JandalsnAll

I cant believe Ive been here on this island six weeks already. But not for much longer. Due to unfortunate and somewhat inexplicable circumstances I will be leaving this Godforsaken island and my hostel abode and workplace of the aforementioned six weeks, in just two days. I can’t say I’m sorry to be leaving and I look forward to what’s ahead – hopefully another job in another place that suits me a little better. Im heading to Doolin (sweet Doolin) next week to meet the owner of the hostel and hopefully if I like them and they like me I’ll jump straight into another hostel job to tide me over the summer months.

Im uncertain how I feel about Inishmore at this point. In the sunshine it’s unbelievably beautiful, but when the rain comes in and the wind is blowing it’s bitterly miserable. And Ive had some good times with some amazing people who have come through the hostel, but Ive also had times when Ive felt alone and unwelcome here. All in all it’s been an experience and I’ll take what I can from it and move on.

On a somewhat less serious note, last night while relaxing infront of my tv in my shed, I was introduced to the extraordinary event that is the Eurovision song contest. Id heard of this in NZ and had a vague idea of what it was but could never have imagined the reality. Let me share. Basically, the competition consists of all the European nations battling it out through song and dance. Thats nothing unusual. The thing is, Im not sure what the criteria is when it comes to the content of the song and dance. There were far too many na nanas and la la laa la laas and ney ne ney ne neys for it not to be compulsory to include non-words for at least half the song. As is it apparently compulsory to sing all harmonies excrutiatingly just out of tune. The dancing and the clothing do nothing to improve the song quality (sample lyric: ‘Lorraine in the rain’ sample group names: Vanilla Ninja, Wigwam, Feminem…). Far too many open shirts, sequins, unneccessary sunglasses (it was held inside) and swoonful looks for any of the acts to be taken seriously – by me at least. Is it supposed to be taken seriously? Does anybody know? The whole thing is intriguing. The acts were so bad I just had to watch to see if they could get any worse! Maybe Im in the dark on the whole thing, maybe its a big joke – I just cant work it out. Though the Irish commentators were sorely disappointed that Ireland didnt make it into the finals ‘Latvia?, come on’ one of them says in disgust as the last finalist is read. Im not sure which ones Latvia were but Im sure they had sequins, bad lyrics and worse harmonies. All in all it was not a comfortable 2 hour experience at all and yet I could not look away. Think a hideously mutant Steps/Wham/Shakira/Gareth Gates monster and you’ll have some idea of the fascinating creature that is Eurovision. Scary.

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.

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.

Ooo Im a slacker. I’ll slap myself on the hand. Leaving you all in suspenders wondering if Im dead or alive. Im sure you’re all worried sick. Dont blame you. But rest assured I am alive – a sluggish sort of alive at times but alive nonetheless.
So while you’ve been going out of your minds with worry Ive been from Kilkenny to Cork to Dingle with Skibereen inbetween. Last Saturday ? all the days blend into one here. I left Kilkenny for Cork, catching a ride with A – thats the English young Jonathan Creek lookalike. We neared Cork around midday and decided to head out to Blarney to see Blarney Castle and to kiss the dreaded Blarney Stone. Dreaded because who knows whats lurking on a stone millions of people have slobbered on. The castle itself is awesome. Not restored this one, and complete with dungeons and murderhole where boiling liquids were poured from a great height on invaders below – now this is what I came to Ireland to see. Dungeons, murderholes and slobbery stones.

We walked up several spiral staircases through the remains of the castle (excellent view from the top) to join the queues of other people keen to slobber on the stone. Now before I came to Ireland I had no intention of ever kissing the Blarney stone but I figured I was there and I’d paid NZ$14 to get in, may as well come away with something (no meningitis thanks). I began to assess the throngs around me, trying to pick out signs of any particularly hazardous bacterium so as to position myself so I am at least 7 seconds away when it comes to kissing the stone. The good old 7 second rule. Nothing evident to the naked eye but these things can go unrecognized. I was hoping there’d be a scanning process by way of cheekswab testing just before you get to the stone but there wasnt. And as this was a spur of the moment sidetrip, I hadnt had time to purchase any mouthwash – or industrial strength disinfectant. The moment of truth came as I approached the kissing stone. Adam went first, stood up, no sweating,tumbling or projectile vomiting – a good sign. My turn next. The process for slobbering on the stone is such: You lie flat on your back and inch yourself backwards, so as to hang upside down over a hole near the wall of the castle View image
. A guide holds you, you pucker up and plant a big wet one on a stone the size of a brick . I thought it would be much bigger – I hoped it would be much bigger – less chance of another bout of French bird flu, or American bird flu as it would most likely have been in this case. A stone so small can hardly remain sterile with so much slobber. Anyway I did it. And so far so good – though as I said these things can go unrecognized you know.I’ll keep you posted.

A and I arrived in Cork that afternoon and stayed in Bru bar and Hostel. A nice place, brand new but rather sterile in terms of hanging out with other travellers. And thats a bad sort of sterile. While there we met up with D, one of the ‘bloody Aussies’ from Kilkenny. Went on a search for traditional Irish music that night and ended up listening to some 90’s heavy metal band. They were awesome…I’ll take 90’s heavy metal over traditional Irish music anyday …. not. But good company. Stayed another night or two in Cork but the weather was miserable and there doesnt seem to be anything much in Cork. Oh actually D and I did catch a bus out to Kinsale, a little fishing town, and walked out to see Charles Fort which was amazing. Its right on the sea and huge. It was used to fight someone from somewhere back in the day – (go look it up if you really want to know), then used again in WW2, then occupied by a bunch of hippies in the 60’s – that I do remember. But you can peer out to sea through the watch towers and the gaps where the cannons were (whatever those gaps are called) and pretend you’re under attack. Very cool and reccomended.

So after Cork, I was intending on heading down and around the coast and up towards Dingle where I planned to spend Easter with Lex, Kane and co (friends over from London for the weekend). The bloody Aussie who has become my current travelling buddy and I chose Skibbereen (which is inbetween) just on a whim, to spend a day in or so before carrying on to Dingle. Well theres not much to see in Skibbereen but the name is cool. We had to hike 2kms from the town out to an adventure park hostel for the night. It was a great place to stay, and the guy looking after it was the only one there so we played cards and guitar most of the night then hiked back into town the next day and caught a bus back to Cork. It turns out buses dont go down and around the coast and to get to Dingle we had to catch a bus from Cork. So Skibbereen inbetween ended up being a bit of an expensive excursion because of the bus trips but if I hadnt have gone I wouldnt be able to keep saying Skibereen inbetween. So I’d say it was well worth it.

So finally to the present day. Its a beautiful day in Dingle. The best yet. Blue skies and a sea breeze. Yesterday I caught up with Lex, Kane, and their friends Jason, Amy and Min. Escapades so far include taking a boat trip out to see Funghi (like mushrooms) the dolphin, the local celebrity – just like real tourists. And a trip up into the hills, stopping for an icecream (you should have seen Lex’s face light up), stopping again at a waterfall, where we soon found out just who and who was not destined to be a world famous rock-climber – Lex utilizing the everpopular ‘bum-sliding’ technique as method of descent, and stopping again at a beach reminiscent of Papamoa. Not bad surf either. I took a photo for you Dad. Today is Easter Saturday and the pubs are open again so should be a fun night to be had by all – hopefully with plenty of local sounds. Stay tuned.