Hannah Johnson: Conwy, Wales

After bidding the Emerald Isle farewell on October 10th, our little group of pilgrims set sail on a ferry bound for Wales–fittingly situated smack dab between Ireland and England. The sleepy, rugged beauty of the Welsh landscape quickly stole little pieces of our hearts as we sat transfixed by Conwy unfolding before us through our coach windows. In the morning we made our way down the hill from our hostel to explore the loveliness of this tiny town encircled by a medieval wall, overshadowed by a castle, and outlined by an ocean-feeding river. The homey scent of salt air ushered us in as we canvased the main points of interest: an Elizabethan manor called Plas Mawr, the 14th century Aberconwy House, the gravesite that sparked William Wordsworth’s “We Are Seven” poem, the Smallest House in Great Britain, and Conwy Castle. Conwy is an enchanting place.

However, as we walked around–entranced by the loveliness of time gone by mingled with tea and the sea–history caught up to me. The charming castle and its surrounding walls rising high above the merchant village became, in light of the town's troubled past, dimmer than the fairytale-laced images that originally ran through my head. As magnificent and inviting as Conwy is now, it was once a place of exclusivity and strife. The lovely walkable city walls that remind me so much of our first England Semester home in York have their own history of separating the “us” from the “them.” During the later part of the 13th century, Edward I of England set out to gain Wales as a conquest. Conwy is living proof of this land-grabbing mission; the walls of the city were constructed for the very purpose of keeping the Welsh at arms length in their own land. The weight of this discovery made every Welsh craft/gift/trinket/pub/tea shop a little victory in and of itself. Here was a town that once shunned everything connected to the Welsh identity fully embracing its birthright.

Additionally, while we were in town, we had the incredible privilege of spending time with Lord Roberts, an esteemed member of Parliament and a local to Conwy. In the opening lines of his discussion with us, Lord Roberts mentioned the tension of Conwy’s past and present by making a lighthearted joke about how the English may have built Conwy up to flaunt their dominance, but English tourists now make up the main source of the town’s revenue. (Somehow I doubt Edward I would approve.) Later, as I looked out from a chink in a wall of the castle that day, I could see Wales splayed out before me–green hills unfurling in the horizon like the bottom half of the Welsh flag–each part stubbornly beautiful and completely Welsh.