After weeks and weeks of clouds, I had finally come to the concrete conclusion that anyone who has even the slightest hint of color in their skin in the UK must definitely frequent a tanning bed. And then, Wales decided to shock (and delight) me with not two, not three, but FIVE bright sunny days in a row. It has to be some kind of miracle. 

So this has probably played a leading role in my obsessive love for Wales. I’m seriously considering learning Cymraeg (Welsh) to express my gratitude to Llyr, the Welsh god of weather

Other factors that have helped, however, include the charming sing-songy accent, the delicious cheeses, the castle, and the clubs.

The major plus for Wales, though, is that I’ve been able to smugly bask in pride over USA soccer’s glorious victory and first-place finish in Group C, away from the masses of the red-shirted rabid England fans.  Even the bitter and blasphemous British press (writes The Guardian: “Bill Clinton was at this game, probably reflecting for 92 minutes that he scored more often than this lot”) can’t irk me here.

This lucky strike can't last forever though. And so I'm off to Bath to see if its Roman gods will treat me as nicely as the Welsh deities did. I do love me some bubbles, so I'm feeling optimistic.

 One of my favorite ways of getting to know a city is drunk people-watching. It's an art. Sure, the daylight and tourist attractions are great and all that, but the best dirt is dug up post 9pm. You can really learn a lot about a place by how its citizens act when the sun goes down and the beer bottles crack open.

Continued…