Swansea

After reading Jay’s exceptionally well written stories of his time in Perugia, I feel a response is calling me. The trouble with some of his friends, feeling culture shocked and a bit out of place unfortunately seems to beckon me too, at times.

While I am not sad to have left home, nor am I sad to have chosen Wales, I am not afraid to admit my initial disappointment with Swansea. Swanzee, as it is said here, is not the quaint seaside town I had envisioned. As I learn more and more about it, it was the result of the industrial revolution, particularly the copper mining industry here and the coal mining in the rest of South Wales that brought it up from its meager and humble beginnings. My having to walk the 2 miles to class everyday was a point I initially tried to bargain off as good for me, and even better economically, as it is cheaper to live up here in the Hendrefoelan Student Village. I hated the first week of it.

I would work up a sweat just walking down the two mile long hill. Not because it was a hard or even fast walk. The persistent drizzle forced me to wear a jacket unless I preferred to be wet for the entirety of my classes. The jacket kept me too warm, especially with the brisk walk.

Then there were my flatmates. I first didn’t believe I had any. I hadn’t seen any of them, or heard them for the first 3 or so days. It turns out I have at least 3 Asians (all from different parts of Asia, one confirmed from Hong Kong), one very kind fellow from somewhere in the Arab speaking world, and another American. But I didn’t know that for the better part of a week. They all pretty much keep to themselves when they aren’t cooking in the communal kitchen. Relations are improving from our initial awkward silences. I like them all, but still need to get to know them.

What is worse is that most of my American comrades all love the drink. All of them had tales of the last weeknights debauchery before our seminar started. One fellow was kicked out of a bar for being so belligerently drunk that he attempted to fight the bouncer. He then proceeded to Tesco, like our Wal-Mart, and shopped at 3 in the morning. When he was finished, he walked the cart and his groceries back to the student village. That is over 3 miles uphill. Needless to say, the rest of my peers found this hilarious, and it indeed is. However, living that lifestyle every night as it seems they do, does not keep me interested in developing friendships. Perhaps that is my own shortcoming, but I think I would rather do other things than spend ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous amounts of alcohol every night.

It is here that I declare that my first week or so here was disappointing, lonely, and certainly unexpected. But I can honestly say this place is growing on me. I have had to already take a hard look at myself.

At home I realize that I try to be the master of my dominion. I control what I do, when I do it, and generally with whom I do it. I know this is often not for the best for others, likely not even the best for me. I can’t be that person here. I don’t have the resources, the set of reliable friends that I miss dearly, and a system I understand. It is a powerful feeling knowing that this place worked fine without me, and will keep doing just that when I leave. That feeling is not what I am used to, and that is due to my own hubris.

I have to, and hopefully have started to humble my position in the world. I rely on others far more than I realized and I thank those who have been here already. Sophia, of course, keeps me in check at home, and she is lovely here. Gwyn, my new friend from Massachusetts, seems one I can enjoy my time with, and without a shot glass in hand.

Thankfully, I have grown to love the walk. I get to think about it all then. I have nothing else to do. Seeing the butcher here too, and the baker, and the kids playing soccer in the parking lots after their school is out, shows me a different world that I am becoming a part of. Slowly, though. And unfortunately not to last. Thankfully, the market of Jay’s story has a cousin here. It too has a cheesemonger who helped me pick out some good cheese for pasta, though I got a delightfully spicy and piquant version of provolone, I think it might have even been a pecorino. I’ll be sure to ask him tomorrow. He’ll give me a deal on the next 100 grams, too.