31 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.
05/31 South Wales
We proceeded down through the middle of Wales, heading south toward the coast. We followed the hedge groves that lined the road as it meandered like a large serpent, forcing the adjacent hill to bow to its will. The shades of green against the backdrop of blue skies framed an almost surreal landscape. I walked into this painting and closed my eyes, almost holding my breath not to disturb the faint whispers of nature and walked down the middle of the road. Then the silence was interrupted, “My feet hurt, my feet hurt”. We came to that proverbial fork in the road and it had no signs I could read. Jim took off his shoes to show me why he’d been complaining every step for the last three miles. “New shoes?” I questioned for the tenth time. “I’m going home, this is it,” exclaimed Jim. I spent ten minutes trying to persuade Jim that it was a better idea to walk another twenty feet, sit down in the pub up ahead and drink a pint or two, than to sit there in the middle of the road with shoes off complaining about the world. The world that attacked your feet. He preferred sitting in the road since it reinforced his illusions of being the victim. Okay, maybe I was a little insensitive and should have felt sorry for his feet but I would rather have had that conversation with a pint in my hand. I left Jim sitting in the middle of the street and headed up the road, grabbed a stool at the bar and waited for Jim to catch up. I knew I would regret it later but I gave in to Jim’s pouting. I ended up sacrificing my plan to enjoy this area at a slow pace and instead hitched a ride. My punishment for trying to compromise was viewing the places I had earmarked for discovery through a dirty window at eighty miles an hour. It just wasn’t the same.
We settled into a small YMCA along the coast, arriving late that evening. I would assume we were the last two travelers who signed the register. As the young lady walked us to our room we passed an empty laundry. Jim saw this as his opportunity to conveniently wash the dirty clothes he’d been carrying around for the last few weeks. Five seconds after our room’s door was closed Jim stripped down to his underwear and deposited everything else he owned into one of the available washing machines. Then he slithered back into the comfort of our room without anybody noticing. What Jim was unaware of, which he soon discovered when he returned to the laundry room to move his clothes from the washer to the dryer, was that not only did the visitors have a curfew, so did the laundry room. I offered up some of my clothes but this was no solution for Jim. From his perspective it should have never happened and somebody else needed to take the blame. I was unwilling to burden his misplaced anger, so I left Jim in his underwear and wandered out into the city by myself. I socialized with a group of locals at a cozy pub, got into a game of darts, talked religion and even got a goodnight kiss. I brought back a pizza so that Jim wouldn’t go hungry but this went without thanks. I just let the pizza sit there until it found its way into the morning garbage. No words.
