One day, outside a rainy Welsh market…
John proudly bearing his stache, outside of Sainsbury’s.
June 12th, 2025 | Lampeter, Wales
It had been raining “cats and dogs”, as the locals had put it, in the past few days. “Much more than usual, a lot more.” Lampeter, a rural town in Southwestern Wales, had been teeter-tottering between sprinkle and sunshine all morning, but finally decided to just go back to pouring buckets.
In my walk, I had made it into the market just in time, dipping in and shopping for cheeses, jams and nuts for a charcuterie board I had no business in thinking I knew how to make. Luckily, an older employee saw my confusion as I glazed over staring into the sliced cheddars, and offered to bring me to the soft cheeses and gruyère. After, she continued her assistance throughout the store, naming off platter tips and store deals alike.
When I finished up, it was still raining. I had a ride to pick me up soon, so I waited under the shelter, peacefully listening to the rain-music and thinking about how kind the people in Wales have been so far. I also, in near complete juxtaposition to the sentiment, stood watching people scurry in and out of the rain with innocent humor. An old man covers himself with a newspaper coming towards the market. A woman hauls her kids in a shopping cart and makes a break for it in the rain— she’s laughing out loud and the kids are too. I figure it is a collective understanding that we all have to deal with the troubles of weather, so why not enjoy a good-natured laugh out of it?
I also watch for my impending car ride to show— my friend’s mum and her old-school 80’s van— who would be kindly picking me up shortly.
However, what I saw next was not the van, and certainly not the man— but the mustache first, and the same humorous smile as mine, accompanying right behind it.
Like longhorns on a bull, stretching beyond his ears and leading into a slight curl, it was a style unlike anything I had seen before. He walked past and into the store, and all I thought was; there’s no way people still have facial hair like this, but also, why not? My second thought was; I have to tell my dad. Dad, who’s had an impressive mustache ever since I could remember— and besides his Air Force days, has one in every photo I’d ever seen of him... he would like this. Dad would certainly get a kick out of this guy’s mustache.
To the man beside me, also waiting out the storm, I asked if he saw what I saw. In which he responded, “Yes, there’s actually couple of them in town.”
When the man eventually left the market, a case of drinks in-hand for the weekend, I bid him a hello, and said, I mustache you a question.
Okay, no, I didn’t say that. But I did comment. He explained with pride that it was an early 1900s British military look he was embracing, and that, yes, it did take special attention to care for. I researched afterwards that between 1860 and 1916, enlisted British men were forbidden to shave their upper lip, as the moustache was believed to be the ‘appurtenances of terror’. However, intimidating it was not, for this guy had one of the more gentle demeanors and brighter smiles I had seen around.
I asked if I could take his portrait, and also show my dad his stache. He happily agreed and asked about the kind of moustache my dad had. “Oh, just the usual kind.” (Sorry, Dad, I definitely didn’t do it justice there. I actually think your stache is still the coolest.)
We bid our goodbyes, I returned to my house, it poured buckets one last time, then the sun finally came out to stay.
A Special Note:
This story wouldn’t be complete without a photograph of my Dad.
He’s out on a field in Robie Creek, years ago, outside of Boise, Idaho, hangin’ on the property he raised my siblings and I on. He’s wearing his best casuals for Sunday Service, and a blue-rimmed visor. That same hat, he passed to me when we were out together one day and I had needed some protection from the sun, and on the spot he decided that I can have his and that he was due for a new one anyway. That same hat assisted me in my lawn work earlier today, and has been accompanying me on my travels for the last several months.
And, of course, he’s got his signature moustache goin’ too.
I also talk about my Dad here because I wouldn’t of had this exchange if it weren’t for the thought of him, and the ambition to share with him. I also surely wouldn’t be out talking to so many strangers around the planet if I didn’t inherit his worldly curiosity, and fellow love for people.
Dad, this first post is for you. I feel your support every day, miles and miles away.
Love always,
your youngest.
