One of the most
attractive aspects of living in Swansea is its proximity to the sea and
the variation of its localised countryside. From the sweep of Swansea
Bay to the many headlands and coves which adorn
the coastal landscape, to the hills and mountains of the Brecon's.
A couple of days
ago we drove inland to the Brecon National Park to visit the small town
of Brecon. It was Andrews idea and as usual it had the image of food and
a good meal in it. Being a Vegan his attitude
to food is influenced in a way mine never was. I have always eaten what
I liked and never given much thought to the distress of the animal
before "part of it" landed on my table. It was always a matter of
"that's what it is" we eat and kill animals because
we can. The horror of the slaughter house was shifted into the back of
my mind as my knife carved out the first tasty chunk of meat, the
immediate pleasure more than overcame the ethical profundity of killing animals.
Anyway as we
crossed the wide expanses of open heather, the strip of road twisting
its way through the valley and over the top of a hill we could see the
shiny reflection of cars parked just off the road
and a ribbon of people labouring up the path which seemed to go
straight up Pen y Fan the highest mountain in the Park. These are not
the Himalayan colossus, not even the grandeur of the Alps but each large hill has a name and people set out to climb or rather
walk up them because, to quote the bard, they are there.
It's an
interesting feature of man's psych that he engages in in these urges to
conquer the landscape. The mountains and the deserts, the inhospitable
features of the Antarctic, the depths of the ocean.
It's all fair game to mankind to say he's been there, done that and there's an element of that in the hearts of the people who struggle up
Pen y Fan.
Our own objective
was far less challenging. A few years before Andrew had visited Brecon
with his girlfriend and found a rather inconspicuous but rustically
stone Gurkha / Himalayan restaurant right in the
heart of the town. I suppose the hills of Wales have little in common with Nepal but the outward bound philosophy of the people living there has more in common than Cardiff.
The food was good and I'm sure the memories Andrew had of the place were an added treat.
But back to the
sea front of Swansea. Yesterday was another of those regular features of
Swansea life. The food fair. Vegan/ Vegetarian / Overseas specific,
often spicy (for me sometimes more daring than
I can dare) wrapped in pastry, Mexican, Moroccan, Indonesian, Somali
each an extravaganza of taste and chilli, of exploding questions, and
what have I just put in my mouth. People wander between the stalls
pondering the likelihood of this or that, the theme
music was West Indian reggae, quite loud but appropriate it gave the gathering the flavour the input to disengage from Swansea proper and become more cosmopolitan.
50 yes away on the
port tack lay the sleek hulls of the Swansea playboys, the yachts
tethered for another day which no one seemed to visit, perhaps they were
simply an item on the balance sheet. I love the
sound of the halyards ratting on the aluminium mast a reminder that
these toys should be out at sea straining on the wind, reaching on a
starboard tack until turning quickly they scoot back across the choppy waves edging their way out of the bay and into the
freedom of the open sea.
For us our bellies
full, our digestion system trying to cope with a new circumstance we
made our way to the car and home to a nice cup of tea.
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