"I'm so hungry I could eat a nun's arse through a convent fence" and other gems from the Irish

Yesterday I went on a day-long road trip. It was sort of last minute. My Canadian-Swiss classmate Karen is studying alternative communities for her dissertation, and she and my Irish classmate Sinead were planning to drive out to investigate some of these communities. For some reason, they invited Dan and me along for the trip.

Coed Hills Rural Artspace is an artists' commune. We wandered through the woods out back, squishing through the January Welsh mud, to check out the art installations. What I found more interesting than the art was the toilet situation. Out in the woods was a "tree bog," a throne made of smallish sticks (wicker-looking, I suppose, but materials are not my area of expertise) where one can poo. The sign on the side gave instructions for sitting, pooing, and tossing some sand on top when finished. No peeing in the tree bog; one should use an actual tree. The other toilet area had a poo area and a pee area. It was closer to the gardens. Apparently putting composted poo on vegetables is not recommended, but on fruit trees is ok. But composted poo is good for, um, reeds, I think, so that's where they put it.

Another interesting section was the potato-growing region. Because the difficult aspect of growing potatoes is digging them out of the ground, the communers at Coed Hills grow potatoes in old tires (tyres if you're British).

After the muddy wander, the members invited us in for leek and potato soup and some of the best homemade brown bread and hummus I've ever eaten. About five skinny dogs were wandering around inside the main communal room. Pretty polite and well-trained dogs--not one came to the food area while people were eating. Two young children dressed like hippies were running in circles, climbing on furniture, and giggling just like any other little kids.

After the visit, we drove through Bridgend and down to the sea. Every time I've seen the ocean here I've been amazed. There are generally huge imposing cliffs and violent wind, and the waves crash against the shore, tossing out a mist so light that I didn't notice it until I was walking back to the car and realized my lips were salty.

Over a hot chocolate in the local pub, we decided maybe we'd drive three hours to Liverpool. This plan lasted about 20 minutes, until we got near Cardiff, and then decided it would be much more reasonable to drive an hour to Bath for dinner and then go home. Bath is beautiful, and I think I can say so even though I only saw it at night. I wasn't very excited about going there before last night, but now that I've seen it, I am ready to go back. I expected it to be filled with chains and shitty restaurants, like Cardiff, and it isn't. There were loads of interesting restaurants and lots of attractive architecture, even if one cannot actually put her or his own body in the Roman baths.

I ate handmade spaghetti (plain and spinach) and meatballs with traditional red sauce and drank red wine and then we drove back to Cardiff and I slept for many hours.