Eisoes Wedi'i Weld WC 294

Eisoes Wedi'i Weld
WC 294

My husband and I were on our first trip to the United Kingdom. We decided to go on our own instead of booking a tour.

We got settled into our hotel, a converted castle on the outskirts of the town of Ruthin. We hiked to Ruthin, only to discover the shops were closed.

“Here we are in magical Wales, at night, in the rain, with nothing to do. Maybe the tour would have been a good idea,” I said.

John and I were standing on Clwyd Street in this quaint town.

“The pubs are open,” John said. “BOAR’S HEAD. Looks promising.”

We bellied up to the worn wooden bar, dripping a bit, and prayed the barkeep spoke English.

“Is there anything fun going on tonight?” I asked.

“Nac wyt, fenyw,” he answered.

“We’re in trouble,” my husband mumbled.

“Just funnin’ ya’. Nothin doin’. Fancy a pint?”

Something in his voice triggered a memory.

“I’m in. Chloe, fancy a pint?” John said.

I’ve been here before.

“Chloe?”

“Sounds good.”

“What’s wrong, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“John, I’ve been here before.”

The barkeep brought our drinks.

“Eisoes wedi'i weld?” he asked.

“We don’t understand Welsh, sir,” John said.

For some reason, I did.

“He said déjà vu.”

“How do you know that, honey?”

“I don’t know.”

The barkeep winked and moved on to another customer.

“When I was here, it was rowdy and smelled like wet wool and sweat,” I said, recalling.

“Are you okay?” John felt my forehead.

“Actually, I’m feeling at home, strange as that sounds.”

I sipped my ale…

So, we went there every night after that. Sean, the barkeep, kept the ale coming as I shared with my husband stories about my life in Wales in 1822.

Go figure.