10 years in Wales

In 2014, I moved to Wales. And I looked up when exactly; it was the 28th of March. So by now I have lived a full 10 years in Wales. The longest I have lived anywhere since Amsterdam! Now I write that, I realised it means I didn't live very long in the only three places I lived in between: Tromsø, Plymouth and York. But still.

I didn't really know what to expect when I came to Wales! I had been to the area before, several times; both with the Plymouth cavers (in 2012 and 2013) and the YCC (in 2013), so I knew it was very beautiful. But that doesn't mean you know what your life will be like there. And I came on a contract that was two years of research and eight months of teaching. But I ended up staying much longer than that, obviously.

I am glad I got the opportunity to finally put some roots down somewhere. So I am glad I am in the opportunity to celebrate these 10 years.

Was it all good? No, of course not. I struggled to make friends. And after five years, all sorts of shit started to hit the fan: misogyny, lockdown, RSI, threat of redundancy. I haven't quite managed to get back to the state I was in before that all happened. Let alone improve on the situation as it was then. But my RSI isn't anywhere as bad as it was, I have a beautiful cat now, and after seven years I got myself some friends I hang out with quite a lot.

I don't think I can blame Wales for any of that. It did provide me with beautiful landscapes in which I can distance myself from bad things that happen. More than one can shake a stick at! And it will do that until I can't enjoy them any more, for whatever reason. And it gave me a house of which I already own more than the mortgage provider, and which I made a home. That is quite a lot. Thank you Wales.