under the lilacs: November 2009

Whoville

Photo by: mirandaceleste

When I think of the Welsh and Wales, I think of the Whos of Dr. Seuss' Whoville in the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Specifically, those in the 1960s animated television show. The Grinch has taken everything away, all the tinsel and trappings, yet the Whos don't skip a beat, they don't even notice, and they gather together in the centre of town, hold hands, and sing -- and their singing floats up and up to the sky.

In Cardiff, people walk down the streets laughing, relaxed, shop cheerfully in drugstores, young fathers proudly push their children in strollers. Down at Mermaid Quay, the captain of a tour boat jokes over his mic to a quiet midday Cardiff Bay that his boat can't be missed -- it's the one with the handsome captain.

A businessman walks through Sophia Gardens and stops to pick up a discarded pop can. There is a sense that if a child were in trouble, fifty people would drop everything and run to that child's rescue. Every time I pull out my map on my circuitous bike trips, someone stops to make sure I can find my way.

The Whos melted the icy heartless Grinch, so it's no wonder that depth of sentiment leaves me in a sense of awe.

The very funny travel writer Bill Bryson wrote in Notes From A Small Island -- about a much too short visit to Wales as part of his travels through Great Britain -- that he was endeared, on watching a soap opera in the Welsh language, that the Welsh had no words for 'dirty weekend' and had to revert to English to describe the illicit liaison.

In a well-observed piece for the TimesOnline last year, Hugo Rifkind pondered 'Why Wales Is Suddenly Cool,' and one of the reasons he came up with was that the country hearkens back in a consciously-retro way to simpler times and values.

Jim Byers, travel editor for The Toronto Star, simply says "This place is seriously undersold."

Amen.

journalism

At the end of October, our editor-in-chief of 18 months was guided out the door.

The situation at work has been so dour and restricted and manic during that tenure that those of us who are still there are feeling a little blinded and stunned at the daylight streaming in.

Celebrations and therapeutic dart games have ensued.

Still, the distaste for all that can be bad and wrong about this industry, on top of the disintegration of the industry itself as any of us know it, is leading many of us planning 'exit strategies.'

tenby, little town of the fishes

Tenby, Pembrokeshire, Wales

Top to bottom:
1. S. Beach, low tide
2-4. N. Beach
5. S. Beach, high tide

rhythm of life

My recent stay in Cardiff has set my mind on moving there.

So much to do now, it is mind-boggling. I am hoping I can be there by next September. This trip was very helpful in making me feel I can do it -- one small step at a time.

The place feels like home in every way, and I feel I can get work there. It doesn't have to be in the media (newspaper journalism is crumbling worldwide). I look forward to just living and working and being part of a community. On the side, if it presents itself, BBC Wales is there as something to play at.

It won't cost me more to live there than here, and most places there come furnished, so I 'simply' need to get myself down to basics, basics and throw things out, give things away, sell things, and put the rest in storage.

All of this has to be finetuned, of course -- but the sense of forward motion is good.

When I was in Cardiff, I followed the advice of Paul Harris, my trusty guide for all things Welsh, and went to sit in on a practice of the Cardiff Arms Club Male Choir. They practice on Mondays and Thursday nights, and because I was there for almost two weeks I went to two of their Monday night practices. So, so amazing.

The first night they were recording a 30 second radio jingle with the BBC for the opening of the John Lewis Cardiff department store in late September. Fascinating to watch that process (fascinating for me -- very repetitive for them).

The second Monday was a regular practice and a group of 20 other Canadians showed up to watch, so the choir put on a bit of a show for us. This group of about 70 men, mostly middleaged and older, unspectacular in many ways, opened their mouths and filled the air with life. The sun outside the large picture windows was setting and silhouetting the empty, dark stadium and light clouds, and inside these voices swung high and low and interplayed.

Since my return to Toronto, I've attended a performance of the Toronto-Welsh Male Voice Choir, who I also heard last March. I didn't think they were very good then. Maybe it was the venue, because this time they sounded good indeed. And they performed Rhythm of Life -- a song I heard in Cardiff for the first time and loved immediately. This performance by last year's runners-up in the BBC's Last Choir Standing -- the Welsh Ysgol Glanaethwy -- is remarkable (they would have had my vote.)

Apparently the song is originally from Sweet Charity, and its lyrics probably more adult and cynical than the tune suggests. But the tune, and the listening to it, is full of joy and sure sets one dancing.