I’m driving into Wales, where it often feels like every road is a back road. On black-grey ribbons that tie together the lush green valleys and fields, I pass signs to vowel-less villages with names that I can’t pronounce, like Bwlchgwyn, Cwmystwyth, Ysbyty Ystwyth,Ynysybwl, and Plwmp. Other signs tell me to araf, and ardal gwylio cyflymder, which I’ve learned from bitter experience, mean ‘slow down!’
Of course, I’d prefer to be behind the wheel of my old MG with the top down and the sun upon my face, but just having the open road before me is good enough today as I head into what promises to be a couple of sunny days in Wales.
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