The weekend after our day out in London at Harrods and the Christmas markets, we went on a mini-break weeked (minus Hugh Grant and a bunny costume). We went to Wales for the rugby union match between the Welsh and the Wallabies. I picked up a couple of Aussie girls on the way, and stayed with the family.
The atmosphere at Millenium Stadium is unbelievable. There were 70 000+ people there, the vast majority of them Welsh (naturally). There were small pockets of Aussies around the stadium, and it was very pleasing to still be able to hear them on occasion! I was a bit mixed up over who to support in the end. I wore my Welsh jersey, knowing that I'd be sitting with 4 members of my family, not that you'd have known it because it was SO COLD, and I only unzipped my coat for a few moments at the time. I accessorised with a green and gold beanie and an Aussie flag tattoo. This covered all bases, even though in my head I'd been planning on supporting Wales.
This photo was taken about 2 minutes into the game. One guy from each team was hurt. The Welsh guy got up first, and played on for a few minutes with what turned out to be a skull fracture. The guy is apparently a medical student - note to self, don't go to see a doctor in Wales!
It turns out that it's hard to switch off the innate need to support Australia. My cousin thinks that I was supporting whichever team was winning at the time (and in the end it was a Welsh victory). Really, I just didn't know who to support, so I cheered on anything and everything - made especially hard because of my inability to understand the rules of the game! AFL I understand, rugby league I understand, rugby union, not so much. I think it's all about stacks on and man love. I would never voice this opinion in the middle of a packed stadium; I value my life.
We wandered around Cardiff for a little bit before heading back up the mountain on the train. It was really just too cold to stay outside! I'd heard all about the singing and whatnot that takes place on the trains on the way home from matches, but we didn't see it to start off with. We stopped part of the way home for dinner (best Chinese buffet EVER - namely because we were freezing cold and starving), and then hopped on another train. Jackpot! Drunken revellers! Drunken Welsh singing!
It's hard enough to understand Welsh when the person saying it is sober - vowels are in existence for a reason! Add alcohol and singing, and it's just noise. Apparently they were singing the words wrong anyway, and they were certainly not on key, but they were enthusiastic nevertheless! We managed to have them singing Waltzing Matilda before we left them (and it was the clean version, even though we'd struggled momentarily to remember the words to it!). Success!!
The next morning we departed the Rhondda, and made our way to the Big Pit in Blaenavon. I'd been there before, back in April, and loved it. I'd told Tamara about it, and promised to take her if we ever went to Wales, so down we went. It was a slightly different tour this time, and didn't cover as much as the last one (probably because our guide this time looked ready to have a heart attack any moment). He told a few different stories though, so it was still good value.
After a brief lunch stop, we hit the road. Another successful weekend road trip!
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