who knew I'd wind up walking in Wales?) walking in the countryside around Hay, and Brecon, a neighboring town, was a damp, full-bloom treat.
Labels: books, wanders and travels
posted by Erin at
11:34 AM
3 Comments:
Love the bridges ... it's so tempting and reading your blog has made me all restless.
Need to wander ... sigh
By
Di Mackey, at 1:42 PM
Everyone is so different so it's difficult to generalise. Our family is born and bred in Wales but whilst my husband is fiercely protective of his Welshness (if such a word exists!)and is quite anti-English, my daughter identifies more with England and I think of myself as equally Welsh and British. A mixed bag really - makes for some lively discussions particularly when England are playing Wales at any sport. Hope you had a good time in Wales and come back soon.
By
Woman of Wales, at 11:11 PM
Welcome, Anne! Thanks for the comment. I couldn't agree with you more- you can't generalize. I loved Wales, as I love Ireland, for many of the same reasons. It's obviously a beautiful place, but there's something....some energy in the air, something about the people (and I didn't get very far in! only to Brecon!) that just clicked for me and felt comfortable. Who knows when we'd ever get there, but I was telling a Spanish friend about my trip the other day and she's now convinced we MUST do Offa Dyke's path, together, start to finish...:)
By
Erin, at 3:12 PM
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