
From the Travel Diary of Matuse Family Member Zach Plopper.
I made it to Wales from London, Heathrow with no issues other than I was exhausted and starving and I had to pee badly. The only thing I could do to rinse off the travel grime and relieve my bursting bladder was to go for my first surf of the trip. Wales isn’t the typical place of pilgrimage, but I have a home away from home there in the tiny town of Llantwit Major. Llantwit is home to some sick waves and my good friend, Wales’ best surfer, Nathan Phillips. On my first visit to the Welsh coastline in 2005, I spent a solid three weeks in little Llantwit. The Welsh are the nicest people on earth and I had no problem making loads of friends and getting to know and love the Welsh way of life. It was a fitting spot to start off my recent euro-tour.
I brought some southern California sun with me to a notoriously dreary corner of the world and was greeted by a decent ground swell and a good forecast. The first few days of my stay were blessed with warm air and epic conditions and Nathan and the Llantwit crew and I scored some of the secret slabs in the area. I quickly adjusted to the greasy Welsh breakfasts, driving on the left, liver-taxing evenings and the good cheer of Wales. Everyone smiles, everyone says hi and everyone is interested in who you are, where you came from and what the hell you are doing there. They thought I was out of my tree when I told them I was there to surf. “But doesn’t California have good waves?” they’d ask. “Yeah,” I’d reply, “…and girls and sunshine and just about anything you can dream of.”
California has just about everything that Wales doesn’t. But Wales has heaps of
stuff you’ll never find at home. There is no grass greener than grass in Wales (I’m talking about the kind you walk on). And when the sun shines everything goes into Technicolor. It doesn’t stay dry for very long there so everything glistens with just a dash of sunlight. Against the verdant backdrop of forests and meadows are crumbling reminders of long ago. Everywhere you turn there is a castle or a church or a pub that dates back to when our country was not even a faint conception in European’s minds. My favorite historic site in Wales is the Plough and Harrow Inn in Monknash. The 14th century monastery is now a pub…it has been for a few hundred years. Inn its fire-lit, cozy ambiance, you get lost amongst the stories of the local old farmers that come in every night to “try a few,” while sipping 11% ale and watching a bass cook in the fireplace. When you walk out of the Plough you are ready to hop in the carriage with a beer swigging friar and ride off to visit the king. To the locals in Wales the eons of history and its reminders are completely common place. But I was fascinated. I couldn’t drive a mile without pulling over and snapping a dozen or so pictures of a graveyard or ancient church or a crumbling pile of rocks. We don’t get that stuff at home.
A few days into my stay the swell ran out of steam and the weather became more typical. The sun went into its 8 month hibernation and the sky began to produce a steady flow of annoying drizzle. After a few days of swishing windshield wipers and sleeping in to 10am I decided it was time to depart my friends and the town of Llantwit Major and move on. Late-fall magic was waiting for me in Spain and Portugal. A story to be told another day.