JandalsnAll

Yesterday I biked to the Eastern end of the island. Initially I thought the island went alot further so I was surprised to find myself at a small bay with only water before me. From the bay there is a great view of Inish Maan, the second of the Aran Islands (and the land I had thought was an extension of my island), and I stopped here for lunch and to take a break from biking.

On the way to the Eastern end I passed a cemetery I had stopped at a few days earlier. There are apparently 120 saints buried there, though I could find nothing readable dating before 1843. There were odd slabs of rock here and there which may well have been ancient grave stones – particularly around the remains of a small chapel(Teaghlach Einne) sunken low into the ground. The chapel is barely visible from the roadside because of the many Celtic crosses and the tall grasses that grow among them. Its roofless but otherwise intact. I had to stoop down to enter the curved archwayand found myself standing in a space only a few metres wide and a few more long, with an inscribed alter before me and the open sky above meView image. Its a special place to be and after taking some photos I left a coin in one of the small stone bowls on either side of the the chapel interior – my coin sat shining bright and new on the top of a pile of tarnished copper coins half submerged by rainwater. On the way out of the cemetery I read some of the gravestones. There are alot of young people buried here which is rather sombring. People’s children, aged 13 and 3 and 23 – I cant help but feel sorrow for their families I’ve never met.

The day I biked to the end of the island I was intent on finding a natural phenomenon known as a puffing hole. I had a vague idea of where they were in relation to my map and leaving my bike against a stonewall by the roadside, I start to trek up toward the middle of the island to reach the cliffs on the otherside. As has been my experience in the past crossing the width of the island, once over a few paddocks and walls, as the ocean disappears from view behind me the land becomes rockier and more barren, the limestone foundations of the island are revealed where the grass has worn away. Scattered around this area are huge boulders taller than myself, seemingly fallen from the sky – a giants discarded playthings. I can only conclude these have some sort of historical significance being prominent objects on an otherwise sparse landscape. I follow my own path which takes me past three such boulders, spaced 50 metres or so apart and seemingly forming a straight line pointing out to the coast. As the stone walls become less frequent, the ground is covered with more and more loose rock, piles of them here and there and large flat slabs that tilt as I move my weight across them. The familiar smell of salt air takes me home for a few seconds – I breath deeply. I hear the ocean crashing against the cliffs before I reach it and then its one more wall to clamber over and Im there. I find myself standing between two semi-circle inlets carved into the rocky coast and assume I’ve been lucky and led myself straight to my intended destination because of the way the swells roll in, hit the hollow inlets and water is flung into the air– or ‘puffed’ one might say. I would later find out that these were not the puffing holes, but they were impressive none the less.

Consulting my map I become unsure about my find and decide to walk to the beginning of the cliffs on the eastern side of the island and make my way back around the cliffs from there, tracing the shapes of the coast on my map as I go. The first natural wonder I nearly miss. I hear the boom of waves battering the cliffs and feel the vibrations through the ground and edge closer to the cliffs to get a better look. I have to get within a metre of the drop before I can see anything. About 30 metres below me is a perfect rectangle worn into the side of the island through which water is rushing in, ricocheting off the three sides and sweeping out to sea again. At first it doesn’t seem like much of a find but after a few minutes perching precariously on the edge of the cliff I am rewarded when the flow in and out builds up and crescends in one powerful wave which on hitting the back wall sends water high into the air
before me and everything is whited out with spray and foam. Its exhilarating to see, so much so that I risk my life to take a photo – thankfully there were no sudden gusts of wind or careless errors on my part.

Moving onward round the coast I come across something else I had been hoping to see, the remains of a stone circle built by artist Richard Long in 1975. I had been keeping an eye out for the stone circle but the problem faced when in a landscape such as this is that everywhere you look, with a little imagination random piles of rocks could easily be the remains of a Richard Long stone circle. This was definitely it though.

I then came to two more inlets in the coast -despite not really doing much, these I decide, are the puffing holes. Looking carefully I see way down another rectanglar recess in the surface of the rocks from which water is being forced up then sucked back down. Nothing airborne though. I notice the water is actually rushing under the bottom of the cliffs in the inlet furtherest from me and walking inland across more rocky shingle I come across a large hole in the ground maybe 3 metres by 3 metres. It is such a straight narrow chute into the earth that I can barely see the water rushing in at the bottom but I can hear it as it runs under the ground beneath my feet. A short distance from this hole I find another smaller hole which Glen aptly describes as looking like a bellybutton. Its wider at the top then narrows as though the land has been sucked down. These Glen also tells me later, are the puffing holes. They do not puff. And they’re the only thing I didn’t take any photos of. Heading back across the island I find one more hole, only by the echoing sound of water – its only about the size of a basketball. Its amazing and slightly worrying to realize that all this water is running freely below the very land I am walking on, especially since I recently read that limestone is watersoluble (thus the reason the caves and the crevices in the landscape developed).

As I head home I disturb a lizard sunning himself, he catches me unaware, and I catch only a glimpse of his tail and hind legs as he slips under a rock. Ireland has no snakes but it has lizards. I leave the salty air, the harsh coast and the power of the ocean behind me and make my way back down the otherside of the island towards my bike. For the first time in the three hours I’ve been exploring I see people. The isolation is incredible – it really is like being alone on the edge of the world. This is by far the most beautiful part of the island I’ve visited so far – its places like these that make me feel like I could stay here for ever……or at the very least come back some day.

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.

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.