LoC #12: Sometimes the Funny is Hard to Find

I was introduced to young man from the western United States yesterday. His teacher matter-of-factly said that I was a friend from college, who now lives in Wales. The look of confusion on the otherwise intelligent lad's face only started to dissipate when it was explained that it (Wales) was 'next to England'. I would have been shocked, appalled, frustrated, maybe even amused – if it wasn't for the fact that nobody, and I mean NOBODY, knows anything about Wales. When I mention where I live, I invariably have to explain the following things:

1. No, I don't know Prince Charles (or Princess Di). Or the Queen. Or Benny Hill. Or any other famous British person you might think of.
   
2. There is no 'H' in 'Wales'.
   
3. It's not 'in' or 'the same as' England… I usually ask the American whether he's happy to be called Canadian (or vice versa) to make this point.
   
4. We have running water, electricity and wear underwear (most of the time).
   
5. Yes, they speak funny here. Learning to pronounce places like 'llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch' takes quite a bit of time, practice and beer.
   

I guess it's not completely surprising. I mean, Wales isn't even recognised in the British flag – St. David's Cross is the only cross not included in the Union Jack – so if it's not given its props at home, why should anyone know about it abroad? But when you consider that Wales, as much as any of its Celtic cousins, has a rich, colourful past, connections to some of the most famous and powerful people in history, its own language and a legitimate claim to the discovery of the New World, it begs the question: why not Wales?

I can go into any major (and many minor) cities in the world and find my way easily to the local Irish pub – I know because I've done it. From Prague's Rocky O'Reilly's to O'Blarney's Pub back home. Irish pubs are as predictable as they are ubiquitous; anywhere you go, you're bound to find decent food, great banter, at least one good looking Irish waitress and a healthy mix of Irish tunes on the jukebox – from Enya to U2, B*Witched to Van Morrison. We all know about St. Patrick's Day, Leprechauns and the Gift of the Gab. You can't go many places in the world without seeing a shamrock; the Irish are everywhere.

And the Scots…? It's safe to say that films like The Highlander, Trainspotting and Braveheart, for better or for worse, put some idea of Scotland on the map. But even before then, you had John Logie Baird, Alexander Graham-Bell, Robert Burns, Lord Byron, Robert Louis Stevenson and, of course, Mary Queen of Scots. We all know about bagpipes and kilts, haggis and William Wallace. The Scots aren't nearly as famous as the Irish, but they still far surpass the Welsh in terms of worldwide notoriety.

So what's the deal? Why do Ireland and Scotland shine so brightly on the world stage, while Wales sits quietly in the corner, plucking is daffodil and munching on bara brith? It's not a question of culture or lack of national heroes. Scotland may have had the help of Hollywood and the support of literature to boost its international profile, but Wales has a rich, ambitious and bloody history worthy of any tinsel town epic. King Arthur…? Merlin…? Welsh! You could argue that Ireland's spud-fuelled diaspora sent them to the far corners of the Earth, spreading their legs, songs, art and beer along the way. But Wales was out there, too, sowing its seed in pre- and post colonial America, laying the foundation of constitutional democracy long before the hungry Irish arrived. Lewis and Clark confirmed the legends in the American midwest. If I had to pick the two things that have kept Wales in the shadows of its Gaelic brothers and sisters, the first would have to be an echo of the warcry of the recently much-maligned Mel Gibson. In a word, what Wales lacks most, is freedom.

Unlike the Irish and the Scots, both of whom managed to shake off the shackles of English rule to some degree, Wales has never been able to organise itself enough to go it alone. The Republic of Ireland, of course, gained its independence in 1921 and Scotland, while still part of Great Britain, re-established its own devolved law-making parliament in 1999. Wales has a parliament with some power, but for all intents and purposes, is still governed from Westminster. Repeated attempts at independence have all failed, except for the short rule of Owain Glyndwr, whose reign of an independent Wales ended with his disappearance in 1412. Wales, geographically isolated and relatively poor in marketable natural resources spends its days ticking over as a peaceful and obedient principality, despite a long-standing and deep animosity for the English crown.

The other barrier to getting to know, and to love, the Welsh is the one of the very things that makes them unique: the language. Welsh is a true isolationist tongue, having no romantic or Germanic antecedent - except, or course for the Wenglish that has crept in during modern times. We can all probably guess what a 'Tacsi' is, and that 'dim parcio' means 'no parking'. And then there's the modern classics like 'popty ping' which has replaced 'ffwrn meicrodon' as the word for 'microwave'. But, ultimately, Welsh (of which there are at least two distinct dialects) is pretty inaccessible to the western tongue. With 28 letters, including some real hum-dingers like 'Ll and Ff', it's unlike anything most of us will have heard before, and despite being the language of the bards, not very musical to the untrained ear. And whereas Irish and Scottish Gaelic are part of their respective heritages, Welsh is very much part of Wales' present, and very much tied into what it means to be Welsh. And I suppose you can't really blame them… the English did their best to stamp out the language, and to no small extent, the current vitality of the language is a testament to the durability of the people. So they've fought hard and proud to keep Welsh alive – maybe even at the cost of promoting themselves to the rest of the world.

Then again, maybe that was the plan all along. Most of Wales, unknown to most of the rest of the world, remains largely unspoilt in a rural expanse of winding roads, pristine coastlines and snow-capped mountains. Sheep outnumber the people, and I live in a village where people stop to say 'good morning' (or 'bore da') and bring you ice cream cones when they've noticed that you've been working in your garden all day. Even the capital of Cardiff is intimate and understated - a friendly place that doesn't seem that bothered whether you know about it or not, but will welcome you if you should chance to stumble upon her. You can't help but wonder whether Wales, as one of the world's best kept secrets, is that way by luck or by design… and whether anyone here really cares that you can't walk into a tacky Welsh pub in downtown Albuquerque. Maybe, just maybe, the country, like the language, is for the purists, and for those of us who don't mind making the effort to get to know her. This St. David's Day (March 1), celebrate the anonymity of Wales by joining me a pint of Brains' best while we sing a verse or two of 'Sospan Fach'. lechyd da!