Wales was a wonderful place, although it rained. The people were friendly, the food was good, and the scenery was beautiful. I drove along, listening to BBC Cymru, (Welsh radio) while the rest of the people in the car wondered what the HECK the guy on the radio was saying. For the record, I didn't know, either. But Welsh is a pretty language.
Funny story. One program involved a translator repeating BBC news in Welsh. At one point, his cell phone went off. He said, "My cell phone. S&!*." The first phrase was Welsh. The second, pure English!
We spent a day driving, and spent that night in a pub in Shrewsbury called the Buck's Head. Another funny story. We stopped at the city limits of Shrewsbury to ask directions, and were told that the Buck's Head was just a few doors down from the city bus station. We got lost finding the bus station, so we stopped at the police station. A policewoman was just leaving work, and led us to the bus station, saying, "The Buck's Head? Just down from the bus station? Hmm..." Should asked. We walked two doors from the bus station...and found the BULL'S Head. Fortunately, a patron knew of the other pub, and we were soon checked into our rooms and enjoying a Bombardier in the pub.
Next morning, we headed toward Preston, from which our great-grandparents left for the US at the beginning of the 20th century. I hope they wouldn't recognize it now. We saw a town that had seen better days, full of not-very-nice people. Even the vicar of the family church was less than enthusiastic about the city, calling it "dismal."
We looked for, but did not find, family graves. We did take some pictures of the local parish churches.
The day ended on a disappointing note, and we headed for Carlisle, just 10 miles from Scotland.