The Beating Heart

Until January 2024, I had spent over a year living in Barcelona’s vibrant Gracia neighbourhood whilst I studied for my masters. In the warm evenings, I would spend time sat in one of busy plazas that would be full of life—parents playing with children, kids chasing pigeons, and lots of young people lounging on the ground or sat in the few chairs not claimed by restaurants. Despite the mix of eclectic cultures, it always felt like there was a strong sense of togetherness, far removed from the touristy areas.

One of the many examples of the community unity would be during the build-up to the annual Gracia festival. Hubs on corners of some of the streets became a hive of activity, with the street community coming together to design and theme their streets. During the week of the event, the streets would echo with the antics of the correfoc and foot tapping music as the locals built their intricate structures that really showcased the community’s creativity and togetherness.

During my studies, I became very aware of the negative and extractive impacts of tourism and became fixated on finding solutions for a more positive tourism model that positively contributes or supports hosting communities and the environment. 

When an opportunity presented itself for me to go and live in Ecuador with my dearest friend for just over a month and to trial a new community-based tourism project involving living with a mountain community in Otavalo, surrounded by volcanoes, I jumped at it. 

I stayed with an indigenous Cayambe family, who welcomed me with so much warmth. They introduced me to their tight-knit community, where everyone worked together to ensure no one went hungry and everyone had shelter. Whilst there, I helped with daily chores, milking a cow, preparing food, and helping out around the house. In these areas, life is hard and if you're seen as lazy or untrustworthy, there can be serious consequences—there's no tolerance for not contributing.

They shared their culture with me and embraced me like family. It was this strong sense of community that helped them survive and reclaim their land from wealthy land-grabbers. For years, they fought for independence and won, restoring the land to the village and bringing the community’s heart back to life.

Having immersed myself within so many different cultures and had felt the warmth of the communities in these places, I wanted to find work in this field when I returned to Wales. In January 2024, I came back and wasn’t prepared for the culture shock. I felt lost, I couldn’t find my sense of belonging. I felt a stranger in my own lands.

I needed to find a way to feel connected with my country again and find work that was meaningful in the field of my expertise. When the opportunity to be a Community Mapper on Public Map Platform was advertised, I thought this could be a fantastic opportunity to make a positive difference and immerse myself into the local communities, helping to tell the stories of people who live there that would, in some way, lead to protecting their community culture and the environment that surrounds them.

I was assigned to map Llangoed, a village I knew little about. Over a period of a few months, I have grown very attached to this village, having spent time in the local school supporting one of the project’s bards. It was wonderful being amongst so much wonderful energy and pride towards their village, especially as the children told us about their favourite places and where they liked to play.

Also, having spent time in Plas Bodfa mapping the very special landscape and meeting the beautiful family that live there, it was wonderful hearing them talk of their home and their love for the area.

I enjoyed time with two local naturalists who guided us around the places that mean a lot to them in the village, including Dawn, an amazing person who has dedicated almost a lifetime’s work protecting Llangoed’s frogs, even campaigning successfully to get road signs installed for their protection.

I met a lovely lady whilst mapping along the path down to the beach. She told me of her family stories and her love for the area. Then there is the village hall, one of the oldest halls that is still in action on the Island, which holds regular events for the community. All around, you observe the care and pride taken with maintaining the flower beds, the planting of apple trees, and numerous hanging baskets blooming with flowers all around.

Another example of feeling the strength of the community spirit was hearing people’s stories during the Lle Llais events. Some revealed the struggles, dreams, and determination to preserve what they love for future generations. Children spoke with enthusiasm about their villages. I observed how freely they enjoyed interactions with the landscape, even those hesitant to join in at first.

Through this project, I’ve heard legacy stories from lifelong islanders who have contributed so much to their communities. Their voices filled with passion as they talk about how much this place means to them, the people in their lives, what they have achieved. I’ve been moved by their emotions—tears, laughter, and pride.

For me, this experience has helped me gain a sense of place, the love and warm hug of the community that makes you feel like to belong, safe, the tender care, the protection, the real beating heart which is the community. Without it, there is no heart, no sense of place and no sense of belonging. Communities and their unique culture have to be protected. Something community-based tourism projects, if done correctly, can achieve.