New Traveling Shorts

New Traveling Shorts
Monday, September 7th, 2009

“Marbh le tae agus marbh gan é” -Irish Proverb

Friends! There are no entries from 2009. This might not mean much to you, but it makes me very sad. In all fairness, it has been a tumultuous year. Aside from dealing with a new haircut and all the trials and tribulations inherent to that, I done procured me a job, y’all. I’m officially a ground mechanic for-get this-an established airline. DON’T WORRY, I don’t touch the planes. You are still safe to fly. Why, after a year, did I log on to my travelog to write what is by all appearances thus far a personal journal entry? Well, I was lonely and I wrote this poem I wanted to share with you:

No!

I was only kidding!

This is not a poem.

Please stop reading it as such.

Oh,

You are thrown by my structure?

It seems suspiciously poemish to you?

Well it isn’t!

So:

When the warm winds wind

round the corners of my heart,

I think of sadness and flightless birds and how it’s so beautiful to see the sun rise…

Alright! Fine. This joke isn’t even funny anymore and now I’ve lost you. Anyway, the point I was going to make was that my current job is pertinent to this travelog because it entitles me to flight privileges. Aha! I can fly for absurdly cheap prices anywhere my airline does. The Catch-22 of course being that to earn these privileges, I must work 40 hours a week. Shakes fist. Well, I still have weekends, and I have a plan. Not yesterday’s plan, that did not work. But more on that later. The current plan is to take very mini-trips and report back. Deal? And perhaps a change in format–to better use my limited time, I’ll be going to places closer than Asia. Time to explore the good ole U.S. Plus, I’ve really been wanting to get into rock climbing. So I’ll be flying to various large rocks in different states and climbing them and then writing about….rocks…you will be totally enthralled!

For now though, I’m in Ireland. I had a fantastic plan: Fly to Shannon, take a bus to Killarney, get off bus and walk into national park, ascend Ireland’s tallest mountain, gain enlightenment, come down. It’s ok, it’s a 3-day weekend so there’s time.

Another thing sweetening the employment deal is that if there is availability on my dirt cheap flight, I fly first or business class. Now, I am an economy lifer. I never fly any other way…but if you’re going to put me on a $30 round trip ticket to Ireland, and seat me in business, well ok. Hear that? That was the sound of my mind blowing. They gave me a pre-flight mimosa. A duvet. A menu with several options as to which 3-course meal I would like (I had the salmon). A barcalounger. Socks. I was so excited; so gushy, so full of wide-eyed, fidgety fulfillment, so bald. The stewardesses probably thought I was a kid on my way to my Make a Wish destination.

Once in Shannon, I promptly boarded a bus for Killarney. Phase one complete! Then I arrive. OK! I can see the mountains (if you can term them as such). Kind of far, but I can walk it. Off I go! And hour later, I’m lost and no closer to the mountains (large hills). What? No! Of course I didn’t ask directions to the mountains (not snow-capped)! What was I supposed to ask? “Excuse me, could you please point me in the direction of those MOUNTAINS over there?” That’s stupid. What kind of person fails to make advancement toward a perfectly visible mountain range? (no sherpas for hire). This guy. There was no wall keeping me from them, per se, but rather an impenetrable wall of private property. I finally come across a woman walking her dog and ask if she knows where the entrance to the national park is. She points, I keep walking. I finally make it! Success! I’m on a path directly towards the foot hills (all there is really), when my path is intercepted by a giant lake. 5km long, 3 across. The mountains (couldn’t ski ‘em) are on the other side. I have a pack on. I cannot swim it. I walk along the edge of the lake for a while and come across an inclined surface with no path on it. My adventure begins! I will blaze a trail! About 2 minutes later I have reached the highest point of the inclined surface and I look for a place to sleep for the night. There are many problems with this.

1) Bugs. I brought bug spray, but there were like, a lot, okay?

2) Ireland is green. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. But for some reason I was expecting the terrain to be a different type of green. I was thinking trees. While there are plenty of those, Ireland is green because it is composed of foot-sized, moss-covered rocks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

3) I did not bring a tent, just a sleeping bag. This area is known for large amounts of limestone, and I pictured a cave to sleep in , or at least an over-hanging cliff or at LEAST a flat stretch of dry rock to sleep on…but the moisture of the moss and the medium sized-ness of the rocks prevented all of this and posed a serious hazard to my non-hiking specific foot wear. I decided to go back to the trail and continue looking for the REAL mountains (larger than medium-sized moss covered rocks). Sadly, what took me all of 2 minutes to find took me 30 minutes to escape because I go turned around. Back on the path someone else blazed for me, I see signs for a Murloch house and decide to make my way there, to sleep the night in a small deserted stone cottage in the woods. I arrive at the house to find it is in fact an estate , complete with gardens and separate guest quarters and overrun with geriatrics. There are tours available. There will be no sleeping here. I make my way around the house and through the gardens in the direction of the mountains (glorified sand dunes). Somehow, though I have been walking for a very long time now, I am really no closer. Maybe the range is farther than it looked…otherwise, I was pathetically outrun by a stationary landmass.

Walking on, I come across a large green clearing with a tall wooden structure in the middle. All around the clearing are trees—quiet, aside from the occasional wind rushing through. This place must have been undisturbed for ages. Some ancient Celtic ritual grounds. I feel it is steeped in mystery. But wait! There is a plaque. So old the writing has virtually been worn away by the elements. I can barely make it out, but there is a date. It’s wait. 1994. Whatever, it’s flat.

I set my pack down and lay my head on it, resting or the first time in hours. This ultra modern gazebo is very peaceful indeed. I’ll camp here. Then, interrupting the breeze is the sound of a car engine. Turning to look behind me, I see a car pass through the trees, then the clearing itself. There is a road. Somehow I missed it. I laugh. It is raining and I am cold and I am wearing capris. It’s time to find a hostel. Back at the “house” there are men offering carriage rides back to town. I don’t have the Euro to take me that far, but I can afford an exorbitantly priced ride back o the park entrance, and I cannot tell you how tired my legs were. The man holding the reigns calls me lassy and the horse Charlie, but it is unclear whether this is the horse’s name or he just calls all horses Charlie. He drops me at the edge of the park and I walk back to town. I inquire at a hostel and find one bed available, “Probably the last in town. Everywhere’s booked on account of a concert. But one bed just cancelled. You’re in luck” the receptionist informs me.

I am 1/8th Irish. That fills my 1/8th luck quota to which I’m entitled. I ask how far the bus stations is, and relate to the receptionist how far I had walked that day. “Oh you poor creature! You walked half way ‘round Killarney!”, she tells me. If I could draw you a map I would, but to quantify it numerically, it took me over 5 hours to get from the bus stations to the hostel. It would take me 7 minutes to return. All told, I probably walked 20km, and that is a conservative estimate.

In the room, I took off my clothes to change into pjs. I was under the impression I was currently alone in an all girl dorm. Wrong on both counts. No sooner had I finished changing, a dude comes down from one of the top bunks. I’d looked, but I’d missed him. He must have been 1/4th Irish.

When I woke up, it was raining and it has continued to rain all day. So I’ve had a lot of time to write this. Obviously. Now I’m going to make the transition from writing to pondering so I must bid you adieu. I won’t be adding a new entry every weekend, but I’ll get out and about as often as possible…for my own sanity.

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