Seanbhean Kirstie

So, the lesson I have been told this week is that I am old.  Now, I don't think I'm *that* old (usually), and I'm not used to people telling me this.  In fact, quite the opposite:  I am used to being the baby of the group.

This week I have been called old for making a reference to Charlie Brown, which I thought was universal and transcended ages.

I've been called attractive... for my age.  (A compliment is a compliment...?)

And I am nominated as driver for a group of us renting a car, as the oldest one.  And other things.

Now, you all know I'm just playing and whining for fun.  I know I'm not that old.  And even if I am, I'm quite happy with it.  All my experiences serve me well.  I am quite content to be an old, experienced person.  People have always called me an old soul.  Well and good, then.  Seanbhean Kirstie.  And that's all I have for the week, heh.

Enjoy a beautiful sunset from the Prom in front of my building.  Hopefully not the sunset of my life, in my venerable state, eh? ;)

Devil's Bridge (Pontarfynach)

So, last Saturday, Ishbel and I took the train out to Devil's Bridge.  Its a lovely little steam train, and the line leaves from Aberystwyth's downtown area and goes though some beautiful Welsh countryside for an hour before arriving at the Devil's Bridge station.

The Engine

Example of some of the countryside we went through.  In the centre, distant, you can see Bryn y Castell, which (according to my guidebook!) is the site of an early fortification.  The train goes by here.

Upon good recommendation from a friend, I opted to stay out for the day, rather than attempt to rush everything in an hour and catch the first train back.  It turns out for the best; the big walk you can do there is a ~45min hike, which you basically can't do the whole thing in time to make the first train.  So we got to take our time.

The first set of falls you get to see in the Rheidol Gorge is the Mynach Falls.  This is where the river Mynach spills down the gorge to join with the Rheidol river.  The Rheidol is one of the rivers that runs through/into Aberystywth (the other being the Ystwyth).  The Ystwyth, though namesake of the town, doesn't actually run through the town - it skirts around it and spills into the harbour.  I will have to get pictures of that area one of these days.

Mynach Falls

A "pot-hole" in the bed of the Mynach.

The set of stairs referred to as Jacob's Ladder on the descent into the valley on the hike.  They were VERY steep.  Ishbel could be two stairs behind me and be at level with my hip, and the treads were not very wide.

Wandering through, you get some spray in the face (and camera lens) from the falls, but it was one of the most lovely walks I've done.  There's a grotto (which was difficult to get a picture of) that is the remains of what was once a cave where some sibling highwaymen hid out with their loot until their capture and execution.  The cave was partially destroyed so no one else could use it as a hideout in the future.

Climbing the steep steps - she had a rough time but did it anyways!

Up-close of the waterfalls, on the ascent of the walk.

After the first 45 minute loop, we did the short loop where you get a great view of the 3 bridges that give the location its name.  As the legend goes, there was an old woman whose cow was stuck on the other side of the river Mynach.  Because the gorge was so steep, she didn't know how to get it back.  So she made a deal with the Devil, who offered to build a bridge across the gorge in exchange for the soul of the first living thing to cross it - assuming it would be the woman herself.  The old woman agreed to this deal, but tossed a crust of bread across the bridge first so her dog would run across after it, thus leaving the Devil stuck with the dog's soul instead of the woman's.

Discussion with friends has decided we wish to amend this legend.  As it makes little sense that the cow could cross the river but the woman could not, one friend of mine theorizes that perhaps the old woman was engaging in the long-time Celtic tradition of cattle raiding, and it wasn't actually her cow in the first place.  I am inclined to think this is a fantastic thought, and while not part of the original legend, I am quite happy keeping it in my mind.  Another friend also chimes in that he's pretty sure the Devil would soon be fed-up of all the dog's licking, and send it back.  Ishbel approves of this theory, as she couldn't imagine how I could possibly let the Devil take her from me.  Obviously the old woman's dog wasn't nearly as cute as mine, right?

The three bridges - the original bridge that inspired the legend is on the bottom.

The lowest bridge is thought to have been built by monks from the Strata Florida abbey, in the 1100s.  The second bridge (in the middle) was built around 1708, and the top bridge was constructed near the beginning of the 20th century, and strengthened in the early 1970s.

I love to observe water erosion - the gorge here was all smoothed out in rounded areas.

*raspberry*

...What?

Walks and Socs

As promised, on the next sunny day (this past Friday), Ishbel and I went up the mountain at the end of the promenade in town.  It is named Constitution Hill, but everyone calls it "Consti."  After a brief chat with my flatmates about my plans to go up there - wherein I was advised that the hill was a hell of a climb - I decided to take the train up, and walk down.  When it was opened originally in 1896, the cliff-side railway was powered by a "water-balance" system, which means that as one of the two cars went down the hill, it pulled the other car up.  It has since been converted to electricity.  So Ishbel and I hopped into the train and rode up.  It was a lot of fun - short though it was - and a novel experience.  I'm glad I was lazy and took the train.

In the next three pictures you get a sense of how steep the hill was that the train climbs.  And it runs every few minutes.  I passed the descending train and waved at the people riding it down.

Looking down at the track we've already covered.

Ishbel has no idea what this strange contraption was, but she was excited to be along for the ride.

Looking up to the top once we were near.

Once up, you are way above the rest of Aberystwyth and can see for miles.  It says on a clear day you can see all the way to the tallest mountain in Wales - Snowdon - off in the north.  I don't think it was quite clear enough for us to see that, but we did get a beautiful whole-town view of Aberystwyth and could see out through parts of Cardigan Bay.

View of town, and the rare sunshine

A close-up of the Old College (left), the runs of Aberystwyth Castle (center), and the War Memorial from WWI (right).

Once at the top there are some things you can do - apart from admiring the breathtaking view.  There are more activities in the summer, when the weather is nicer and there are more tourists in Aber, but there are year-round activities too.  There is a cafe and bar, which hosts events and apparently is a nice little steakhouse on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evenings.  There is bowling you can reserve, an arcade, frisbee golf, and a camera obscuras - you can see things birds-eye-view up close and personal.  I looked longingly at the frisbee golf nets, but had neither a frisbee nor another player with me.  I also passed on the camera for this trip.  I did, however, grab lunch at the cafe.

This is the camera obscuras - one of the largest in the world, apparently!

The only "activity" I did was get food.

Following a lovely lunch that I drew out for some time while reading my Kindle, which I had the foresight to pack along, Ishbel and I walked back down.  The walk down was nice - and I only slipped once, which, for someone as clumsy as me, is saying something.  Ishbel was gracious enough to sit down on the hill behind me as if we'd stopped for a sit intentionally.  She's so thoughtful.

Part-way down the hill, I stopped and snapped what is likely to become one of my favourite pictures.  When I return home, I'll print this big and frame it.

At strategic viewing points along the climb, there are benches.  I would certainly be thankful of them on the way up.  As it was, I didn't need to stop.  However, I was able to grab a couple who were sitting on one bench and get the to take this picture of me (gasp!) in front of town, to prove that I am indeed here, and not just Ishbel.

Not too bad, I suppose...

On to 'socs,' which is short for 'society.'  This bothers me a bit, as it is pronounced 'sock,' which doesn't fit 'society,' but it's not my word so I have to go with it.  I am thus far involved in the Tarot and Meditation Soc, and Aber Archers Club (sports groups are clubs, where as other interest groups are socs).  As previously mentioned, I did attend one fencing club event, but I think I've ruled that it is not for me at this point in time.  I am tossing around the idea of going to the Scottish Reeling soc event tonight; it's something I want to do, but I'm feeling a decided lack of confidence in my ability.  Plus, it means going back up the big hill, which I have already done once today.

I successfully navigated the big library this morning and found a book I need to read part of for class.  I feel quite accomplished having done that.  On the other hand, I also have a cold, which is not a good feeling.  Oh well.  Cold or not, I helped my team win pub quiz for the second week in a row last night.  Huzzah!

Cheers.

Service Dogs and Drowning

No, no one drowned.  Yet.  Unless you count the fact that I'm currently so far underwater in my modern Irish class, I am not sure I can see the surface.  Due to scheduling, we met for the first time this week.  I was thinking I was doing pretty well in my classes (I'm taking great and possibly perverse pleasure in Old Irish, which is considered to be one of the hardest languages out there.) as far as level of comprehension.  Until yesterday.

Yesterday was the first meeting of Modern Irish.  Keep in mind, just because I have more Irish than the majority of my readers (since I think I can count you all on one hand...), doesn't mean I know much Irish in the overall scheme of things.  I know more French than Irish, but I haven't used that in years, and it doesn't by any stretch mean I have a great level of proficiency.  So I go to my Irish class, and by now I've met the other girls before (there are 4 of us doing the Masters in Irish, all girls.), and have even hung out a bit.  Even inducted into a secret somewhat socialistic local Welsh society with one (???  More details later, as I learn what it actually is I've gotten myself into!).  One of them has done some Irish and Welsh, but it has been a couple years and she is rusty.  One has just completed an undergrad degree at Cambridge in Irish, I believe, but focusing on the Old, Middle, and Early Modern varieties.  (For comparison in English, think about reading Beowulf, Chaucer, and Shakespeare in their original form.  Though all English, it's not exactly what we speak now, so you study and treat it almost as another language.)  The other did her undergrad here in Irish, and spent a year in the Gaeltacht in Ireland, I believe, so she's pretty competent....

... and then there is me.  I have a BA in Literary Studies.  My Irish is self/group taught with my beloved DFW Gaelic League, but... níl agam ach beagán Gaeilge (I only have a little Irish).  I most certainly am not on par with these amazing women.  I got to class yesterday and had my butt handed to me.

It was extremely humbling and a very unfamiliar feeling.  I feel like I've landed myself in a calculus classroom without the benefit of knowing any algebra.  Sure, I can add, subtract, multiply, and divide, but what is this "integral" you speak of?  So I'm hoping the professor can help me work something out.  Second class is tomorrow, so I shall go drown at least once more.


On a more exciting note, last night I got invited out after fencing, which the jury is out on whether or not I shall continue.  My... ah... lovely lady lumps were more problematic than anticipated, despite the warning I should have taken from Busty Girl Comics:

Anyways.  I thought it was an Irish language practice group meetup (it met before I got there?), but it turns out it was a musical get-together.  Take turns singing/playing/reciting, no judgement.  Good company, good music.  Not knowing what I was getting myself into, I had gone home beforehand to check up on Ishbel, and decided to take her with me to the bar.  She is a service dog, after all, and adorable.  So off we went.  I got my pint, and went up and found a chair, and promptly had a dog in my lap.  She sat there the whole night - and seemed to make me more approachable to people, as I had at least 3 people come say 'hi' to her.  When it came around to my turn - I had no idea such a thing would happen and was completely unprepared, mind you! - I gave a rather shoddy rendition of "I'se the B'y", a cappella, and quickly passed the torch to someone else.  However, a couple of other people knew it and joined me for the chorus, which made it go faster and slightly less nerve-wracking.  Someone I know did a lovely couple of songs on banjo, and another friend did "Red is the Rose," which I adore.  It is a lovely traditional song, plus when I worked at the renaissance festival the first year, there was a performer who did this (among others) outside our shop at least once a day.  There was also a man who did a most beautiful song in Breton (another Celtic language) that is intended to be in rounds, but he would only sing a few.  Lovely voice, beautiful song. Since we had mutual friends, we are now connected on Facebook and I am leaning into him to teach us the song so we can sing with him.  Exciting.   All the while, Ishbel was an absolute angel.  Her service-dog-ness also came in handy this morning; yesterday I was graciously forewarned that there would be an 8am fire drill today for my building.  So we got up a little early to be ready.  She barked and jumped in my face when the alarm went off.  Such a good girl.

Being a service dog is hard work.

Cheers for now; I ought to sleep so I am bright eyed and bushy tailed for lectures tomorrow.

Why Mouth Talk?

It occurred to me today that, while I have explained the logic (in my head) behind the name Mouth Talk to some people in person, I haven't said anything on here.  So, without further hesitation, this is why I wanted to call it mouth talk.

At my first Irish Immersion day with the DFW Gaelic League, I learned a goofy tidbit that latched onto me immediately and has yet to relinquish its hold.  We were discussing (and by we, I mean the instructor was discussing and the rest of us were trying to look wise and understanding) the evolution of certain words in the Irish language.  Particularly, we got to talking about the world for English, Bearla, and where it comes from. He was telling us that it was a bastardization of the words béal, for mouth, and ra (in older forms of Irish; this is not the word now), for talk (or something related).  It was called this because the Irish didn't consider English to be a proper language; it was a pidgin language made up of bits from many languages, evolving as the British Isles were invaded repeatedly.  There are bits of language from the Celtic peoples that populate parts of the Isles, as well as language from the Romans, Saxons, Angles, Jutes, Normans, and everyone that traded with the people living here.

Additionally, if you'd like to learn more about this language evolution in a concise, 10 minute Youtube video, watch this.  Funny and informative!  Huzzah!

Anyways, the point of this was that the Irish did not consider English a "real" language, it was just a bunch of mouth talk.  Eventually, this evolved into Béarla being the Irish word for English.  I got a kick out of this, so much so that I decided as soon as I'd heard that that I would someday start a blog entitled Mouth Talk, which would detail my adventures (and misadventures, as are sure to happen) in Celtic Studies, particularly Irish.

So there you have it; my twisted logic for the title of the blog.  Oh, and why Ishbel's Adventures?  She's adorable, that's why.

Next good weather day when I have time, I will go up that hill for pictures.

Everything Old is New Again

Quick post; a couple pictures and something that made me laugh.

A slice of what's left of Aberystwyth castle.  One of my classmates informed me that William I (I think?) was responsible for building this.  It was one of many strongholds around Wales, and intended for the English to try to get a strong foothold in Wales and force the Welsh to be less... well, Welsh.  Needless to say that didn't work out so well.

The view of my end of the prom from the other end, by Old College.  I'm in the housing there on the water.

Ishbel adventures!!  Here, she poses in front of the beautiful Old College of Aberystwyth, where my department is housed.  There's not much down there; most of the campus is up the hill.  There is apparently pushing and talks to move all classes out of the old college and up to main campus, but needless to say there is some rebellion against this.  Obviously, some is from our department, which doesn't want to move.  Additionally, the law department would have to move somewhere else for Welsh to move to main campus, and they want nothing to do with it.  And since they're lawyers/aspiring lawyers...   Hopefully it doesn't have to move; Old College is lovely.  Except for the ridiculously inconsistent heating.

Walking around what's left of the old castle.  Ishbel just poses so well.

Another view of Old College, from the castle this time.  I like the fancy window.

In my Old Irish class, there came up a discussion about medieval ciphers used by scribes copying manuscripts.  Various groups/individuals would use certain shorthand phrases as code for other words:  My favourite example given us was:   .v.v.  for Dáibhí, which is an Irish name (Anglicized equivalent being Dave, Davey, something like that.  Those of you who study Irish will get a giggle out of why, the rest of you will likely be bewildered.  .v.v. has 2 V's, yes?  And in Irish, that would be dhá 'v', which phonetically is pretty close to Dáibhí.  Another example would be B8 as short for bocht (poor); 8 is ocht, so ... yeah.  Like in English, using B4 instead of before.  It reminds me of the Dallas Conradh na Gaeilge talking about modern Irish text-speak including things like an8 for anocht (tonight).  Everything old is new again.  Sometimes it just takes a few centuries to get it back around.  Now, why can't we have medieval and renaissance attire make a comeback, instead of another round of the 1980s?  The bling rappers wear isn't too far off of old chains of office...

See 21st Century?  You just thought you were being unique and creative with shorthand text speak.  But the joke's on you - medieval scribes beat you to it.

Ishbel laughs at the notion that anything is truly new, especially in language.

Somewhat Settled

Noswaith dda!  (Good Evening!)

I've now been in town for a solid 50 hours, and finally gotten a plug adapter so that I can use my computer (huzzah!) without fear of it dying on me in the middle of something important.

Successfully purchased sheets and towels, so I feel much more settled than before.  Have been to my first lecture, and enjoyed it.  It was my Welsh Language course, which was fun.  Anyone who has studied any Celtic language knows this, but there is a particular thing that happens in them: mutations on words.  In Irish, this takes form as séimhiú and urú; lenition and eclipsis respectively.  Without getting too specific, you add a letter to certain words if they meet certain conditions (usually what words are preceding it).  Welsh has these too; all 6 extant Celtic languages do (though I am unsure, I'm willing to bet the extinct Gaulish language does too).  So after class, when I booked it to the Welsh bookstore (pun intended!!) to pick up a copy of the textbook - which, I got the only one; while I was paying 10 of my classmates filed in and had to order theirs. I suppose that is the benefit to not having really met anyone yet...?  I mean, I've met a couple people, but some connections already seem to have been formed, and I'm not there yet.  Soon.  The point of this was to say I bought a mutations chart, thinking how helpful that would have been a year and a half ago with Irish.  Perhaps I'll make one.  I don't yet have enough Welsh to understand the chart, but presumably that will change rather quickly.

I am registered for classes, so hurrah for that.  Finding my way around town is getting easier; though my feet and legs are NOT used to this much walking.  I had to hike up the big hill (and that's what everyone calls it, not just me) to the main campus today.  My housing is down on the seafront - in fact, I can hear the waves crashing all day.  Peaceful.  the tide appears to be coming in now, even.  One of my flatmates informed me that he is jealous of my room having an ocean view, if for no other reason than he says it is hysterical to watch joggers on the promenade in front of the beach get hit by waves.  He says this happens particularly during storms, when the unsuspecting (usually freshmen) jogger is going along when the tide is high and waves are lashing the shore.  He says he's seen - more than once - people get hit by waves coming crashing in over the sea wall.  In winter, apparently, sometimes people have to move their cars instead of parking there, as rocks and such may come up.  I believe it - there was seaweed out there today, after a not-particularly roiling evening last night - we got sprayed a bit coming back from the store last night.

As you can see, the sea wall is fairly high.  This picture was taken mid-afternoon yesterday, during a brief moment of sunshine.  Ishbel gallantly posed for the camera for me.  There was a surfer out there today in the bay when the tide was about the same as pictured here.  It's quite intense.  The last ocean I spent much time on was the Pacific, back when we lived in BC's lower mainland.  I imagined it would be peaceful and a dramatic high-low tide comparison like it is in White Rock, but it's not the same.  Much bigger waves here - I'm not sure how well you could surf off the Peace Arch area, but you sure could here!!

Here's a bit of a view of the rest of town, from the promenade in front of my house.  The large, imposing structure just left of centre is the Old College.  The main campus is up a BIG hill, somewhat removed from town.  The Old College, however, is the home of the Department of Welsh, so that's where my lectures will be.  Not so hard to get to.

This is my building.  While it may LOOK like each of us should be so lucky as to have one of those entire windows to ourselves, they're actually split, and I got the short end of the stick on that.  I have a small - even a bit small by British standards, according to the lady at reception - room, with a "pod" ensuite.  I am told that when they renovated the building -as it is old - they put these pod systems in that have shower/toilet/sink all built in, and didn't care much if the room was really big enough.  I mean, it fits, but it's sure cozy!!  The showers are not conducive to large people - I had to turn sideways and bend down a bit to wash my hair.  This will be a humbling year, and I am already looking forward to a proper bath when I get back to wonderful, expansive North America after this adventure.

In other news... I must have stressed enough over the last month to lose enough weight that none of my pants fit.  I ought to find a belt, as it's killing me to have to stop constantly and pull them up.  Embarrassing... but, not altogether bad, I suppose?

Cheers!