Walking through Wales -- Newport, Wales

The dark. I used to be utterly terrified of the dark. I was the sort of child who would annoy brothers and sisters by insisting the door be kept open at bedtime, loudly advocating for a larger crack of light. When I finally got my own room, I clicked on a powerful nightlight before turning off the lamp overhead. Sometimes I'd watch Sound of Music on a small TV set up two feet in front of my bed, "raindrops on roses" and "doe, a deer" lulling me to sleep through the menacing darkness. But not only was the dark riddled with snakes and spiders -- it was teeming with monsters created by my uneasy mind.

Look at a light.

Stare into the bulb without blinking for a few moments.

Look away.

Close your eyes.

Do you see the light dancing on your lids?

Move your eyes.

Do you see how the light follows? Like an annoying little shadow. A copycat that won't let you be.

Open your eyes.

It's still there. Glowing. Glaring. Following you until it fades.

That's the best way I can explain the creatures I saw in the dark. My mother would sing us rhythmic, gentle bedtime songs, scratch our little backs, crack all our toes (don't ask me why -- I abhorred this part of the nightly ritual), and turn off the light. She padded out the door and pulled it shut behind her.

"Not all the way!" I'd plead in panic.

"AIMEE..." my siblings whined.

"I'll leave it open just a crack," my careworn mother compromised.

And my monsters materialized. The glowing dots crawled up the walls and morphed into the creatures of my nightmares. Massive hordes of scorpions, flaming skulls and skeletons, spiders dripping venom and faceless men astride amoeba-esque steeds. Squeezing my eyes shut, I'd force myself to imagine other things. I'd picture ponies, puppies, fluffy clouds and coloring book style rainbows. I'd focus on a scorpion driving its stinger into my iris and try to imagine a pony until the glowing light lost a couple legs and grew a soft nose. I'd hold onto this image as long as I could, praying that it would remain even when I relaxed my mind.

But I always lost control and it always gleefully returned to its sinister shape.

Has the light faded from your eyes yet? Yes?

Well. Mine never did. Those creatures would haunt me until I fell asleep.

Outside was a whole new level of terror. I could control the environment in my room. I could search it thoroughly before going to bed, making sure there were no creepy crawlies lurking behind my model horses or hiding between the hangers in my perfectly organized closet. My mother always thought I had naturally tidy tendencies, but it was cleanliness inspired by childish paranoia. If there was nothing underneath my bed, there would be nothing to hide the monsters. If the trinkets lining my shelves were dusted and displayed properly, spiders wouldn't have time to make webs and lay eggs and crawl into my ears as I fitfully slept.

Outside. I did a lot of running outside. Running from the car to the house. Running from the house to the car. Running from streetlight to streetlight. Running to escape the creatures in the dark.

I learned to ignore my fear when I was about 15. I began facing my fear when I was in university and started practicing an acting technique called "Chekhov," which is a method of arriving at an honest emotion from the outside in. One of the exercises required us to use the archetype of "radiator of warmth" with the quality of "first time" pasted on. According to Chekhov, a radiator of warmth moves through space expecting the best out of everything and everyone. A radiator of warmth seeks out the beautiful and looks for the good. The quality of "first time" means that you approach each object and person with a beginner's mind.

Red doesn't mean stop.

Red doesn't mean passion.

Red doesn't mean aggression or love or courage.

Red means nothing. Red is red is red. Why? Because you've never seen it before so it has no attachment to anything.

I practiced this exercise on walks. However, as a full-time student and worker of three jobs, the only time I had available to walk was at night. I suppose some people in my position would fake the assignment or just tell their professor that they didn't have time... but me? Well, I'm fairly neurotic and suffer from a few irrational fears, but I am an awesome student.

So I walked. In the dark. For hours.

And I loved it. I found beauty and life and warmth in the dark. I moved languidly because I wanted to soak it all in, studying the way the stars cast light through the black branches of the trees overhead and hearing the sounds of the night without taking time to label. I sat on curbs, in parks (long-since closed for the night), in fields and parking lots. I walked beside the river barefoot, that I might add the sensation of touch to my beginner's mind.

I fell in love with walking. Moving slowly was a whole new way of experiencing life, and I found it to be a much more abundant way of living. When I move slowly, I am here. When I move quickly, I am simply trying to get to there.

In Newport, Wales (look at me turning this back into a travel blog) people seem to move slowly. I have visited several cities built around various types of transportation. Cities built around cars (Grand Junction), cities built around motorbikes (Marrakech), cities built around bicycles (Copenhagen), cities built around metros (Paris), cities built around walkers (Prague), and cities built around boaters/walkers (Venice). However, Pembrokeshire is the only place I've ever visited built around walkers/sitters.

People in Pembrokeshire walk everywhere, but they don't walk to get somewhere. They walk to enjoy the walk.

Evidence?

Everywhere there is a view worth seeing, there is a bench for sitting to relax and enjoy the view.

Pembrokeshire is a place for sitters.

Kim went way out of her way to show me the best places to sit. Her kindness, enthusiasm, and generosity were overwhelming, and I felt so damn lucky waking up in her spare bedroom every day. She took the entire week off of work so that she'd have time to take me walking, introduce me to her friends, and help me pursue a few of my challenges.

Kim had to work my first day in Wales, so I wandered around town by myself. The shops in Newport are all quirky and of excellent quality (except the SPAR -- which is just overpriced and "grim"). They have an excellent cafe, a unique art gallery, an old-fashioned bookstore, a healthfood shop, a butcher's, a few nice restaurants, a castle, and a pub. Above is a map of a beautiful local trail. What more could one want?

I walked to the estuary...

To a burial chamber...

My second night in Newport, Kim took me out to the Boathouse to watch the sunset. And for drinks. There were many people sitting on benches.

Staying with Kim was good for me. She laughs so easily and helped me to realize that some things just weren't a big deal -- like taking the wrong ferry to Wales. Thanks for everything, Kim.

A couple of Kim's friends. One of my favorite aspects of staying with friends/couchsurfers/families instead of staying at hostels is that I get to meet whole new social groups and witness wonderful friendships -- if only for a few days. Kim has some badass, hilarious, magnanimous friends. Gwen and Lydia are two of them.

This is the view from the top of Carningli -- a 400 meter high mountain from the top of which you can see the ocean. It's a sacred hike, apparently -- Saint Brynach was fond of ascending Carningli to commune with the angels.

I didn't see any angels, but I did see some very cute Shetland ponies.

Alternate view of Carningli

Another walk was to the Pentre Ifan Burial Chamber. This was arranged (feels a bit odd to say "built) in 3500 B.C.  and is the oldest neolithic dolmen in all of Wales.

In southern France, you look through palm trees and see boats. In Ireland, you look through hedge and see COWS. In Wales, you look through gnarled branches and see sheep. Lots and lots of sheep.

Kim and Bramble. Notice the lack of slack in the lead. Bramble is a very excited puppy and is fond of dragging Kim this way and that, sniffing under every second leaf and peeing on all the rest. I adore this dog. I wanted her name to be Baloo, because she would give you a friendly bear hug as soon as you walked in the door. Such a sweet puppy.

Although she kind of sucks at sharing the couch...

My very favorite walk was around Dinas Head. We left at 11:00 and had to be back in Newport by 3:45, in time for Kim's haircut. We didn't rush it. We walked nine miles, but punctuated the walk with sunbathing, swimming, chocolate, ice cream, and photography. Without planning, we arrived in Newport at 3:45 exactly. "We're like Gandalf!" Kim exclaimed. "What?" I replied, furrowing my brow in confusion. "Like a wizard," Kim explained. "Always on time."

Our ice cream break. Superb creamy goodness, my god. I had the honey ginger variety, and I believe I might have communed with the angels. Saint what's-his-name had it all wrong. You don't need to hike to the top of a scraggly hill to converse with divinity -- you just need to take a bite of honey ginger ice cream.

I chose to swim in the Atlantic. It was that hot. Truly. I didn't need Roisin to practically chase me into the water.

 Another walk was through the woods to an old church with "bleeding" yew trees. There was something ghastly but entrancing about the graveyard.

The mounting block outside the church. People would lead their horses to the edge, step up to where they felt comfortable, and mount their horses. Like proper pansies.

Bleeding yew

Inside the church

These signs mark the coast path. It is possible to walk the entire coast, not only Pembrokeshire. One walks through fields with cows and sheep, along beaches and beside restaurants and B&Bs -- it's incredibly accessible and seems very well marked. I've decided that I'm going to walk this path in the not so distant future. My week with Kim convinced me that I want to spend a goodly portion of my life walking.

Map of coastal path

These remnants of tree resemble a dinosaur footprint.

A cross carved into the rock. People stuff pennies into it for luck.

In conclusion, I encourage all my readers to walk through Wales. Or just to walk. Appreciate what's around you. Find a bench. Sit on it. Appreciate what's in front of you. Walk barefoot. Walk slowly. Walk in the morning. Walk in the dark. Walk and listen. Then walk and smell. Then walk and see. Then sit and absorb. And find a little something that's beautiful.

And then move on. Find yourself another bench.