JandalsnAll

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.

I must get something off my chest. I cant keep it bottled up inside any longer. These sorts of traumatic experiences have a tendency to scar one for life if they’re not talked about. So consider me the patient, and you the psychiatrist. How to begin…. Well, it all started one night in Dingle. Easter Saturday was just as beautiful a day as Easter Friday. Blue skies and all – it never rains in Dingle. I spent the day out by the wharf, hanging out with Aussie Dylan, checking out the shops, and not doing much at all really. That night we met up a couple of German lads Ollie and Greg from the hostel. The Rainbow Hostel by the way is great. Its about a 10 min walk from town, and very homely with a great big kitchen, long benches and a NZer on reception which is always a bonus.

Anyway, we all went out for the night, first to a pub that doubles as a shoe repair shop in the daytime (!? theres also a hardware/pub in town aswell) then met up with Lex and Co in a pub creatively named The Dingle Pub. It was an excellent night with live music and a variety of crazy antics. Everyone had a gay old time. I think the Germans may have been a little scared by the amount of gayness – scared or intrigued – hard to tell.

So anyway we head back to the hostel at what ended up being 2.30am because of daylightsavings (of which we were all unaware until the early hours of the morning) and settle down in bed. Two lower bunks they were, Aussie Dylan in one, myself in the other with obviously, two top bunks above, both occupied – also about a metre apart. These details are very important if you are to understand what is to follow. And I will revel in imagining you grimacing in disgust as I elaborate further into the more spinechilling details. At aproximately 6am in the early hours of the morning I am awoken from slumber by the sound of falling water….and find my bed becoming increasingly wetter with an unidentifiable liquid. Is it raining inside? Oh how I wish it was. I jump out of bed as does Dylan with a shout. Under closer examination by the light of a cellphone we find the unidentifiable liquid (its nature will soon become clearer) pooling in a growing puddle on the ground about 30cm from my pack – which I very promptly moved. By scientific calculation we determined it had shot across from one top bunk to hit the other before submitting to gravity and soaking into both of our nice dry clean beds…. well I wasnt sticking around to perform any tests but I think you may have some idea as to what the mystery substance might have been. May I add that the occupant of the top bunk was male.

So we ended up dragging a duvet that hopefully was out of the line of fire, into the hallway and spent the rest of the morning shivering in horror and taking turns in the corner to rock back and forth, trying in vain to get to some happy place, some little cupboard of the mind unsoiled by the traumatic experience. I must say I did feel sorry for the culprit as morning came. I didnt actually see his face, just a lump under the blankets, because he stayed in bed until the room was clear..and I dont blame him.

And just telling you has brought it all flooding back – nay dribbling back. I think I’ll have to go lie down. Preferably on a top bunk.

But before I go, just so you know, Im in Doolin. I love Doolin. I want to marry Doolin. Except that Doolin has only one internet cafe that takes extreme pleasure in that fact by charging exorbertant (spelling?) prices. So I’ll fill you in hopefully in a couple of days – Doolin’s worth the wait.

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.

Well well well St Paddy’s day has been and gone. And you missed it. But I didnt. I must state that I am currently suffering from a severe case of StPaddylitis which Im finding rather hard to shake. Symptoms include unnatural cravings for Guinness, seeing green spots and chronic jigging.

As I am writing this two days later through Shamrock shaped, green tinted glasses (not beer goggles I assure you) please bear with me as I attempt to relate (ever so briefly) events of my first St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. May I begin with a well deserved ‘Arrgghh’. And a bit of an ‘ErrghneedmoresleepandlessGuinness’.

Thursday 17th March.
Wake up.
Do nothing.
Go to St Patricks Day parade View image. Favourites included rogue police with fishnet stockings, stubbies and cigars in a Ford fiesta, and little rat dog pulling teeny tiny float. Walk down street. Am stopped by random guy on street. (Unbeknownst to me, Kathmandu backpack also doubles as a huge neon sign ‘KIWI KIWI KIWI’). Find out random guy is from Te Awamutu. Am shocked and suprised. No not really. Aj from Te Awamutu arranges enmasse congregation of Kiwis. The Kiwis invade. Its a small world. Go to pubs. Pubs include:’ hard rugby men’ pub, ‘cool alternative student’ pub, ‘lets wear our bikini and belt out tonight’ pub (not my favourite). Am inevitably introduced to Guinness and a number of other delicious beverages. Am propositioned by bald guy who would like to buy my dreads. Consider selling dreads. Decide against selling dreads. Crazy bald Irish people. Farewell awesome Kiwi persons. Go to hostel. Make it up three flights of stairs. Am relieved. Have happy ‘St Patrick’s Day’ dreams.

Friday morning:
Wake up. Fall asleep. Wake up again. Repeat if desired. Find grass. Sit on grass. Leave precious grass. Move hostel. Decide on early night. Meet American Anna. Am offered night of quiet drinks. Its a trap. The Aussies invade. Bloody Aussies. Proceed to have smashing night of Traditional Irish Music with lashings of Guinness (one lashing) and occasional jigging. Farewell awesome Aussie persons plural plus one American person plus Jonathan Creek lookalike. Go to hostel. Make it up two flights of stairs with relative ease. Have pleasant ‘day after St Patricks Day’ dreams. The End.

So on Monday night, just on a whim, and with a recommendation from one of Carmel’s friends I decided to move on to Kilkenny. Thats the cool thing about travelling by yourself, ‘leaving just on a whim’. Not so cool things would include ‘missing your bus-stop in Kilkenny and ending up in Callan which is a completely different town then having to sheepishly admit this to your bus driver who tells you he did yell out the name of the desired stop but you thought that was someone else asking to go to the desired stop and you have to get off the bus then cross the road and wait for another bus going back the other way’. That would’nt be cool. And you’d have to be a bit of an idiot to do something like that. It didnt happen to me….nope definitely didnt happen to me. But let this hypothetical (totally hypothetical) situation be a lesson to all who travel on buses to sit near the front where you can hear the bus driver when he tells you to get off – and dont wear your headphones..

After saying goodbye to Carmel on Tuesday afternoon I eventually found my way to Kilkenny. I was booked in for the night at Wesley house, a hostel in the grounds of the local Methodist Church. Its a three story place, rather old and really kitch on the inside – though I’m not sure whether ‘kitch’ is actually the intention… There is much religious signage, mismatching flowery decor and a set of those flying ducks on the wall – yep its definitely the coolest place I’ve been so far. I spent the first night in a nine bed dorm all by myself.

Wednesday morning I spent window shopping and just getting the lay of the land. The main feature of the town in Kilkenny Castle which dates from 13th Century. But the town itself (and its not very big – just two or so main streets) is full of existing Medieval buildings and cobbled roads as well as the more recent additions, with the river Nore running through the middle. The River Nore by the way is alot less sludgy and mildewy green than the river Liffey and so generally much more pleasant to look at.

That afternoon I decided it was time for some serious tourist action. After hanging my camera conspicuously round my neck and putting on all my gold jewellery, I set off….picked up some Mc D’s on the way, and with cellphone to ear all the while talking loudly in an American accent to my imaginary friend on the other end about how ‘yeah Kilkenny’s great but the people arent very bright and they really need a Starbucks here’ I found some old building. Might of been a church or whatever but they all look the same….. I climbed St Canices tower (110 steps with an awesome view from the top), an old stone construction built between AD 700 – 1000 (yes I had to look that up, Im not that clever), very much intact except for the very top section which no longer exists. Its kinda freaky climbing up totally surrounded by stone – its only a couple of meters across and very little natural light on the inside.

After the tower I continued on my touristy way, taking the guided tour through Kilenny Castle. You can only go in by way of guided tour if you’re wondering, otherwise I probably would have steered clear of the whole tourists enmasse thing. I much prefer to wander round a historically significant site on my own, trying to look intelligent while saying things like ‘hmm’ and ‘fancy that’ when really Im just wondering where the toilet is. But it was very informative and I learnt alot of things about several people called James. None of which I can remember. And so I will now consult the ever-present LP to aid in your pending history lesson:

Built in 1192 by Strongbows nephew (thats just some English guy). Main inhabitants were the powerful Butler family from 1391 – 1935 (including several named James). Maintainence of the building became a strain and it was gifted to the city who are still in the process of restoring it to’Victorian splendour’. There are some original furnishings but many are just random Victorian antiques. And copies of paintings. There were some amazing tapestries though.
Definitely an awesome building and worth seeing (for someone from little ol NZ (NZ wasnt even invented when the castle was built)), the idea of reconstructing what the interior would have looked like doesnt really appeal to me in some way. Its not very HPC (historically politically correct ) but I think I’d rather see it in ruins.

That night treated myself to a little restaurant dining, blowing the budget. Its potatoes for the rest of the trip.

P.S Americans rule so dont be sending me hate comments now.

update from the last few days in Dublin:

On Thursday afternoon, after the morning of Icky Throats and Nasty Coughs I found grass (the walking on kind)…..Thus Thursday shall be renamed and henceforth shall be known as The Day I Found Grass(The Walking On Kind). It still had a fence around it but there was plenty of it so I dont think this was the endangered stuff.
On the way to find the National Gallery I came across Merridon Square which is across the river on the south side of Dublin city. Its a beautiful haven of nature (suitable for aforementioned cleansing of the soul). You walk in and as if by magic (leprechauns??) the sounds of the traffic on the four surrounding roads dims. There’s lush green grass, nice pretty flowers (I couldn’t name them for you but I can state for a fact that they were definitely of the NicenPretty variety), people quietly talking, walking and eating lunch. It was a welcomed respite (?) from the city and I was quite amazed it existed – I dont think I was still hallucinating… There were some most ugly sculptures scattered around the gardens – religious I think, crosses and people in agony – but they were intriguing in their hideousness so that was okay. I left paradise and visited the National Gallery – the paintings were large and impressive but mostly of pre 20th century so not terribly interesting to me.

After the gallery I attempted to find my way to Temple Bar – supposedly one of Dublins hip hotspots. I dont think I found it – maybe I wasnt hip enough – but I did find Grafton road which was flooded with people across the whole street, lotsa shops and interesting buskers. There was even a piano accordian lady reminiscent of Taurangas old accordion lady (except she wasnt old and she sat on the ground not in a wheelchair). So I dint manage to find Temple Bar on this day but did find the accordian lady, and another cool three piece band of youths playing a weird kind of Irish folk punk rock. On the way back to the hostel I had some cauliflower soup to nourish me back to health. then checked into my new bed up five flights of stairs. Yay. I met an Australian girl there who said just hours before my bed had been occupied by another Kiwi, but nevermind, the Australian was the next best thing – except she of course preferred Vegemite over Marmite. Also 2 koreans, 1 german and a couple of other unidentified humans in the room.

Next morning I awoke with vigour. Well the third time I awoke was with vigour. I packed everything up and had a quick hostel breakfast of croissant, then set off. I had a plan. I would visit the much anticipated wax museum, the Modern gallery and Cobalt Gallery and cafe where according to LP I would have heary soup by a roaring fire. After about a ten minute walk I find the wax museum is shut, the modern gallery is under renovation and the cafe complete with roaring fire and hearty soup nowhere to be found. And I so wanted to visit the wax museum.

After that disapppointment, I decided to try again to track down the elusive Temple Bar district. I think I ended up walking through it because I did see the actual pub called the Temple Bar and I passed a couple of be-studded Goth/Punk ‘cool’ kids, so yeah that must of been it. I think its more ‘happenin’ at nighttime…or maybe you need to know the secret ‘hipnhappenin’ handshake. I passed Bank of Ireland (of which I know absolutely nothing about but it sounds impressive) and Trinity College which looked very inviting with the crowd of arty academics hanging outside. I then made my way back over the Liffey, had some more soup, this time celery and blue cheese which tasted suprisingly like the cauliflower soup. And as I ponder the similarities I am struck by a thought – Dont they use stock for soups? And isnt that stock sometimes chicken? And dont these soups tasted just like chicken? And I keep drinking anyway. Maybe its nutritious life juices will nourish me back to health. That would be kind of ironic though. Firstly me being a vegetarian, secondly chicken juice being a cure for French bird flu.

Anyway, enough about the slaughter of innocent chickens to feed my ailing body. That afternoon (Friday) Carmel picked me up outside the hostel and just in time too, as a hoard of French men arrived for the Saturday match (Ireland vs France) and Angela’s grandma tells me I should look out for French men so what a near miss that was and a grand stroke of luck I should be leaving just in time.

Well, well, well turns out I did catch the dreaded French Bird Flu – or something damn near as horrible. On the first day I arrived in Dublin I thought the dizziness and the way everything around me seemed to be tilting back and forth was just a symtpom of jetlag. Till I woke the next morning with a head full of snot (and I apologize not for that lovely image). So yesterday (that was when I woke up with the snot) after a breakfast of scone (thats what they serve for breakfast at the hostel) I went to the nearest chemist and stocked up on anti-snot drugs (several kinds in the end as the first two didnt work) went back to the hostel and promptly fell asleep. I woke up, doped myself up again as the snot had returned and decided to venture outside. I did plan to go to the national gallery and the very promising sounding wax museum but I figured I’d take it easy and check out the shopping areas.
There’s an area of retail shops and malls on the north side of the river Liffey centred around a 130 metre tall concrete and steel spike which was built only in 2003 and is known as ‘The Spire’ and something else which I cant remember (Monument of Light?) Anyway, it makes for a great photo so I took a photo. ( Ive only taken one photo sofar).
From the spire stems four streets, – to the north, east, south and west kinda thing. Its a pretty cool place – very busy, lots of Glassons type shops but also a fruit and vege market and pretty much any other type of retail shop you can think of. After my dose of retail therapy, or wishful retail therapy as it was I was feeling a little peckish so I consulted LP and found this cool little cafe called ‘The Winding Stair Cafe’. Its on the second floor of a antique book shop and you make your way up a creaky spiral staircase, the walls on either side of you wallpapered with pages from old books, squeeze through a tiny door into a cafe complete with checkered tablecloths, Billie Holiday music and sandwiches named after books. I had an ‘Old Man of the Sea’ – tuna, mayo and lettuce – and much nicer than it sounds. I also had the best hot chocolate in the world – or at least I think it was, my tastebuds were on strike cos of the snot situation, but it looked really nice. And I had an apple juice of the piss variety. Thats the second time Ive ordered apple juice expecting the nice cloudy old fashioned stuff but both times I’ve received the piss variety. Which tastes alright, its just the analogy’s not so pleasant. I had a great view of the river from my spot in the cafe. This is a bit further down from the vantage point I had a day earlier. But I must say the river was looking as inviting as ever, no water this time (maybe they drain it?), just a whole lotta green sludge. Kinda reminded me of my own health situation. And the gulls down this end didnt even have zorro masks on – actually come to think of it I only saw that one the day before so maybe I was just hallucinating on account of the onset of French bird flu.
After that, I headed back to the hostel, buying my second lot of anti-snot drugs on the way as well as some water and tissues. Lots of tissues. I would be prepared for the night ahead.

PART 2
That would be last night. Horror of horrors. I had to redope myself up about 3 times, then woke at 3am and couldnt get back to sleep. But I must have dozed off because I missed the moment when my throat swelled up so much I could hardly swallow let alone talk. Thats the way it was when I woke up this morning. So first thing I did this morning was of course to go on my daily trip to the chemist and stock up on drugs – for icky throats and nasty coughs this time. I decided I better have a decent breakfast so armed with directions from my sick buddy Tania from America(shes been sick for two weeks the showoff) I found a cafe that actually serves cereal for breakfast. I chose the healthiest kind – FruitnFibre – which is basically just Sultana Bran. I miss Mr Hubbard. I stumbled back to the hostel after, somewhat feverish I think, and slept again. Then I had to leave at 10.30 and not return til 3pm while they make the bed in the room I have booked for tonight. So here I am again, writing for you with a hazier brain, not much of a voice and a whole lotta snot.
Thankfully the sun is shining today and the earth isnt tilting quite as much and Im going to stay with cousin/aunt (I can never figure out which) Carmel tomorrow who will hopefully coddle me with treats and kindness.
Right now I think the wax museum is calling. Sounds intriguing. I’ll let you know.