Thus Far...Chapter 2

Thus far I have discovered that hiking over mountains is hard, meeting new friends is easy, and Ireland is magical and thus my journey continues. By now I have finished my adventure along Kerry Way having covered over 80 miles of the 120 originally planned. I have written about the difficulties of hiking across the “bog,” about the people I have met along the way, and about the amazing beauty of this place. Over the past week I have experienced an array of new and wonderful things as I met characters from across the globe, hitchhiked, camped, and laughed my way across County Kerry all the way back to where this particular journey began; in my new favorite town in Ireland, Killarney.

Hitchhiking:

I found that I was not the only hiker who eventually became overwhelmed by the tough and grueling trail known as Kerry Way. Almost every person I met who was attempting to hike the “Way” hitchhiked for a least a part of their journey. It made me feel pretty good that I was not the only person to fall victim to the trail; with sore shoulders, spent legs, knees that no longer wanted to work, and a lack of willingness to put myself through another day scrambling over some mountaintop somewhere. I don’t remember what day I left, as the hours and days seem to be running together for me now, but at some point, I departed Carsiveen on foot heading for the edge of town hopeful that I would be fortunate in my pursuit of a ride to Caherdaniel. It was there I was going to camp for a few days and hike out along the “Way” to the Strand (aka Beach) at Darrynane. Man, it was a tough crowd that morning and I began to wonder if hitchhiking was a complete and utter waste of time. However, I finally got a ride from an Irishman named Danny (go figure) who was on his way to work in Port Magee. Danny was eating a sandwich as he pulled over and he ushered me into the passenger seat with a randy smile, and I spent the next ten minutes feeling the need to wipe off the dollop of mayonnaise that rested on the left side of his face the entire time we spoke. Although he wasn't going far at least it was a start and as he dropped me off at the turn to the port where he worked, he smiled, waved goodbye, and wished me a safe journey. I can only assume that the mayonnaise has since been removed. At least one can hope. That was the beginning of my hitchhiking experience that continued with some fairly good results, well…for the most part. As I stood in the road waiting for my next lucky break I was blessed with a spectacular view and again a rare glimpse of Irish sunshine. Kay was the next person to pick me up and after what I can only describe as a hair-raising lift around the cliffs of County Kerry, delivered me unscathed, but weak in the knees, right down into the center of town in Caherdaniel. I made my way along the roadside to the campground where I stayed for two days until the midges drove me back to the confines of a hostel (more on them later). So to get to my next destination I stood in front of the campground with a sign that simply read “Sneem” and it wasn't long before I was motioned over into a van by two Germans who happened to be heading in my direction. Now I have spoken about going with one's gut on more than one occasion…I really need to start listening to my own advice. My traveling companions were heading into Killarney which would be my ultimate destination. However, I really wanted to go to Sneem and Kenmare to hike part of the “Way” and discover the beauty of those towns. So I forged ahead, got out at Sneem, and waved goodbye to my travel companions, only to discover; that there was no hostel. Okay…forward march. My thumb was already warmed up, so flexing it like a fighter about to do battle, I forged ahead yet again, and off I eventually went with Ian, a lumberjack who waxed poetic about sustainability, my kinda guy. He dropped me off in Kenmare where I was assured there would be ample accommodations. Ummm…yeah, no go. Kenmare was beautiful but the one and only hostel was dinky and overpriced. So being the hard-headed person that I am I briefly looked around town and then decided to hitchhike, right then there, back to Killarney. In this I learned a life lesson; when hitchhiking to a specific town it always helps to be on the correct road. I stood there for about three hours trying to get out of that god-forsaken town (my pet name for Kenmare). Finally, a nice woman who lived there told me I would have more luck if I stood on the main road into Killarney, not the scenic route that only the tourist took. Duh. She was kind enough to give me a lift to the right road where within a matter of minutes I was tucked into a small beat-up ole car with Michael and his daughter who were seemingly headed in the correct direction. Well, once again trust your instincts, people. Michael, I found out after the fact, wasn't actually going to Killarney he was going to Cork. So I was somewhat shocked, to say the least when he dropped me off at a T-junction in the middle of freakin’ nowhere Ireland, I was like holy shit Batman you…are screwed. The sign indicated that I was 20 miles outside of Killarney and the day was drawing to a close. I just stood there with my sign that read "Killarney" looking like what I can only assume was either pathetic or terrified. Luckily, it took even less time than the last to get a ride, within the first three cars turning for Killarney a nice family, who obviously saw the look on my face, picked me up and took me all the way to the hostel. Whew, hitchhiking was almost as crazy as hiking over a mountain alone and every bit as challenging. I want to thank all the folks who made that part of my adventure although often hair-raising, a safe and memorable experience. And to the Germans who made it to Killarney hours before I did, next time…I’m stickin’ with you.

Camping:

Ah, the great outdoors! Ya gotta love it, especially in Ireland. Now if you thought hiking over a mountain all alone was dangerous you obviously have never been camping with me. After finding a magnificent camping spot with an incredible view I managed to, in just a matter of an hour or so, bash my thumb with a rock (aka hammer), cut myself with my pocket knife, and step barefoot on what amounts to Ireland’s version of a stinging nettle. Geez, where is a nice safe precipice for me to almost fall off? Now, I will have to say that the view was spectacular at both campsites but for a couple of things. After my accident-filled evening, I snuggled down into my “tent with a view” that I had pitched along a sandy cove and watched the sun fade ever so slowly into the mountains. I awoke the next morning to the wind shaking my tent quite vigorously and when I unzipped the door I immediately got to eat a hardy, yet tasty, sand sandwich. I then proceeded to get a taste of that sandwich for the next hour or so while I packed my things and headed to my next campsite just a few miles down the road. Later that day I was still eating, brushing, picking, and rubbing sand out of every crack and crevasse of myself and my stuff. But did I tell you about how amazing the views were?? Now, the next view was even better. A beautiful spot along the open cliffs, but after the sun beat down on me for the entire day and the wind howled through me and my tent incessantly (I actually got a sunburn and/or windburn from those two days) I decided it might be prudent to move my tent to somewhere more, let’s say…sheltered. So I got situated in a nice little cove at the top of the campground with no view mind you but at least I didn't need to hold on to a tree to stand up and I didn't have to weigh my tent down with boulders to keep it on the side of the cliffs. Score one for the Gipper! Again, I climbed in and settled in for a nice warm sleep. In the morning I awoke to a quiet and still morning. The wind had died completely and as I crawled out of my tent to stretch I realized something was amiss. Now I have been in Ireland for almost ten days but on that beautiful and glorious morning, I met my first Midge. Oh, and his 50,000 cousins. Now if you have never met a midge you really must indulge yourself in their loving and welcoming embrace. Midges my friends are basically flying teeth, but not just any teeth, flying piranha teeth. Not just any flying piranha teeth, but ravenous, flying piranha teeth, and not just…well you get my drift. I have never dropped a tent and packed my shit so fast in all my life. I limped my sorry self up out of that place, thumb throbbing, hand bleeding, sore feet aching, being followed hungrily by a family of midges and looking as if I hadn't slept in days. I was surprised anyone stopped to give me a lift at all. But did I tell you how spectacular the views were??? To be honest it was one of the best times I have ever had in my life even despite the comedy of errors. Life is like that sometimes; you have to learn to take the good with the bad and when things don’t go as planned just put your head down, smile, laugh it off, and make the best of it. Deep thoughts with Kristine, complete.

The Players: I just want to give a shout-out to some of the people who have helped to make this journey so incredible.

Karen and Steve; I met Karen and Steve my first morning on the “Way” and we spent the next two nights in the hostels together. We lost each other along the way but reconnected yesterday in Killarney. We had breakfast together one last time while we spoke fondly of our journey. It was nice to see them once again as we had started out together what seemed like so very long ago.

Brian; I met Brian at the “Sleepy Camel” on my third day out. He came into the hostel the day Steve and Karen left and I had decided to stay an extra day. Now Brian was a card. He was 75 years old and sewn together with leather and nails. We sat together that evening in the sitting room of the Sleepy Camel, where he drank Jameson and regaled me with stories of his past. As the Jameson in his bottle got smaller his tales got bigger, his somewhat prominent nose got redder and my laughter grew louder. I met and/or traveled with Brian for the next two days until we lost track of each other in Waterville. He caught up with me again in Killarney two days ago where we reminisced and said a final goodbye as he left on the bus yesterday morning for New Castle.

Glen and Molly: Now this had to be one of my favorite evenings thus far. I met Glen and Molly in a little town called Carsiveen. They were working at a Hostel called the “Sive” in exchange for room and board. They were disenchanted with the expectations and confines of life in the real world and decided to make and create their own path in life and good for them. We spent the evening sitting by a fire that Glen had built in the hearth of the sitting room, talking about the earth, about kids these days, about expectations of society, and about dreams that were meant to be chased. Loved those kids and I hope they follow their dreams to their fruition. I didn't have the heart to tell them “Good luck with that…”

The folks at Neptune’s in Killarney: All total I spent four nights at Neptune’s in Killarney. So I have to give props to; Kinga, Juliet, Michael, and Peter, who was not only the nicest guy I have ever met but the finest guy I have seen in Ireland thus far, (and BTW: thanks for the chocolate Peter!) and the rest of the people that worked at Neptune’s. That hostel became like a second home to me. Love you guys.

Ian; I met Ian as I was walking through Caherdaniel and as he was sitting on a stone wall having just come off the trail and was, as was I, tired of hiking. I was doing a day hike at the time so I crossed the street to speak with him and find out what he was up to, if he was hiking the Way, and if so to see what I had missed on that particular section. He was trying to hitch a ride into Sneem as I would do several days later. We spoke for a few moments and eventually parted ways; I headed south into the park and he, hopeful to catch a ride north, to Sneem. When I arrived back at Neptune’s a few days later the first one to greet me was Ian who just happened to be sitting on the couch in the lobby when I arrived. It was great to see him and unknown to us at the time that would be the beginning of what my friend Ben would later refer to as “the perfect storm.”

The Killarney Crew; Sunday was one of those days I will look back on for the rest of my life. I would later refer to it thusly.  

That day it was as if some giant hand was putting together a puzzle, and as each member of the Crew came into play another piece of the puzzle was put into place. It was Ian and Sam whom I met as I stepped back into Neptune’s that evening, where Ian suggested that later we should go for a pint, Sam agreed and the puzzle pieces began being placed. Over the next hour or so I met Lauren and Kellie two girls from Missouri and who in my mind were the salt of the earth; two more pieces of the puzzle in place. Then I met Ben. Ben was from Australia; we made an instant connection and Ben became what I would have to say was my best “mate” while I was in Killarney. Sarah from Texas with her innocent smile was next to be placed and, last but not least, Hannah was added to the mix, and with that, the universe made an audible “click.” The “Perfect Storm,” as Ben would call it, had been created. Ben nicknamed me “mum,” as I was the oldest of the Crew, the rest of the kids soon followed suit and together we headed for the pub not knowing that night at the “Grand” in Killarney would be one of a kind. A night that could never be duplicated, nor would any of us want to. 

Breakfast Club that morning was quite loud and a great deal of fun but unfortunately, most had to leave that day. They filtered out one by one with hugs and handshakes and wishes for safe travels. And although over the next day or so Ben and I met new friends it wasn't quite the same. He and I slowly said goodbye to them all until he and I were the last two remaining. Ben eventually had to leave on the bus Tuesday morning. We gave each other a hug and a smile and said goodbye knowing that the universe had pulled us all together. 

The puzzle had been but for one day, but the perfect storm would stay with each of us forever. 

Me and Ben

                  

Across the "Bog"

                                                               

                                              


                                                       Killarney to Black Valley

I often find myself torn between the part of me that enjoys being alone; torn between that need for complete and utter solitude where I can be nothing more than exactly who I am and not what people expect me to be and the other part of me, the gregarious part, the part that loves to be the center of attention and the part of me who loves people. Torn between that kind of solitude and that deep-seated need in me that wants to know what makes them, or you, tick. I think I would honestly have to say that this trip has afforded me the opportunity to explore both of those very distinct, but different needs. While hiking the trail thus far I have had equal time to be alone and ample opportunity to connect with other people from all across the world. As I started out from Killarney I had no idea what to expect and I certainly got more than I bargained for. Although there were at first many people along the trail to Torc Waterfall like Derek and Ellen who were from South Africa and were so taken by what I was doing that Ellen wanted her picture taken with me and Derek wanted to return next year so they could hike the trail themselves. Side note: Somewhere in South Africa right now Derek and Ellen are showing that picture to their friends and I am forever immortalized in their photo album. Need to connect with others and be the center of attention satisfied. Now, I eventually left Derek and Ellen behind me as I gained some height over the mountain pass and distanced myself from the crowds. The climb was rough; grueling would be a good word for it. I at times found myself climbing on hands and knees thirty pounds strapped to my back over shale and gravel slopes. I hopped precariously from one rock to another up the rough-hewn mountainside only to find myself sliding down the other side on slippery, loam-covered slopes, usually on my backside, trying not to fall and break something. At times I prayed to God to give me the strength to endure the next obstacle or cursed the mist-filled sky wondering WTF I was doing out there all alone. And then I would find myself over that hurdle, standing on a mountainside, in complete awe of the sheer beauty that surrounded me.  And in an instant, it all became worth the effort, the sweat, the tears. That day, my first on the “Way” was also the day that I met my friend Eric.
                                 
I was at one point taking a much-needed rest sitting on a large flat rock watching some deer on the distant hillside when around the corner came Eric. He was as startled to see me as I him but we made an instantaneous connection. I smiled and put my finger to my lips and quietly motioned for him to look across to the far hills. As his eyes caught the movement of the deer he eased himself down on the rock beside me and in silence we watched the beauty of Mother Nature in motion. Eric took his eyes from the horizon, smiled up at me, and in broken English asked me my name, and I his. We showed each other the maps we had and exchanged stories about the trail. Eric was on his 8^th and final day, I was on my first and most challenging. We decided to have lunch together and spread the contents of our packs on the rock between us. He pulled out some apples and chocolate and I some thick chunks of wheat bread, Irish cheese, and dried meat. We sat awhile sharing with one another the food we had laid out, each other’s company, and the spectacular view. Sitting there silently with him I thought to myself; now this is part of what being alive is all about. About the connection we can make over something as simple as apples and cheese. About how similar we all are in our differences, and about the pureness one can find in the beauty of simple moments. When Eric and I parted ways it was with warm smiles, handshakes, and memories of a bond and a friendship which happened by chance in a land filled with immense beauty and challenges. I moved back along the “Way” and glanced back over my shoulder to see Eric doing the same. We waved a last goodbye and turned to finish that day’s journey each in our own quiet solitude. At the end of that first day, I hiked, climbed, walked, scurried, slid, and cussed my way for 15 incredible miles over mountains, through valleys, across rivers and prairies. I met amazing people and saw things I had only dreamed of seeing. By the time I found the hostel in Black Valley, I was completely spent. My entire body was literally quivering with exhaustion. It took me 2 hours longer than expected and the feeling of triumph was a good night’s rest away.

                                                    Black Valley to Glencar

I awoke the next morning and could actually walk, much to my surprise. When collapsing into my bed that evening I thought there was no way I would even be able to move tomorrow let alone hike for 12 miles. I guess I was wrong. That morning I met Karen and Steve who were from England and were also hiking Kerry Way. Although we did not hike the trail together, as I wanted my solitude and they wanted theirs, we did spend the next two nights together at the same hostels where we drank a few cold ones and told stories from the day’s travels. Mine just happened to be the story of the day. (Center of attention anyone?) I had a good start to the morning making my way past the Gearhanour Stream and past the Lough making the decision to veer off the trail and hike along a road that ran parallel to the Way and which rejoined it later. I made good time, it was a beautiful sunny day, and Broaghnabinna Mountain and Cummeenduff Lough were shining brightly in the rare sunlight. My spirits were high and my aim was true. I easily regained the “Way” and traversed down into Commeenduff Glen. I then followed the posted signs making my way up out of the Glen. I stopped to refill my water bottles at a mountain stream and after surveying my surroundings I instinctively told myself that south through the low pass is the way out of the valley. But the trail book indicated to first head up a steeply graded road. I hesitated; it just felt like something was amiss. When in doubt people, go with your gut. I ended up taking the wrong path all the while Karen and Steve, who did not miss that particular marker, were across the mountain waving at me frantically and watching helplessly as I veered up the mountain and out of sight. Now when the trail ended smack dab into a lake I knew I was not where I needed to be. Decision time; forge ahead or retrace my steps. Since I am the type of person who always errs on the side of caution, I forged ahead. As I continued on I told myself all the while that I could regain the trail if I could cross the Infant Caragh River and make my way to the top of the near peak, or thereabouts, and look down into the pass to see if I could spot the trail. And that is what I did. I climbed to as near as I could to the top of the bluff, saw the Caragh Valley, which is what I had been searching for and was supposed to be heading into, checked my bearing with my compass, decided it was correct, and made my way down onto the valley floor below finally finding the “Way” markers and breathing a sigh of relief. I remember falling in the mud a lot coming down off that mountain; luckily it wasn't over a precipice. So with my pride intact, my ass covered in mud, and my sound sense of direction back on course, I traversed across the Caragh Valley where I found a gravel road and where I was lucky enough to, after two hours of walking, hitch a ride with the one car that came by. It was occupied by two teenagers’ joy riding and who I considered to be my guardian angels. They took me the last 6 km and dropped me off at the front door of the hostel. Steve and Karen were shocked, to say the least when I was at the bar awaiting their arrival. I let them think on that a bit before I told them I cheated. We all had a good laugh, a cold beer, and a good night's rest before we headed out again the next morning in the hopes of making it to Glenbeigh that afternoon.

                                                                           

                                                          Glencar to Glenbeigh

The “Seefin” and “Windy Gap.” Nuff said. The hike up and over Windy Gap was, to say the least, the easiest day on the Way. Leaving the hostel bright and early I got a good lead on Karen and Steve. I figured that way if I ran into trouble I would have them pulling up the rear and they could come and save me. This part of Kerry Way was only eight miles and was mostly road walking so it was a fine uneventful day. Oh except for the magic of the Seefin and getting lost in the clouds in Windy Gap. Now if you have been waiting for me to wax poetic here I go. I am not sure what “Seefin” actually is; whether it is the name of the area I was in or the sink that I walked through, but it was all amazing. At one point  I was coming up a stairway cut into the mountainside and I unwittingly scared a whole herd of wild goats. I’m not sure who was more surprised them or me, but they scattered across the glen way faster than I did that’s for sure. I continued my journey forward and found myself going down another set of stairs that had been carved into the rock outcroppings and then down deeper into what we call in F.L.A. a natural sink. In Ireland, this is the stuff of fairy tales and leprechauns. It was so serene and so tranquil there. I found myself standing alone. I could feel my heart beat ever so gently in my chest, my own breathing the only thing I could hear, and feeling as if I was the only person on earth. You almost felt as if this, this place, was hallowed ground. Not from something religious or man-made, but because of something spiritual that was being given to you from the earth itself. And as I paused I could feel the presence of something, something special, of what I can only presume was…the aura of the earth. It was magical. It was difficult to leave that place behind me and I did so reluctantly. I will always cherish those few moments in time and I will always remember the intensity of that place. Without a doubt, I felt a peace there that I had never felt before. So with those memories made, I continued my way out of the Seefin and headed towards the top of Windy Gap and very soon I again found myself in a place where the earth itself spoke to me. As I was making my way across the dell I could see the clouds drifting across the top of the mountains. At times it was so thick the peaks disappeared only to reappear moments later still looking strong, ancient…invincible. I journeyed up into the high pass where I could scan the valley below and where I could still make out the little country roads, the quaint country church, and the yellow flowers that dotted the valley floor. And then I was suddenly and quietly engulfed by a soft gentle mist. It surrounded me; I could hear the birds trilling below, I could taste the moisture on my lips, and feel the cloud on my skin as it drifted over me. But all I could see was…the grey. You want me to wax poetic about inter-connectedness, about being one with your surroundings and at one with this earth, about being a part of this planet, not just being on it. Well, there you have it. It was a defining moment in my life. This was the most amazing day thus far and I will delight in it, revel in it, and remember it forever. Poetic waxing complete.

Please note: If you do not have a Google account then you cannot comment on the Blog site itself. However, if you feel the need to comment, and by all means please do, you can do it where you would leaving a comment below where I posted it on Facebook. Peace. :)

Travel Tips and Other Random Observances

                                                      

So I have decided to write a travel trip blog intermingled with stories. Or will it be stories intermingled with travel tips? I’ll let you decide. As far as my trip to Ireland thus far…WOW! I actually could just stop there because that is all that really needs to be said. But then that wouldn’t be much of a blog now, would it?

In the Beginning:

So for me, no trip would be complete without a ride to the airport from my bro-in-law, accompanied by my sister in the front seat gripping the “oh shit handle” and wondering if we are gonna make it out alive.  My brother-in-law is the poster child for road rage driving. He has the unique ability to make one shit in one's pants whilst also hysterically laughing one's ass off. The assortment of curse words tempered with a wide variety of facial expressions and fist and/ or finger waving is, in my mind…priceless.

 So travel observance # 1 Airports are fun. Planes are big. Waiting in line sucks. There you go; my in-depth analysis of plane travel. But hey if you need a ride to the airport let me know.

Travel tip # 2. Check-in online 24 hours before your flight. This may or may not be widely known but because I did so a nice lady at the airport who asked if I had checked in online took me from the back of a VERY long line and plopped me down in a line with only one other dude in it and who was, as am I, a genius. It seems he also had enough sense to check in ahead of time. Obviously, the other poor slobs, the ones in the line that stretched around the building, weren't as smart as he and I. Yea us!

Travel tip # 3. Freakin’ smile and say hello to people. This in turn will always get a smile and hello back which in turn gives you someone to talk to. A trip like this is not meant for an introvert that’s for sure. In just the few days I have been gone I have met a lovely woman from Louisiana who lives in Hamburg and who, much to my surprise, sang for me while we were waiting for the plane in Miami and by chance happened to sound just like Etta James. On the bus leaving the airport, I met a super hot college professor from Berkeley who by the end of our bus ride had invited me out to visit. I also met Suzie, a study abroad college student from Iowa who was heading in the same direction as me. After realizing she had no cash and only a debt card  (buses in Ireland don’t take debit cards) I paid for her to get on the bus. She became my travel companion and when we arrived in Waterford she gave me back my Euros and introduced me to Paddy the boy she had met in Dublin. Go, Suzie! And last, but not least, Faye and Robert who kept me company on the ferry and were from my motherland, Canada. Now that is just a chosen few. No sense in taking a trip like this if you aren't going to enjoy the people you encounter. And they enjoyed me, whether they liked it or not.

Travel tip # 4. Do your research!! It will pay big time in the end. Case in point; as I got off the plane at the Heathrow Airport I really did not want to go east 40 minutes into London to catch a train west to the coast…duh! But the folks I asked all said that was what you had to do. So never listen to the first (or second or third, or…well you get my drift) well-meaning person you talk to, and if it seems to make sense that there has to be a way to go the direction you want to go then listen to your gut and make it work. Here comes the “do your research part.” A dude at the airport hooked me up with a bus that was heading to Reading (pronounced Red-ing) and then I could catch the train to the coast; all of the above heading west as required. Thanks dude I do appreciate that. So as I was digging my money out of my wallet he said “That will be 144 pounds.” I was like “WTF are you talking about my friend?” and promptly put my cash back in my wallet. I politely made him aware that “I know for a fact that I can get a ticket from London to Fishguard for 65 bucks.” He said, "Oh well the price he had quoted me was for 'peak travel.'” I said I’ll wait or I’ll go elsewhere. I got my ticket for 65 Euros. Hence, my Sherlock Holmes-type wit and finely honed investigative skills served me well.

All in all, this entire trip, so far, has been awesome. I happened to make the conscious decision to fly into London as opposed to the Shannon Airport in Ireland. One; there was no stinking way I was going to pay an extra 400 bucks to get stuck in JFK for a 5-hour layover. I would rather have taken a plane into London, a bus to a train, a train to a ferry, a ferry to a bus, a bus to another bus which, gratefully, took me to Killarney. Good thing, cause that’s exactly what I did. It took me an extra 10 hours of travel but just think If I hadn't gone the extra mile, or 100, I wouldn't have met all those cool people that I was able to meet along the way. Nuff said.

Killarney: My layover, before I got started on the Kerry Way trail, was in Killarney. As a matter of fact, I am sitting at my hostel writing this. If you are going to go to Ireland you must go to Killarney. It has that small Irish town feel but it is…well, bigger. The greatest thing about Killarney is everything! Oh also that it lies snuggled up to the Killarney National Park. So you get the best of both worlds; the wonderful town and the vast expanse of the park to explore. Killarney is a must-see. Of course, I didn't see it last time, but still.

Other handy tips for traveling in Ireland: (thus far)

Keep in mind that ALL roads are N25, period. And, they are never straight and seem to have no end.

The toilets cost 20 cents, even at the bus or train station, so keep some change in your pocket or get used to doing a running slide to get under the turnstile. (My personal favorite.)

Don’t forget your sunglasses because when the sun does make an appearance you want to be prepared.

Making time with the desk clerk will get you a free bowl of cereal.

If driving yourself remember: one near-death experience will keep you in the proper lane for the rest of the trip.

If you do take the bus, only look across the horizon. If you look down you will certainly shit your pants at how close the driver will get to others: cars, signs, ledges, cliffs, and any and all other objects that happen to get in the bus driver’s way.

Trust your bus driver as they have been blessed with balls of steel…no really.

If someone tells you to meet them down at Murphy’s Pub, it is always prudent to ask “Which one?”

And last but not least: It is cloudy in Ireland ALL the time and it rains…well…a lot. Keep telling yourself it’s called “ambiance.”

In a Roundabout Way

Alright friends and neighbors the ole blog is up and running. Thanks, Zack for your rather frank suggestion and for helping me set this all up. Now, thanks to you, I can drone on and on and on… Anyway, the challenge now is to figure out what I want to write about. I could just be a complete smart-ass. You know, like Al Franken. I just finished reading “Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot.” Now THAT is what I call entertaining. Although politics isn't my strong suit… you never know. Maybe I will just talk about interconnectedness like John Muir or wax poetic like Ralph Waldo Emerson. Keeping it real dude…oh and deep. Then again I could dig down into the depths of my inner being and tell you all about the tragedy and triumph of my life. You know like Sophocles. It probably wouldn't be as entertaining as say Oedipus however. But I am thinking something along the lines of oh let’s say writing my life story by emulating the style of a Greek tragedy, but setting it in the Deep South. There is nothing like the smell, the feel, the aura, of a redneck waxing poetic. Now we’re talking! There is no telling what will spill out of this pea brain of mine at any given time. Hopefully, I won’t offend anyone, but I make no promises. Possibly I may make you cry, or make you laugh or if I am really good I will make you laugh when all you want to do is cry. Now that would be poetic. Then again there is always the risk of putting words on a page that actually say something meaningful. If I do that I apologize ahead of time. Possibly I may write about what happens to me as I go; like a minute-by-minute play-by-play of my upcoming journey. Hopefully, it will go something like this: words written about slogging (and by slogging I mean dancing) along through the hills of Ireland or stories of me gazing out over the Irish sea at sunrise with a crazy, shit-eatin’ grin on my face. Or, me drinking Guinness and batting my baby blue eyes at some hot Irish musician. Okay, so I don’t have baby blue eyes, but still. Shit, poor me…okay so much for the Greek tragedy.

Side note: So what I am trying to say, in a roundabout way is; that I am just going to write. This will not just be a blog/journal containing stories and anecdotes about my trip, but a running commentary of whatever just happens to be floating around in my brain; lordy, lordy, lordy, now there’s a scary thought…

Testing,testing, and in the Begining...

Testing, testing, is anybody out there (banging on the mic)? Hey dude is this thing on? Okay. And a one and a two…huh? I’m not in a band? No? Ok, I’m a writer? Say something intelligent? And inspirational? Hmmm,...

So, with a wink and a smile, I say to you, that is exactly what the process of writing is. It is testing the waters. Banging on your own brain until something spills out. Trying at some point to put on paper something worthwhile, or funny, or deep. “Writers… write.”  It is something that for me has often fallen by the wayside. But, it is also something ultimately that I cannot ignore. The need to write poured out of me when I was twelve or so. I wanted to wax poetic and say something about the world, but at that point, what the hell did I know? Most of the things I wrote back then and over the years have been lost along the way, as was my desire, my drive, and the need to write. That desire got lost along a path of mundaness that most of us call life. But, that drive to say something worthwhile, to entertain, to write something interesting, intelligent, or poetic, was always there. And I now dare to share those thoughts and feelings with an audience. I wrote to a friend not too long ago that it was time. It was time to begin to share with others what I have for so long held inside my own self. To share my humor, my sparkling wit and charm (if I had any charm or sparkling wit) and my perception of the world, of how we are all connected, and of the depth of my love for all things beautiful. And I wrote that one day just maybe I could put on paper something that moved someone or inspired them. That they would read those words upon that page and think, “Wow that was deep.” But, then again, maybe they will read it and think, “Dude, what a load of crap.” This last comment was supposed to be self-deprecating. Either way… it is my time. I will, at least for now, attempt to put my pen to paper in the same way a painter puts his brush to the canvas. Or the way a musician puts his fingers to his guitar. I find it interesting, and comforting, to know that we all can express how we feel about our connection to…things. When we venture out into the realm of artistry we hope to play, or paint, or write something funny or beautiful, or inspiring. And in doing what we are driven to do, we as humans, as artists, open up our hearts and souls to friends, family, and complete strangers while trying to relate our thoughts and inner ideas to them about how we perceive our surroundings; how we express our connection to the world, and our connection to the people that we touch, with strokes, music, or words. Then again, quite possibly, I may just end up with a big pile of crap. I guess only time will tell. Psst…hey dude, is this thing on?