Each year, after ITB Berlin, I head to Cardiff. Often, I am asked why because I guess the capital of Wales, UK, is not exactly on the tried-and-trodden path of cities to visit. Sometimes, I am asked where is Cardiff?
This to me is its appeal. In a universe which has gone so mainstream, it is simply nice to have a place that still somehow is in the slipstream of the global, flat world we now inhabit.
I found it refreshing that the taxi driver who drove me to the airport had never heard of Uber. And that I could have local delicacies like Welsh rarebit and cockles and bacon on laver bread in a place called The Potted Pig, or freshly-made Welsh cakes in artisan shops in Cardiff Bay.
But things are changing.
This year, I brought along my 21-year-old god-daughter – she is on student exchange in Bristol – and it was somewhat of a rude shock to realise I was not much older than her when I first came to Cardiff, and what had changed in just one generation.
Today, Kimberley can eat French or Italian, watch a lion dance in Cardiff Bay, shop at brands like Zara, Urban Outfitters, Top Shop and hang out in cool cafes where it’s more about the scene than the coffee.
Much like what she can do anywhere else really – well, maybe not the lion dance bit.
The thing she can’t do is eat in independent restaurants (there seems to be fewer and fewer of them in the city) and shop in independent stores. Everything seems to have been franchised. The same brands you see in London and elsewhere have taken over the downtown area and Cardiff Bay.
We ate at Cote Brasserie in Cardiff Bay and the first place we see in the city is Cote Brasserie. Carlucci’s has also opened in Cardiff, along with all his other stores in the world. Across the street is Jamie Oliver’s.
“Why is everything in the UK franchised?” she asked me. “It’s the same in Bristol.”
I suppose it’s about costs, scale and critical mass and how consumers want everything cheap and convenient, but I think it’s such a downright shame to see independents being crushed by the twin forces of globalisation and commoditisation.
In the arcades, a bookstore I used to frequent has the “Closed for Business” sign. The arcades have a bit of a sad feel about them – like a woman becoming invisible as she ages – while the malls are packed.
In Cardiff Market, I used to visit a local butcher who’d serve us our prime cuts. Today, it’s Tesco, Sainsbury and Marks & Spencer.
Waterstone, one of my favourite bookstores, is looking rather tatty, with “Sale” signs all over the premises. It made me determined to buy books. Standing in the queue to pay for my purchases, I heard the cashier say, “It’s nice to see people buying books” as though it were a rapidly disappearing act.
Determined to show Kimberley glimpses of the Cardiff I used to know, we went for a walk in Bute Park near Cardiff Castle and visited the National Museum of Wales.
There we took time to learn about the history of Cardiff and its Castle – there was a historic photography exhibition – and to view the art collection of the Davies sisters, which includes work by Monet, Manet and Rodin.
Gwendoline and Margaret Davies were the granddaughters of David Davies of Llandinam , a self-made man whose fortune was derived from coal-owning, railways and the docks. By 1924 they had built up the largest and most important collection of French Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works in the country and they bequeathed 260 works in all to the museum.
Cardiff, too, has one of the most beautiful civic districts and we spent time walking in the area, admiring the buildings and reading the plaques of statues that tell the story of how this ancient city of the Celts came to be.
For these few hours, at least, Kim and I experienced the same Cardiff.