Wales, autumnal

September, 2008

Llandudno

A well-preserved Victorian seaside resort on the Irish sea for the working class. The fine old hotels attest to a previously more upmarket clientele.

Affluent Britons in this global century no doubt prefer a Mediterranean, Caribbean, or American holiday.

Little has changed here, though, and one can picture the smartly dressed ladies and gents in period clothing, having escaped by train or carriage from soot-filled Manchester, Liverpool, or Birmingham.

There is a well-worn charm here, and the coast is lovely. Welsh can be heard spoken by the eldest, most well-worn passerbyes. They are windblown.

A walk leads up a rocky promontory to an old stone chapel and graveyard, along with a kitschy summit attraction. This is complete with ski lift, screaming kids, and a video arcade. The views from the top, however, are spectacular. Snowdonia looms dark and foreboding to the south, and the gray, moody Irish sea spreads beneath. Llandudno itself looks picturesque from high, its promenade appearing as a tableau of another era, between verdant welsh hills.

There is always a wistful air at the British places of a nobler time. Perhaps the same could be said of Newport, Rhode Island, or parts of the New Jersey shore. In this early - autumn northern sunshine, all basks in a slanted golden glow.

Or, perhaps an afterglow. Britain - empire, collector of the world, ruler of the high seas, never conquered. Britain of common law and liberal economics and orderly livelihood.

Will America too become such a faded photograph? A black and white snapshot, flag held high, Atlas holds the fire of the developed world. And the West reigns triumphant. Dated: September 11, 2001.

Will what is left of our working and middle classes pick and bargain shop their way through the ruined grandeur of our places of past escape and pleasure?

Loss is not an American trait. We were caught with our pants down on 9/11/01- exposed, naked. But loss is something that a Briton is born with. Lost colonies, lost empire, lost innocence. Old money decayed to crumbling walls and an ageless old woman, dressed in her tea-time finest, peering out wearily from a window on the top floor of the Grand Hotel. She takes her tea. What is it she sees out there?