Faggots ‘n Mash

Day 8, Tuesday October 18th, 2011.

Slang of the day: tosspot. Origin: English. Definition: an insult directed at a wanker/loser/drunkard/etc. Used in a sentence: I felt like a tosspot waking up with urine soaked boxers.

Because I had a desire to see Wales, having heard that it was beautiful and “good fun,” I book two nights in Cardiff, the capital and largest city. I immediately become a fan because the Cardiff flag is that of a red dragon (presumably fans of SUNY Cortland).

Upon arriving I ask where to eat and I’m told to go to Nando’s. It’s quite clear that it’s not Welsh in any way, but rather an English chain that specializes in spicy chicken. But I’m okay with that. I order a 1/2 chicken and corn with a ‘hot’ level of spicy-ness. I try some of their sauces while I wait, and quickly realize that not everything in Britain is without heat. But it’s not bad, only got the snot running a bit, and it ate good.

Then I explored Cardiff, taking in the Cardiff Castle, which was quite cool and expensive to go inside, so I merely enjoyed the outside and the glimmer from the doorway, and also the animal wall to its left, with different alabaster animals every few feet (they weren’t alabaster) that led to the pretty Bute Park. I also wandered many of the “arcades,” which are basically highly concentrated shopping streets off the high street (which is usually the main street for shopping and food but is also commonly filled with chains; it was St. Mary’s in Cardiff) with more unique and region specific shops. If I actually “shopped” I can’t imagine how much faster I’d be going through my money. Don’t hold your breath for souvenirs.

Then I get to my hostel and wash my clothes. In the shower. For the first of possibly many times, I took a shower and cleaned my dirty clothes with my 2 in 1 hair and body wash. It took about an hour to “wash” the clothes and then to squeeze out as much of the water as I could. It definitely strengthened my hands. It turned out to be a fortuitous decision at this particular hostel, because my room had a heater I could lay them out on, even if it led to a funky smell. When dry or as close to dry as possible, they are about 58% clean, but at least they smelled fine.

After a nap, I wandered around Cardiff looking for dinner, and stumbled upon, quite literally, The Promised Land, a Welsh pub. The bartender gave me the rundown of the menu and I ordered faggots and mash, a no brainer. They were salty Welsh meatballs, and were delicious. I also had a local Welsh ale that was my favorite beer of the journey so far, and also one of the few I didn’t write down or remember. My waitress was a right trollop, so I asked her where the best bars or clubs in Cardiff were, and she told me Revolution on Wednesday (tomorrow).

That night I brought a book down to the bar at the hostel and ordered a stout and read, keeping an eye out for fun, and none came. I had no energy to go looking for it, especially with the weird vibe of the bar/hostel common room. It was kinda like a LSD infused tea party with random beds as furniture. I did however talk up one of my roommates Rubal, an Indian fellow going to Cardiff grad school for law waiting on a place to stay. He kindly lent me his laptop for a time, and by the end of my stay offered his new place if I ever found myself in Cardiff again. Rubal: here’s to you buddy!

Next: Andy is faced with an ethical dilemma.