Our two day trip to Wales was chock full of sites and places to see, and learning experiences, as made obvious by my new found foreign vocabulary (which is not very extensive, let me assure you). Perhaps my favorite visit in Wales was the tour of Big Pit Mine, a mine still classified as a working one, though it has not seen any extracting machinery since 1980, and the only activity down in the tunnels are tours of eager and awed people, like myself.
The gray clouds hung heavily in the air as we stepped off the coach to enter the visitors' center of the mine, and sprinkled droplets of rain on us, but I soon forgot the foul weather as I waited in line to suit up in proper mining attire. The temperature dropped, walking into what I assume was an old sheet-metal inspired shanty for wagons of coal, and the workers plopped a hardhat on my head, attached a headlamp to it (which I had too much fun with), and cinched a leather belt around my waist, holding about 10 pounds of emergency necessities--my headlamp battery, and an oxygen filter...just in case. The lift descended down into the tunnels, and it got darker and darker, our headlamps the only things warding off the encroaching blindness. Stepping out into the tunnels overhead light hit my eyes once more, as there was a small station and man waiting to let my group, and our guide, out of the cramped lift. But the light was only momentary, because as soon as we began to walk, the light faded into the distance behind us, and fast--the rest of the time our paths were lit only by the small flashlights situated on our helmets. With 18 people the level of light was bearable, even better than was I had anticipated...but if it was only you? If one worker were alone? How eerie and dim the light would be. Our tour guide, whom we affectionately nick-named Gollum after a rather humorous run in with another of his fellow tour guides, had us all turn of our headlamps at one point, and the darkness was so black that I quite literally couldn't see the hand in front of my face. As we walked around the slippery and dank paths the ceilings would get lower and lower, until I had to bend almost in half to prevent a smack to the head and the migraine that would result.
I could go on and on about the mine, the damp smell and slick, muddied floors, often housing a partially covered piece of railway metal, the horror stories of children working, of people dying, the stables that housed horses who never saw daylight, the unrivaled camaraderie between the men....but I'll fast forward to the next stop...St Fagan's, also known as Welsh World, an outdoor museum that incorporates everything you would ever want to know about the history of the and that is Wales...and more. Recreated villages, old castle sites, beautiful scenery--you name it.
Friday was our church history site day, and a day to remember. The very sites where our church began, where so many faithful people made choices that continue to influence lives today--where people like you and me wrote a history that is dear to my heart, and to whom I owe the person I am. Whether by blood or heritage, they are my ancestors. I was touched to no end by the scenes presented to me that day, and it's not one that I will soon forget.
Saturday, back in London, I spent the day traversing the areas of Covent Garden, Leicester Square, and Piccadilly Circus, spent way too much money, and made more memories to last me a lifetime. Sometimes it's just wonderful to take a day and do nothing productive, to go where ever your feet lead you, even if it is away from the tube station. Buy a meal that is too expensive and spend it talking good talks with friends, take the time to walk the streets and drink in the atmosphere that pulses through London. Then top it off with a fantastic Halloween party, complete with costumes, cob webs, sugar cookies, and doughnuts on a string.
...especially when you have two essays due on Monday.
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