Читать книгу Travels in an Old Tongue: Touring the World Speaking Welsh - Pamela Petro - Страница 32

Gare du Nord: Marguerite and I flip to see who will have to sit backwards on the train from Paris to Rotterdam. I lose.

By the Belgian border things are really steaming up in Y Trip, though my progress – about ten minutes on each page – is as laborious as ever. I check my Welsh-English dictionary to make sure I’ve understood what I just read: Gorffenodd y ferch ddu ei dawns yn gwisgo’r neidr yn unig. The black girl finished her dance wearing only the snake. Useful vocabulary, I’ve no doubt, for chit-chat with the St David’s Society of the Netherlands.

Sharing our compartment are Rick and his mom. Rick is from San Francisco; his mom, whose wig is slightly off-kilter, from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. They are incredulous that we missed the Bastille Day celebrations last night.

‘We danced in the streets at a gay ball on the Rive Gauche,’ Rick’s mom tell us proudly.

‘Did you know that a translation of “The Marseillaise” was published in Welsh in 1796?’ I ask, diverting attention from the fact that we spent last evening ironing children’s clothes.