You know those scenes in the movies that seem so unlikely to ever happen in real life. I'm not talking jumping-from-skyscrapers unlikely, but more like when someone runs alongside a train, banging his briefcase against the window as it pulls away. He cries after it, "noooo," and then turns and stands alone in despair-so unlikely. Yet, that was me Friday evening, chasing the "only train you will be able to catch," (according to a letter from student life regarding the horseback riding in Wales weekend getaway). The train was to depart at 19:15. I met my fellow "riders" at the station at 18:45. With "plenty of time to spare," I told the others I'd meet them at the platform, and I went around the corner to change a little bit of cash for the trip (totally a momma Gammelin move. After an unnecessary, drawn-out argument with the exchange rate woman (which I'll address later), I returned to the platform just to hear the train literally "choochoo" and watch it start chugging away. Pulling my suitcase along, I ran after it, (quite thankful at this point that I decided not to bring Mr. Stumpguss on the trip) I banged on the side, I yelled awful British things…and then I stopped, dropped my bag, and did what I tend to do best when I do things plain wrong…cried.

I found out later, that meanwhile, my friend Sam, who got on the train, apparently freaked out when I didn't make it. She told me later about this episode in which she, a tall, skinny, raised-on-unsweetened cereal type girl, who had bought dried fruit, yogurt, 3-bean salad, and haribos for the train, ate all of her snacks in the first five minutes on-board nervous that she would be spending the entire weekend with a group of people she and I didn't really enjoy (after I convinced her to sign-up for the trip with me)-funny scene I'm sure.

Ok, so back to the movie-like scene. As I sat confused and teary-eyed, I spotted a fellow stranded rider. He was waving his ticket angrily at the distant train. What can I say, I ran to him like I was a lost chip lookin' for its fried fish. After we formally introduced ourselves (as we had seen each other many times in passing), I followed Brent to the information booth where he learned that we could catch another train, using our same ticket, an hour later. Oh, joy. As I read over the instruction page of the holiday itinerary we were given, I saw that this would mean instead of getting a free bus to take us from the train in Swansea to the bed and breakfast farm, we would have to pay for a cab. Good thing I took out that money after all. Anyway, one hour later, I started my weekend holiday with a 3.5 hour, late night train ride (so unlike J.K. Rowling's fun description of train rides) to Swansea in South Wales, with Brent, my new best friend.

The cab driver took us the last 30 miles down, what really looked like a one-way turny and twisty dirt road, though through squinting eyes I managed to see us squeeze by cars coming at us. We assumed someone would be meeting us at the door, or at least be ready for our arrival. Yet, we knocked, we called, we walked around the entire damn bed and breakfast in the dark, and no one came to the door. Finally, through an open window I spotted an old lady in one of the ground-story bedrooms, staring at her T.V. I kept "yoo-hooing" to her, and waving. I saw that she acknowledged me, but she wasn't saying anything back. I called Brent over and we both started waving at her. Finally, she got up and walked over to the open window and instead of greeting us, she yelled, "You know, it's rude to stare into people's bedrooms! Go away!" And she drew her curtains shut. So, our first interaction with the Welsh…kind, gentle people.
Our friends heard us banging, let us in, we all went to bed. Night one in Wales.

I woke up around six in the girls bedroom (6 girls, 2 boys on the trip). I took my camera out with me so I could take some pics on my run. I found, a lot of horses, more cows, pretty pastures, and a beautiful morning. I came back and everyone was beginning to rise and shine. We went out for breakfast, which was to be served promptly at 8am. There were many elderly English sitting at surrounding breakfast tables. They were there on holiday for walking trips. Many were childhood friends that meet every year for different walking treks. If I get to be that old and can walk for 9 miles up mountains, I'll be quite impressed. I don't know what these folks grew up on to be able to be that athletic, but it sure as hell wasn't the fried toast and bacon we were offered for breakfast by the little welsh woman taking our orders. We picked around and ate what we preferred, and went back to our rooms to get ready.

The riding was to begin at 10am, but the Welsh are slower and quieter then the English…I didn't know it was possible. We weren't on the horses until 11:45ish. The "leader" for the ride was an older woman named Dee, though we had given her quite a different name by the end of the trip. There were also two younger girls along on the ride, keeping everyone calm and in line on the trail. My horsey was named Favor, and she was one of the smallest horses I've ever ridden (besides the little pony Tony…aww remember Tony and Dappy? Great fun) The more experienced riders (aka anyone who'd ridden before) were put in the back of the line, that way we could have a little more freedom to ride. A girl named Sasha, who I didn't know before the trip, but quickly decided it was probably better that way, made it clear from the beginning that she was "an excellent rider," while another girl owned horses, but didn't really explain that she only owned them, never really rode them, and me, who, let's face it, just rocks at riding, were put in the back of the line. During the trek through the green hilly mountains we saw tons of wild horses, cows, mountain sheep…it was such a gorgeous day and the view was unbelievable. We could look out at the cliffs and the beach, or across the endless miles of grassy hills. One of the leader girls would hang back and let our horses graze and then we'd follow her in a canter until we caught up with the rest of the group. We did it about five times throughout the 4 hr. ride and it was amazing. So, we rode over the mountains into town, where we let our horses graze on the side of a hill, tied to branches (risky?) and we had lunch at the town's only restaurant/hotel which was holding the reception of a real welsh wedding. Whew, Breeze, as long as your wedding doesn't feature any kilts or feathered hats, you'll be all right.

Dee, who was very unfriendly, when explaining our route home, actually said "the less competent riders will stay directly behind me." Haha, the Welsh are so blunt!

We rode the 2 hr ride back and on the last stretch, down a steep hill, one of the horses spooked from a cyclist. Well, that started a panic and quite a bit of bucking and scrambling and horses taking off in every-which-way. Being the expert rider, I got control of Favor after she galloped downhill for a bit and jumped off, thinking for some reason I'd be better off on the ground by all the horses' feet?…hmm. Anyway, as Favor took off, so did Sasha's horse. Now, Sasha is a big girl, and while she might be able to control a horse on flat land…this bumpy hill didn't work out and she bounced right off of her horsey. I was very near the scene and watched her role for a bit before she did one of those final turns on her back to over dramatize the situation, conveniently she's a theatre major so it all worked out brilliantly. Even the novice riders in the front had gotten control of their horses by now, and were watching Sasha, who, with that final thud, let out a terrific moan. When she finally got up, (yes this story was one of the trip's highlights) she offered to get back on her horse in a kind of "I'm saying this but I definitely don't really want to" sort of way, one of the leaders responded, "well, it would be the brave thing to do." Haha, again, the kind Welsh shining through. We strolled the rest of the way home, listening to Sasha's moans and groans. I won't lie, I was happy to dismount back at the farm. Favor was fun, but a strong little bugger who acted as though she had never been fed; the way she grabbed at every fern on the mountain.

We had two hours until dinner, so we decided to go for a walk. Before we left, Sam and I thought we'd pop into the kitchen and ask for a piece of fruit. We found Sasha with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

We asked how she was, (to be nice) and she immediately whaled "I can't remember anything." Oh, dear. But, we really wanted our fruit. One of the little old welsh women came in and asked how she was doing, and when Sasha again claimed memory loss, the woman replied, "oh don't worry dear, just eat your biscuits, it will all come back to you." I burst out laughing! After we coerced the woman to give us 1 banana, we went for a quick walk with the group before dinner, leaving Sasha with her biscuits.

Dinner was served with a wine list, which we each took full advantage of, (with a wine cellar downstairs, how could we not?). After fresh roasted chicken, baked potatoes, mashed peas, bread, and gooseberry dessert, we took our bottles of wine out behind the farm and laughed into the night. Again, I have to give props to the older groups who, while I can't say each ordered their own bottle of wine, did stay up with us chatting about America for quite a while. Fun times.

Sunday morning, I went for a run down by the beach (now that I had learned how to get there) and when I returned we all went down to relax by the water until the bus came to bring us to the station that afternoon.

The weekend was very relaxing and the first bit of nice weather we have had in over a month. It ended as we drove back into Swansea, the raindrops starting to fall. Being in the countryside was a joyful change.

Now, I'm back for another week at my internship. Hope all is well in the U.S. I can't wait for Momma to get here on Friday! We're going to have sooo much fun.

Well, until my next adventure..
Xoxo,
cher