The language of the visual
There's nothing like balancing precariously on the middle of a tree collapsed conveniently over a subzero stream, clinging on tight to thin air, enclosed by an incessant riot of Welsh greenery. I was on a mission to locate the city center, but I am easily distracted by intriguing things.
I know, I was there for a badminton tournament. But here's how I remember Cardiff, in bite-sized memory:
Perched on a table, legs dangling, the faces of the two chessplayers before me as expressionless as their pieces, as stark as the stoic squares on the chequered board. Wits pitched in soundless war, the battlefield crisscrossed with invisible lines of brutal strategy.
"Hi. Rachel?"
I was like, who are you.
"I read your blog. You really shouldn't mention that you're coming to Cardiff University to play badminton."
Shivering, constantly.
And ducking under fences and braving belligerent bracken, to acquire photographs. I'm proud of some of them, amused by others. Words just won't do, so I won't try.
On a completely unrelated note, I find the study of body language intriguing, not in the sense that I enjoy analyzing the living daylights out of the way someone stands or sits, but in the sense that the way people use their bodies is so universal that we can establish a "language" for it. A smile is a smile wherever you go...or is it?