Cowsbridge, Wales
Eyes shut, I point to a town on the map
Age 19
I once saw a woman in a movie close
her eyes and point her finger at a map to decide her next holiday place, so I have followed her example in London, because
I have a few days to spend before my flight back to Vancouver.
My finger falls into the ocean just
below Wales, something not considered by movie stars. I move my hand carefully up so that I am still playing the game,
and arrive at Cowsbridge, Wales.
If this is not fun enough in itself,
the commotion a slender, fair-haired Canuck causes when she arrives in a town of a few hundred is mischief itself.
The British being an eccentric people find my reason charming. No one ever comes to Cowsbridge! they say. There
are no hotels here and the Postmistress honours me by taking me as a boarder into her home.
I delight in my room, full of heavy
wood furniture, and a pitcher and basin where I must wash with stone cold water every morn and night. The lady tells
me of her latrest antique buys, an entire set of bedroom furniture for a few pounds, Because the young people all want modern
stuff.
I walk to a neighbouring town, waved
to along the way, and have fish and chips: there are scandalous papers to read, chocolate bars to eat, and two famous site
to see. A castle of William Randolph Hearst's, long deserted, and a church boldly claiming to be the oldest in the British
Isles. I also get to meet all the people who suddenly want to buy postage stamps.
I am happy just to be. I
must return here, and think as I write I will write to the Postmistress to see if she is still alive. I was going to
write, If she still remembers me, which shows me how little I still know about human nature!
