Finding my place in Wales, one Welsh lesson at a time

Before we moved to the Llŷn Peninsula from Cambridgeshire last year, I already knew I wanted to learn Welsh. I didn’t know how - I just had a feeling that if I was going to build a life here, I wanted to understand the language that shapes the place. What I didn’t expect was the sheer amount of support, enthusiasm, and opportunity that exists for learners. Truly, there’s no excuse not to.

When Steve and I upped sticks and took on Brook Cottage Shepherd Huts, learning Welsh took on another layer of meaning. Tourism here can be a sensitive subject. It brings life and income to the area, but it also brings challenges: seasonal work, fluctuating demand, and that sense of an "English invasion" every summer. So for me, learning Welsh isn't just a hobby. It's a way of showing that we're here to be part of the community, not just to sit on the edges of it.

Our little corner of the Pen Llŷn

And in a way, this isn't new for me. In my former corporate life, I was lucky enough to travel overseas a lot, and I always made a point of learning a few basic phrases in the language of every place I visited: hello, thank you, nice to meet you. It made a real difference: wherever I went, people would meet me where I was linguistically - even if my pronunciation was questionable at best. Yes, English is spoken around the world, and yes, that makes it easy for native English speakers to understand and be understood.

But if you want to belong somewhere, not just pass through it, you learn the language.

As Nelson Mandela said,

“If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his own language, that goes to his heart.”

That’s exactly how it feels here.

I practise whenever I can - shopping, eating out, chatting with neighbours. Steve gets somewhat embarrassed by my attempts, but I'm gaining confidence with every conversation. There's a real sense of achievement in managing even a simple interaction at the post office or our local café. Almost everyone I try speaking Welsh with is very kind. They can spot a learner a mile off, of course, but by and large they reply in Welsh, gently correct my pronunciation, and encourage me on. I'm now having surprisingly long chats with our postman and the local butcher.

And the more Welsh I learn, the more I realise how deeply the language and the landscape are intertwined. Place names in Wales aren't just location markers - they're descriptions, stories, clues. Once you understand even a little Welsh, the map starts speaking to you: Penrhyn means "headland," Aberdaron is the "mouth of the River Daron," and Beddgelert translates to "Gelert's grave," carrying a whole legend within its name. Suddenly the hills, rivers, and coastlines feel less anonymous. You're not just looking at a landscape - you're understanding it, you're part of it.

Understanding Welsh place names

Wittgenstein knew what he was talking about when he said,

“If we spoke a different language, we would perceive a somewhat different world.”

Learning Welsh has also been fun in ways I didn't expect. One of the great surprises is just how many English words have found their way into everyday Welsh (if you've ever listened to two native Welsh speakers chatting, you'll know exactly what I mean). So if I need to use a word I haven't learnt yet, I can have a stab at it in English and it might not be far off, although the spelling will likely be different. This has led to some disappointment in class, though. We've been diligently learning the proper Welsh words for things, only to discover that many people don't use them at all. So instead of proudly ordering "selsig a sglodion" at the chippy, we've been told we should really just ask for "sosej a chips" like a local. Years of linguistic purity undone in one sentence.

The formal learning side is brilliant. Dysgu Cymraeg (Learn Welsh) is the national organisation responsible for helping adults learn Welsh in Wales, overseen by the National Centre for Learning Welsh. Government-funded, their mission is simple but powerful: to make learning Welsh accessible, enjoyable, and available to everyone, wherever they live. They offer courses across the country with options for every type of learner - classroom-based, online, self-study, blended approaches, residential weeks, and intensive tasters - supporting everyone from complete beginners right up to proficient speakers.

It's affordable too. A year-long course costs just £100, and bursaries are available for anyone who needs them. More than 20,000 learners enrolled in 2024–2025, a 61% increase since 2017–2018 - a remarkable rise in just a few years. The language is growing, and learners are part of that story.

I'm on the Mynediad (Entry Level) course, having done a week-long intensive shortly after we arrived. The course is brilliantly structured, each lesson building on the last. Our tutor Karen (on the left, below) is bendigedig - patient, encouraging, and engaging. And it's a lovely way to meet people from the local area, all of us sharing the same goal: to feel more rooted in the place we now call home.

Dosbarth Mynediad, Botwnnog, 2025-2026

There's something deeper too. Welsh isn't just vocabulary and grammar - it carries centuries of culture, identity, and shared memory. For long periods of history, Welsh was actively discouraged or suppressed, particularly in schools, where children were punished for speaking their own language. Knowing that history makes the current revival feel even more meaningful. Every learner, however hesitant, is part of a much bigger story - one of resilience, pride, and cultural renewal.

As well as formal lessons, there are plenty of opportunities to practise informally: panad a sgwrs (cuppa and a chat) sessions are run by volunteers across the area, and peint a sgwrs (pint and a chat) evenings take place in local pubs - many of which are community-owned. There are competitions for each learning level, adding a bit of fun and friendly rivalry. And in my own class, we've discovered a running theme: half of us seem to be having building work done. At this point, we're all hoping for a future lesson on how to order materials from the builders' merchants, or how to explain - in Welsh - that your toilet is leaking. It would be genuinely useful.

Learning Welsh has turned out to be even more enjoyable, sociable, and rewarding than I ever imagined. So if you're living in Wales - whether you've just arrived or you've been here for decades - or are simply planning a move here, I'd genuinely recommend giving it a go. There is so much support, such a welcoming community of learners and speakers, and once you start, you realise it's not really just about learning to speak a new language. It opens up a whole new social world: little everyday conversations, shared jokes, unexpected friendships, and that lovely feeling of being just a bit more woven into the place you call home.

And the occasional conversation about plumbing, apparently.

About the Author

Joss Anderson runs Brook Cottage Shepherd Huts with her husband Steve on the Llŷn Peninsula in North Wales - a multi-award winning adults-only glamping retreat. She spends her days welcoming guests, gardening, and enthusiastically practising her Welsh on anyone who stands still long enough. Currently on the Mynediad course, she can now hold a full conversation with the postman, the butcher, and - on a good day - the chaps at Huws Gray.