JandalsnAll

Two days out of the five days that G was away last week, J was also away, leaving me with far too much responsibility. If for instance the hostel had caught fire, I’d be the one left with the responsibility of calling the fire brigade – wait, is there even a fire brigade on the island? I’d be the one with the responsibility of running round in a panic spitting on the flames to try and put them out. Of course there are other ways to put out a fire….
Or lets say 100 angry tourists arrive in the foyer banging on my little office window and all demanding of me the one free room I have inexplicably and considerably overbooked and they’re armed with the readily available rocks – I’d be the one to have to call the one Guarda (police) on the island to come up with his one shield and one baton to ward off the enraged crowd. And if the plumbing went and the hostel flooded I’d have to call the plumber with no legs – dont ask.

So A and I were alone. Though A is fully capable she occasionally has trouble with English which is why Im sure any emergency phonecalls would be left up to me. As were any bookings and requests from guests and basically the entire running of the hostel. Must…not…let…power..go…to…head. It did occur to me that here I had an opportunity to turn this place into a rockin hippy artist retreat but I decided one day was not quite long enough to round up enough hippies and grow my underarm hair. Anyway, Im not sure J would wholly approve (of the rockin hippy artist retreat).

One special responsibility I was given was the task of changing the beds in all the private rooms. The private rooms are special thus so was the responsibility. The decor all matches and there are colour ‘themes’. Before J left for Galway he did me the courtesy of laying out all the appropriate linen, immaculately ironed and in order of room numbers. You’d think me being a student of the visual arts that matching pre-matched linen sets to their pre-matched rooms wouldnt be a problem. You’d think so. The problem is my training under the broad umbrella of Visual Art doesnt stretch so far as to include a diploma majoring in Co-ordinating Curtains and Towels, or even a minor in Pillow Arrangement. Add to that my poor hand/eye co-ordination skills when it comes to the actual physical making of beds and you may understand how it took me all of three and a half hours to change 6 rooms. Thats an average speed of 35 minutes per room. Not an Olympic record Im betting. Lets just say if making beds was an Olympic sport, you wouldnt want me on your team. I could possibly be the person who carries the sheets for the athletes but even then…I’d likely bring a double instead of a single, or mismatch the duvet sets.

The worst thing is having not inherited my mother’s expertise in the area of hospital corners I had this awful sense as I was making each bed that I may wake the next morning to find myself responsible for the death of one of our patrons. The newspaper article reading ‘The deceased was found early this morning entwined in a purple and white striped sheet. It seems the sheet freed itself easily from the mattress as a result of irresponsible bed corners and slowly worked its way around the innocent sleepers neck, strangling him as his cries for help were muffled by the equally untamed duvet. The police are treating the circumstances as suspicious due to the fact that the green checkered duvet cover had obviously been brought in from outside the scene of crime’
Im not sure J was terribly impressed with my skills either because the second time he was away he laid out all the linen again but added post-it notes stating which room each set belonged to. With the aid of the handy post-its I managed to cut my time down to two hours twenty three minutes and forty six seconds. Now thats impressive if I do say so myself. How many athletes can say theyve chopped one hour six minutes and fourteen seconds off their time? Maybe I should try out for the Olympic team.

The one thing I am very good at is ‘Cleaning Associated Sound Effects’. (Also a genetic disease passed down through the females of the family, diagnosis of CASE is determined by putting the patient through a series of cleaning tests, the resulting grunts, groans and snorts indicating the progression of the disease – the only cure being confinement in a complete sterile and isolated environment (a big white box)).
I was always slightly amused at home to hear the noises coming from my mother as she went about doing the house work, and now I can say I understand where these noises were coming from and quite frankly I would rival her for both volume and effort. And we are still talking about noises emmanating from the vocal chords – nowhere else (Mum would win hands down in any other area). There’s the ‘mattress-lifting grunt’, the ‘crouch-and-stand groan’ and the ‘moving-furniture snort’. All of which I am a natural at. Hey its in my genes.

Of course I’d rather be good at really anything else, even Pillow Arrangement but hey youve got to make do with what talents you’re given right?. And if its my destiny to become a champion grunter Im going to give it all I’ve got. You wait and see, I’ll make all those Hungarian weightlifters jealous.

The days are flying by on my little island in the Atlantic. They seem to blur into one big cleaning fest. Though this week G (man who knows all regarding hostel and workings) has a week off so my responsibilites have grown to include more than just cleaning toilets. I now have the joyous task of manning the office and taking bookings and getting myself into a right little mess. Nothing too serious yet, though I dread the day when 100 angry tourists arrive in the foyer banging on my little office window and all demanding of me the one free room I have inexplicably and considerably overbooked. Hopefully the window is bulletproof – or rockproof as is more likely to be the case here, the hostel being surrounded by rocks – they’ll have ammunition readily on hand.

Last week before G left I did have the afternoons off and took the opportunity to visit Dun Aengus fort – the main tourist drawcard on the island. I know I wouldn’t ever be able to consider myself a real Aran Island hostel worker without having seen it. Dun Aengus (Dun Aonghasa) sits above the cliffs on the southwest side of the island. It consists of three ringwalls and lots of rocks. It’s not too small and was built by some people a long time ago. I didnt read the tourist information but I definitely saw three rings and lots of rocks – and someone definitely built it.

A and I timed it right arriving as the tour buses were leaving so there werent too many people around, giving us opportunity to take some cheesy tourist photos. Its a nice enough fort as far as forts go and rather impressive in terms of structure and theres a really effective outer ring of spikey rocks dug into the ground, sticking up like broken glass to impale the invaders – thats cool, but I dont like it nearly as much as I do the ‘Black Fort’ – the humbler and less frequented fort down the coast. The security guard, steel gates and entrance fee at Dun Aengus detract somewhat from the magic of the
place. We walked back along the coast road on the opposite side of the island hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive seals said to chill out on the rocks, but there were no seals. This is the third time there were no seals. There were rocks that looked like seals….maybe thats what everyones going on about. But its a nice 1 1/2 hour walk anyway and we passed a beautiful little turquoise beach down the coast that I’ll have to go back to.

The weather on that day and most of last week was totally summery. Blue skies and sunshine give this island life. Its a good feeling to wake in the morning and see blue sky out the window, despite the fact that it can change so quickly here. I woke up the other morning and looked in the mirror suprised to find a slightly redder version of myself looking back. An afternoon in the sun had left me sunburnt – every Irish person’s dream, and the promise of summer to come I hope. That was the afternoon I wandered into the wilderness behind the hostel. The hostel sits on the edge of the main road atop the island and behind it the desolate rocky landscape typical of the island stretches right out to meet the cliffs on the otherside of Inishmore. There’s probably two kilometres of nothing but tussock and grey limestone divided into grids by old stone walls between the hostel and the Atlantic Ocean.

I found myself a nice flat plateau just out of sight of the hostel overlooking the village of Kilronan. I sat on my flat rock, looking out across the water towards the coast of Ireland with the ‘Twelve Pins’ of Connemara clear in the distance and I wondered how I came to be here on this particular island and how it will change me. I discarded my shoes and took the lotus position, let loose my dreadlocks of peace and began to compile my doctrine. Let all who follow it be blessed with many chocolates. Gifts, donations and letters of utter adoration may be sent to:
Swami Em
On the Hilltop
Inishmore
After my spiritual transformation I lay back and watched the clouds crossing the blue blue sky, as everyone should now and then. There be some interesting things in them there clouds. I dont know if the psychology behind it has any relation to Rorschach inkblots but I saw a monkey gnawing off its own leg, a naked discus thrower, and a chipmunk in a robinhood costume -make of that what you will.
Such is the life of a hostel worker – its a tough job but someones gotta do it right?
Apart from being blessed last week with the Eternal Sunshine (and my appointment as Swami of the Hilltop), I also received my first two paychecks. Each one says EURO on it several times. And my name with a substantial amount of the aforementioned EUROs assigned to it. And so on Wednesday I went down to the Inishmore Bank, because Wednesday is the only day the bank is open on Inishmore, and now I have a brand spanking new Bank of Ireland account with EUROs in it. Much as I do love cleaning, I love EUROs more.

Yes, for your viewing pleasure, I now present the All New JandalsnAll – with added photos. Actually its not all new – its not new at all. It just has added photos. So let me present to you: the Its a Bit Different Now JandalsnAll Cos its Got Added Photos. You’ll find most of them in the Skibbereen Inbetween entry and maybe a few others but I wont tell you which ones – just to force you to go through the entire blog searching endlessly for what might never have been there in the first place…..
You need to study up on my blog anyway – you never know when I might throw in a popquiz….
And apoplogies for the quality of some images – in all my photographic genius I managed to use a new filter in exactly the opposite way to which you are supposed to use it so a few photos are a bit dark – which means unfortunately I’ll have to start back in Dublin and retrace my experiences exactly without the filter.

And if there are any viewing problems with the images please please somebody let me know so I can quickly correct them thus preserving my image as someone who actually knows what they’re doing when it comes to computers.
Happy viewing.

Thursday morning I left Inishmore (Im slowly getting the spelling right) early to reach Galway at about 10.30am. I needed to do this so as to maximize my shopping time aswell as my absence from the island that over the last few days had begun to feel somewhat like a prison. The ferry trip was rather uneventful – no vomit here. I booked in at Salmon Weir hostel in Galway which was highly reccomended to me and which I can highly reccomend to you. Its just like a two storied house really, with a kitchen, living room, bathrooms, bedrooms. But very homely and quite out of place in the city. And the living room had guitars which immediately sent my opinion rocketing. Only slightly weird thing is that everyone there except me spoke French due to the fact this particular hostel I am told is at the top of the main French guidebook. So now I know what it must be like to visit France.

After settling in and a round of Bonjours I promptly set off. I was on a mission. The list of items of things I was going to take back to a desert island included:

chocolate
battery charger and batteries
art supplies
books and other boredom cures
tax code
bag
shoes
clothes

in order of importance of course.

Well that first Friday I spent the morning trapsing all over Galway being sent from one building to another to find out what I actually needed to work legally in Ireland. The first office couldnt do anything till I’d been to the next office who couldnt do anything til I’d got this number which I couldnt get til I’d been to the next office who would post it out to me.

After that pleasant introduction to the Irish tax system I focused on my list, scoured both sides of town and returned with a scarf and a singlet. Not required items for living on a deserted island. My problem is I can never make up my mind – Do I buy Cadbury or Nestles? Dark, milk or white?

Actually the biggest problem was finding decent cheap clothes. They have plenty of clothes shops in Galway but they all sell the same clothes, all specifically designed without me in mind. Pastel colours are big. As are t-shirts declaring the wearer to be ‘Juicy as a Peach’, ‘Cheeky’, ‘Hot Stuff’ or from various American states. All of which I am not…well maybe cheeky but not enough to warrant labelling.
Day two saw me going into the same shops just to check I hadnt missed the section labelled ‘Ordinary Clothes For Normal People Who Are Neither Juicy Nor Cheeky’. Alas I hadnt.

Day three I discovered the Galway Saturday markets by accident where I bought several more scarves (head scarves) I know they weren’t on the list but I decided they were actually a neccessary item now I am a cleaner, especially for acheiving that authentic cleaning lady look – or washerwoman – or chemotherapy patient. Plus I need a new obsession. I also found some delicious fresh sushi – I think thats the first Ive seen in Ireland and I hadnt realized how much I was missing it. And Galway main street really comes alive on a Saturday. I think Ive mentioned it’s a pedestrian only cobbled road, and today the shoppers and buskers were out enmasse. There was the obligatory statue guy who does a funny little dance if you throw a coin his way (I was tempted to actually throw a coin at him to see if that too would make him move but Im not quite cheeky enough to do something like that), copycat statue guy who wasnt a very good statue but could do crazy things with a crystal ball in his hands when offered money, African drummers who were not African, crazy blues piano guy with an actual piano in the street, and some weird dancing electronic puppet things that I stayed away from – as far away as possible. Its a great atmosphere to be a part of.

That afternoon after three straight days shopping, feeling satisfied I’d exhausted all possibility of finding anything cheap and wearable and without any fruity connotations, I ripped myself off by paying Ireland too much for a pair of ChuckTaylors, an army shop hoodie, and a Nike zipup top (with the smallest possible Nike symbol possible, less I be mistaken for an athlete or at least a sporting fan). I may be poor now but at least Im happy, and only slightly more athletic looking.
I also got (because I know you’re dying to hear about the rest of my purchases):

watercolours
the aforementioned battery charger
a harmonica and harmonica instruction book – dont laugh, its so I can play the blues if I get lonely.
chocolate – It was 5 for EU2 so I couldnt buy just one – they made me.
dried fruit and other such ‘healthy’ treats to counteract the chocolate
5 books at a great secondhand book store – what? you want to know what they are? Okay, since you asked..
The house of Sand and Fog
Round Ireland with a Fridge
McCarthys Bar
The Alchemist
The Bone People – I was suprised to see that one. Actually there were two copies…so I dont know if that means it was popular enough in Ireland for there to be spare copies lying around, or whether two Irish people bought and didnt think it worth keeping. I had to buy it out of Kiwi pride.
Oh and a book I ‘borrowed’ from the hostel The TimeTravellers Wife – sshh dont tell them.

I’ll give you day to day accounts of each chapter of each book if you like. Can you tell yet Ive got a bit of time on my hands?

Its been so quiet since Ive been back on the island. Nice and quiet. It was an absolutely beautiful day today finally, and I went for a walk down to the village and almost felt like a local. Ive even started to pre-empt the greetings of other locals with my own ‘Halloo’ but you’ve got to get in really quick – they’re speedy these Irish polite-conversationalists – its like a ‘who can be the friendliest the fastest’ competition. I’ve almost got up enough courage to move onto ‘Nice day?’ followed by a prompt ‘Very good’. But these sorts of culturally sensitive issues shouldnt be rushed so I’ll just take it one day at a time I think – one day at a time.

I’ve been getting the finger from lots of the locals as they drive by as well. The good finger I mean. There’s no footpath in this primitive society so you’re forced to walk down the roadside and if you’re very lucky, and look very closely when a local drives by you’ll see them twitch a finger up off the steering wheel as if to say ‘you’re okay, I’ll let you walk down my road in your obviously touristy manner and I wont run you down…. this time’ Either that or they’ve all got cramp. It feels friendlier here today. I dont know if thats because of the weather or because the people here are starting to accept me as one of their own eccentrics. There goes crazy scarf lady I bet they’re thinking. Look at all her scarves.

Actually I have made one new friend here at the hostel. His name is Wilson. Sometimes when I get lonely on the island he keeps me company and plays with me. Yesterday after I’d got back from Galway I couldnt find him – I looked everywhere, all the while gettting more frantic til my panic culminated in an anguished ‘Wiiilson!!’ ‘Come back Wilson!’ But its okay someone had left him round the front and this morning when I woke up, I looked outside and saw him just sitting there in all his white round glory staring up at me as if to say ‘Where you been?’ …
Okay so hes just a ball and his name’s not really Wilson. But he does have a face. And sometimes he talks to me……and it’d be downright rude for me not to answer….

Well, I can honestly say that changing beds is not my vocation in life. Though I can also tell you that 60 odd in one morning will give you a hell of a workout – something I probably am in need of after all the good food I’ve been getting here. And it is good. J is a great cook. And Mum Ive been getting lots of grains and pulses and other healthy things so dont you worry bout a thing. And plenty of salt. The Irish like salt. But Im working hard for the priviledge of hardening my arteries.

Just for your information, generally my working day goes something like this:
9.00 Breakfast cleanup
10-12.30ish showers, toilets, kitchen, floors – lotsnlots of bleach.
1-6 Do stuff. Go for a walk and get lost like usual. Read. buy chocolate. Eat chocolate. Play guitar. Wish for more chocolate. Get bored.
6.30-9ish Crazy dinner prep for 60 starving students, dinner cleanup including like, 2 straight hours of doing dishes. Arrgh dishes.
9 – 11pm Think and talk about going to the pub, then feel too tired and go to bed.

Early this morning, on another glorious rainy, haily, sleety, sunny day, the army of first year architect students departed. And the complete and utter sterilization of the hostel began.So today provided a little variation, what with the changing of the sheets, and a wealth of little treasures to be discovered, some of which I will soon reveal to you.

Despite being told the first night they arrived no alcohol was to be drunken on the premises, I think every night included at least one session of dowsing the kitchen in beer, making for a lovely smell and a delightfully sticky floor every morning. And the teachers were pathetic. They’d head off down to the pub and leave the Irish youngsters to reek (literally) havoc. (And Im sooo glad I bought a pair of earplugs in Galway).

We hadnt been in their rooms for four days but werent suprised to find bottles and cans aplenty, aswell as a frisbee,old food, socks – worn i’d assume, and the lovely smells that accompany such things. (I dont think the frisbee smelt that much).

Other finds worth mentioning include:

a basin full of noodles – interesting because we’d had noodles for dinner the night before and these were relatively intact, leaving me to ponder whether these particular noodles had been previously consumed and then violently un-consumed, or whether someone had just thought it would be fun to smuggle some noodles from their plate and wash them in the basin.

a total of EU1.73 – interesting because thats a whole EU1.73! woohoo! But sharing’s caring round here so that went in the tip jar. Still exciting though. And interesting.

One week down, another 12 to go, as Ive decided to stay through summer – I aint got no money to go anywhere else. And I would like to think Ive been through the worst of it….Oh no G and J tell me – you wait. Great.
It’ll be pretty much full time, with some days doing the above sort of stuff and others manning reception. And the best part is I’ll get paid so I wont be doing it just for the love of it. I have a dorm bed here for free, but I think I’ll go crazy after a few weeks or so – its hard to do anything when all you’ve got is a bed to yourself cept play guitar, read and eat chocolate on it – so Im thinking of renting a room, despite the extra cost. That’ll mean I might also be in a position to get a bit of painting done and sucker a few tourists.

Im looking forward to the tourists. The only people I know here so far are Swedish A my roommate and co-toilet cleaner, G who tells me what to do and Some Island Far Away J (dont forget the funny dot things) who also tells me what to do. Oh and theres M from the supermarket who likes to say ‘Hey New Zelander!’ ‘Hello New Zealander!’ everytime I go in there (for chocolate of course). So if anyone wants to come visit and keep me company….I’ll give you the royal tour of Inishmor, with authentic reinactments of how to stumble around and get yourself lost alot.

Tomorrow Im off back on the ferry to Galway for a few days to sort out serious tax issues, stock up on important supplies (better chocolate) and hopefully prepare myself somewhat for the months ahead. Geez I sound like Im going to the North Pole or something. Its just I’ll be working 7 days and its such an ordeal to get off the island. The ferry is 40 minutes (and 10EU) then its an hour bus trip into the city…… Oh stop complaining and get over it why dont I.

I think its fate and Im not sure I like it. Just to remind you I’ve been thinking Im going to have to get some work very soon, or else find some rich foreigner to marry in exchange for lots of money and a fun and fancy-free lifestyle. The only foreigners I can find are Australians and they spend all their money on beer. I tried to no avail in Doolin, oh sweet Doolin, (to find work that is, not rich foreigners) and so made the move onwards.

On Wednesday I did, as I intended and did previously state, catch a ferry to Inishmor, the larger of the Aran Islands off the coast of Galway. The ferry trip was an experience and not a pleasant one. The crazy weather showed no signs of relenting and extreme winds meant huge swells and thus vomiting children. But I made it through the 40 minutes relatively unscathed in all the ways that count the most.

I’d been reccomended a hostel by American girl Ryan, fellow veggie head, who raved about the place.. So that was where I was headed. On the ferry I met Ana, a Swede – from Sweden funnily enough, who was herself headed to the hostel to work for the busy weekend ahead and possibly into the summer. And actually, prior to catching the ferry I chatted to an Italian girl who also raved about it and talked about going back there to work for the summer.

And so it is that I find myself with a job. A job I do need, but am rather reluctant to face up to. Not that it will be a bad job but it is a job nonetheless and we all know how much I love a ninetofiver. Not that it will be a ninetofiver either but thats not necesarily better. We’ll see. The impending busy weekend has turned out to be a busy Saturday til Tuesday, with a group of 60 Irish students booking out the place. And Im not getting paid at the moment but then again Im not spending anything. Herein lies my dilemma. So yes, we will see.

My place of work consists of a downstairs hostel (very basic and rather cold) and private rooms Also downstairs is a cosy little cafe/restaurant section where food is served to the people staying as well as the public. So I will soon be reintroduced to the joy that is cafe work.

Chores so far have included cleaning out and rearranging kitchen shelves, which revealed evidence of an ancient colony of Irish mice and an antique packet of biscuits best before 1997 – unopened. Apparently they arent that strict out here when it comes to kitchen hygiene – and if the health inspector decides to visit, the guy on the ferry knows what he looks like and rings a warning round the whole island. That was yesterday. Today I cleaned out more shelves and found many more treasures. I think they’ve been in desperate need of a woman’s touch – albiet my not so domesticated nor particularly womanly one. Dont worry I’ll sort em out. Ana was given the unenvied task of cleaning upstairs and downstairs, inside and out – apparently the toilets left a bit (not to be confused with ‘alot’ now) to be desired – again with the womans touch. But I can assure you, if you ever want to visit, that the facilities are spic n span and under control. I may not be tidy but I’ve inherited the Armstrong germ paranoia and I hereby swear I will endeavour to use this God-given phobia to the best of my ability. And the old ingredients aren’t ever used anyway, thats why they’re still there. They’re just for decoration.

And now I shall moan about the weather. Its been freeeezing and the hostel is right on the hill, in the direct path of all the bad weather making its way across the sea from Ireland. The wind is the worst. It is beginning to ease up now but the last few days its been slowly driving me insane. And slowly is the worst way to go crazy because you cant just fall straight into happy oblivion. I did wonder as I spread my toast with toothpaste this morning if maybe something was amiss but couldnt quite put my finger on it…so I reassured myself everything was okay and poured myself another glass of orange scented floor cleaner.

Yesterday I braved the wind – no the wind is my friend – and took a walk through the middle of the island. Once you walk up far enough away from the village and the bay at the base of the island all you can see in every direction are grids of stone walls and rocky barren landscape. It’s total isolation and I was totally alone. I walked for about two hours up a gravel path and didn’t see a single person. It was great – and just a little scary.

Today, I took my initial exploration a little further and decided to try to get over to the other side of the island where the Atlantic ocean hits the cliff face. Unfortunately the map I had was rather redundant – I attempted to follow it despite the fact that it had several references in the text to the year 1992….
I ended up clambering my way over wall and dale trying to get to the central track I knew was out there somewhere…over in that general direction…I did eventually hit the coast and walked my way again over stonewall and dale but luckily not over the cliff face – amazing as it is. Just like a minature Cliffs of Moher.

I walked probably for about an hour and reached the remains of one of the old forts here on Inishmor. I havent been to the big one yet, but this one was cool because I was the only tourist stupid enough to try to get there and therefore alone in the experience. The view was great due to the strategic positioning of the fort. Strategically positioned soley for the pleasure of a great view of the Atlantic that is.

According to the map there should have been a path leading almost straight back to the hostel. There was no path. There were some rocks and lots of giant cow dung which had me a little worried. I started the arduous trek back across the island (across wall and dale) wary of any places that looked capable of hiding a giant cow, and eventually found a track which led me all the way down to the bay and near round the other side. Suprisingly, this track wasn’t on the map and was nowhere near the hostel. But I made it back and all in all had a fairly pleasant 4 hour walk. There was some sun, and the everpresent wind, oh and some hail and sleet, but all in all fairly pleasant. God bless my new jacket for it has done many great things (and cost EU100 not EU200). The good thing about being on the top of the island is you’ve got a great vantage point from which to see the incoming weather. So if you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and see a storm blowing in you can quickly find some stray rocks and build yourself a fort – or a castle – the tourists will pay more to see a castle.

I met two farmers on my way – the only locals Ive seen so far. One ignored me. The other encounter went something like this:
(farmer) ‘Hello?’ (in a questioning tone hence the question mark)
(me) ‘hello’
(farmer) ‘nice day’
(me)’ its a lovely day’
(farmer) ‘very good ta ta’
And he was off. I think I passed the test. I think I was ‘very good’. Other than those two farmers theres just been alot of tour vans and the odd tourist on a bike. Everythings pretty shut up but I guess it’ll come alive as summer comes.

So far, Inishmor is beautiful in its own way, but Im not sure how I feel about staying here for a matter of months. I think my heart is still in Doolin. However, tomorrows supposed to be a ripper of a day (on an Irish scale anyway) and maybe Inishmor will grow on me in the sunshine. I guess I’ll just see where fate leads me.

Lets begin with a little ditty, just so you know how much I do appreciate Doolin. But before you go on, you’re not allowed to just read it, you’ve got to promise to sing it, otherwise you wont get the full effect. The tune goes: la laa la laa la la-la, la laa la laa la laa, but you can make up your own if you want.

Oh I love to visit Doolin
A village by the sea
Oh I love to live in Doolin
Doolin, you’re the one for me

How I love to be in Doolin
Beneath the silver sky
Oh I’d love to stay in Doolin
Doolin, youre the one for…I (?? it rhymes)

And before I go into detail of just why Doolin is so wonderful I’ll just take a moment to fill in the gaps. After spending Easter weekend with Lex, Kane and co ( let me interrupt to provide you with a couple of photos of Lex and Kane at some castle near Dingle – just for funView image View image ), on Tuesday I travelled up the coast further to Galway. I guess I’ d kind of built Galway up in my head because I’d heard such good things about it and this is where I was planning to stop for a while and find some work. I was slightly disappointed. The main street is great. Its alot like Grafton street in Dublin – cobbled and pedestrians only, with plenty of buskers and slightly weird sorts -always welcome in my book, aslong as they dont try to touch you. Other than that it’s just another city. It is situated right by the water which is a good thing, but the walkways and the rocky area round the bay are very dirty which is a bad thing – theres rubbish everywhere and it annoys the hell outa me. While in Galway I met up with Aussie Dylan and Aussie Ellen and Aussie Heather who I’d shared a room with in Cork, so once again it was a good night (yes despite all the Australian blood), with live music – not so traditional this time, songs included ACDC (blweua and other sounds of disgust) much to the Aussies’ delight.

On Thursday, Aussie Dylan and I decided to go see the Cliffs of Moher – the best scenery in all of Ireland according to some – and on the tourist office’s advice chose Doolin as our destination.
And so it is that I came to be in Doolin. Doolin is about two hours away from Galway, down the coast. Trusty LP paints a picture of a bustling seaside town with cafes, pubs and B&b’s but really its just a road. At the top end of ‘town’ if you can call it that there are two pubs across from each other and a few restaurants down a side street. Scattered for a km or so along the road from there, there are indeed b&b’s. Smack in the middle and right by the Aille River (which many will argue is not a river but a creek even though its called a river – especially Americans and Australians – but if its called Aille River, its got to be a river right? You cant argue with a sign) is the Aille River Hostel, another small town hostel and as friendly as can be. Another further km down the road is a restaurant, a hostel, a tourist sweater shop, a deli (dairy), another tourist shop and the third and final pub. Its so spread out that you could easily drive right through it not knowing you’d arrived in fact a guy did actually come into the hostel one night to ask where Doolin was….’well, we’re sorry to tell you but you’re smack bang in the middle of it’. I guess you could compare it to Te Poi on the way to Hamilton in NZ….and if you dont know where that is then you’ve got my point exactly.

If you walk down through ‘town’ you’ll arrive at the pier, you’ll see the ocean stretching endlessly out in front of you, the Cliffs of Moher in the distance to the left, and miles of rocky shoreline to the right. The lanscape all around is amazing. Green green grass (greener than peas even) scattered with grey patches of rock where the land has eroded away, and crossed with old stone walls. But more moody and barren than I make it sound. Towards the left and the cliffs, the land rises up, to the right it stretches out flat to meet the coast. It really is beautiful.

I spent five days in Doolin and could go on and on about it but I know you’re lives dont always revolve soley around me, not always, so lI’ll break it down (cue MC Hammer moves).

Thursday: Arrived, settled, walked out to pier and round the rocks for an hour or two. That night
met another Aussie (geez theyre everywhere) Mary, American Ryan (a girl Ryan) and went to McConnors pub for some traditional Irish music (suprise suprise) from an Irish ensemble including one guy who I swear was the JimiHendrix of the spoons – you should have seen him play those things. It was insane.

Friday: Its a lovely afternoon, lets hire bikes and bike to the top of the Cliffs of Moher, its all uphill but great idea. I love spending 50 minutes in complete and utter muscle agony. Whoever the eejit who invented the bike was, they could have done me the decency of adding a motor. The Cliffs of Moher
though, theyre worth 50 minutes of agony.

Aussie Dylan and I left the bikes at the tourist epi-centre, complete with too many tourists/tour buses and annoying Irish whistle player milking the too many tourists who arrived on the too many tour buses for all they’re worth, and began the walk round the top of the cliffs. A sheer 203 meter drop if I remember correctly (I measured it myself) and the cliffs stretch for ages along the coast. You can also look over away from the sea and see the surftown and beach of Lahinch. The track round the top of the cliffs is in most places about 2meters from the edge with a stone slab wall between you and a fall to the death. Eventually though the wall ends and the path weaves closer to the edge. Add to this the fact that rain earlier on had made the dirt tracks very muddy, and that earlier Karl the hostel manager had told us that 12-15 people are ‘blown’ off the edge every year….we were pretty freaked out. One false step and you’ve slip sliding over the edge. But there were crazy crazy people wandering around on the muddy grass verge of the cliffs, peering over the side,sitting and dangling their feet over a rocky ledge..I was sure I’d see someone go over…but I didnt…maybe if the wind had picked up a little.

We walked for 30 minutes, no – 32 minutes, and finally outwalked the hordes of tourists and the annoying whistle man. It was quiet. Too quiet. The idea did cross my mind to get out my cellphone and ring one of yous up, with my best American/Australian accent -(take your pick – they both work) ‘Guess where the f*** I am,….the f***ing Cliffs of Mohair, yeah!’ (please remember as you read this how much I do love Americans and Australians – you guys rule). But I didnt. We sat for another, uh lets see, 27 minutes it was, just absorbing the view and the quiet and then chatting to some Germans who dared venture from the pack. After very carefully walking back we jumped on the bikes and made our glorious way downhill back to Doolin. I dont know who invented the bike, but that was sheer genius. I think I pedaled once. At the start.

Speaking of the bikes, this would be a good opportunity for me to warn you about the psycho rat dogs here in Ireland. While biking up to see the cliffs, I had several encounters with the crazy munts. One of them I swear actually launched itself off a stone wall and at my bike, narrowly avoiding becoming chopped suey dog in my spokes. And then I was just walking down the road in Doolin when this foxterrier runs up and starts barking and tugging at my jeans – and its owner is just wandering along behind me, calling weakly at the dog but seemingly quite happy to let it continue to try and bite my leg off 100meters down the road. And the dogs in Ireland own the road. They just wander willynilly all over it. The owners dont care, and the cars just slow down and wait. Maybe they’re the sacred animal of the Catholics. Like cows in Hinduism. I dont know. Makes sense though.

Friday night we visited McGann’s pub down the other end with Ryan (girl Ryan) and Kiwi/Austrian Stefan. More traditional music but with a double bass which was interesting.

Okay Im not really breaking it down much but I’ll keep going. Feel free to skim. Or just sit and imagine me and my MC Hammer moves – that’ll make for a more entertaining time.

Saturday: was to be the day I realized just what a hole Doolin is (in the nicest nicest possible way), when I found out there was no ATM/bank/postoffice. You can use your credit card to charge drinks at the bar though. So we caught a ride with more Aussies (arrghh!) to Lahinch about 6miles away. Got some money out and spent a couple of hours sitting down at Lahinch surf beach in the sunshine watching crazy people freeze several or more of their body parts off swimming and learning to surf. Its a really touristy sort of place, big on the ‘learn to surf for EU30’ thing, but it was good to be back by the beach. Nothing as nice as home though. Caught a ride back to Doolin (dare I say hitched… only because the buses werent operating until summer) with Ogie, a guy who works making jewellery, musical instruments and wooden things.

Saturday afternoon walked down to see about a job at the restaurant (missed out by a day) then carried on to walk back along the coast. Had to clamber across a couple of fields then over rocky ground shot with crevices. Its so weathered and alien. There were several big boulders which could well have been ancient tombs or something but they also looked alot like just big rocks. If you carry on a lot further down and away from town you can venture into the Burren which is even more rocky and barren, and dotted with ring forts, standing stones etc but I didnt get that far.
I had a quiet night on Saturday, while the now regular crowd did a pub crawl all round town. Woohoo. Three pubs.

Sunday spent hanging out by the rocks then having an early dinner so as to beat the huge bunch of Italians to the kitchen. Sunday night I joined the pub crawl. Again woohoo. Three pubs.
Monday I did intend to go on a big of a hike (dont look so suprised, I can hike) into the Burren but the weather was absolutely bitter. Actually more crazy than bitter. Sun one moment, hail the next and I think even some sleet. The wind though, was so icy I couldve cried. But I put my big girl face on and didnt. Spent most of the day inside. Tuesday (thats today) I reluctantly caught the bus back to Galway. Its my plan now to go back to Doolin in May to work, when it will be overrun by tourists – there were busloads arriving everyday while I was there so it’ll be crazy in summer. I left my number at a few places incase anything comes up. Rain and shine its my favourite place so far. I’ll probably dream of Doolin tonight.

This avo, did a bit of shopping for stuff they dont have in holetowns like Doolin, contemplated buying EU200 waterproof gortex jacket for trip to Aran Islands tomorrow. Still contemplating. So yeah, off to Inishmor, the larger of the Aran Islands tommorow for more big rocks and barren landscapes. I love it.