Ireland Part 2: "Cauliflower!"

One day, I took the train to Killarney.

Killarney, from the Irish Cill Airne meaning "church of sloes", is a town in County Kerry, southwestern Ireland. They won best kept town in Ireland in 2007, and the people there really like Gaelic Football because Killarney in itself has 3 teams. The city is also known for its night life, The Ross Castle, and Car Rallying. The train is much cosier, faster, and leg-spacier than the bus. The folk on the train are much more...conservative than the bus folk. The train was full of older people; all dressed for success, on cell phones, laptops, reading TPS reports.

Up until now I had taken the bus. I felt a bit, out of place on this train. Not one backpack, no Germans, Portuguese, maps, tour guides, cameras, and certainly no canisters filled with 3 day old warm wine from the sale bin at TESCOS, I could just tell these canisters actually had coffee and diet coke in them. Lame. Despite my trains attempt to be ‘luxurious’, it was no match for the milk run route cramped and stinky bus. I felt like I had friends on the bus, and travelling alone, I found I was becoming quite savvy at finding people that may want to be my new friend. On the bus, I knew I was not the only one lost, drunk off Irish coffee at 11am, taking pictures of (yet more) sheep and hills, and having no idea what the next few days, weeks would bring me. We were all the same on the bus. I missed my backpack wearing, dirty and tired fellow travellers.

I arrived in Killarney and headed to the nearest B&B I could find. When I got there the pleasant Irish man showed me around his lovely home, looked at me and said “You’ll be happy here, you have the house all to yourself!” All I could hear was “You’re all alone..You’re all alone”. I panicked, I needed to not be alone, I don’t know where I am, I do not need privacy, I need to avoid all that finding inner peace and solitude malarkey right now, today I needed friends, tomorrow, I will continue my journey to self freedom or discovery or whatever. It occurred to me at that very moment that it was time to step outside of my safety bubble and (gulp) that’s right, find a hostel. I toggled down the wet cobble streets, anxiety, fear and insecurities in tow. I kept telling myself “You are not alone, you are okay, nothing will happen to you”.

I arrived at the rugged and tired looking Railway Hostel. There was no bell hop boy, no security, no lounge, no menu selection and highlighting of this evening’s entertainment outside. None of it, just a small building that looked like it was actually a railway station a long time ago, yet I was in no mood for a history lesson at the current moment, not that there were any brochures or an information desk around in the case that I had been in the mood. I was greeted by a very friendly lady who didn’t seem even the slightest bit annoyed by my 34 questions about hostel living, a few of them being “Do I get to pick weather I get top or bottom bunk, because I think if I were on the bottom I might forget and hit my head and well, you see, I have this hike thing tomorrow.” followed by “Where is my shower? And my sheets HAVE been washed right, even the top one like the comforter or do you just do the sheets, because it’s not that cold out really so I’m fine to go without the top one if that’s the case.” And it went on until the hostel clerk calmed my anxiety and I was gaily meandering through the dormitories looking for the ROBIN ROOM.

I was already patting myself on the back for so bravely conquering into such unknown and mysterious territory. It was everything I had imagined a university res site to be, not that I ever experienced that, but this is what it would have looked like, except without the cultural diversity of course. Large groups of youngsters ran around yelling in excitement, free spirited, like they had known each other, and this place for years. I found the robin room and got settled into my room that I was sharing with 2 others, and found that they had taken up all 3 beds. So much for my clean sheets. I shuttered looking at all 3 messy beds as I remembered the front desk lady saying “You’ll be staying with a lovely couple in your room!” A lovely and vibrant couple indeed I thought as I picked at the sheets of the least mangled bed, which happened to be the bottom bunk. I am totally going to smash my head in, then maybe I’ll get sars or something. My proud of myself for being adventurous energy quickly fizzled as I remembered that cozy little B&B. I’m going for a beer.

That night after 2 or perhaps a few more than that beers, I left the bar still feeling the music moving through my rather drunk and wobbly self. As I was promenading through the old tiny streets, it occurred to me I had no idea where I was. Not even a clue. I was in such a hurry to leave that hostel, and had spent the past few hours in a pub listening to fantastic music and chatting with a man from Hollywood, who disappeared after I barley dodged a few of his attempts to kiss me. So I did what any savvy young woman travelling alone would do, flagged down the very next car and asked them to please take me back to where I came from and perhaps help me figure out where I came from. The Asian couple told me to get in and started driving. The girl asked about my dog. The starving and homely looking mutt was curled up on my lap. I am not sure why I have a dog, and I need to go back to the train station hostel, you know, the one in Killarney? In Ireland?

I got back to my hostel safely and tried to offer my dog to the couple to express my gratitude, and to avoid the next issue that I would face when they (to my surprise) declined taking my dog, in exchange for a ride home. I picked up the desperate looking little guy, and carried him under my jacket until we reached the hostel. “I’ll take care of you” I whispered in his ear. As I crept into the hostel at 3am, I was bluntly greeted with a much larger much less friendly hostel front desk man who demanded I leave the dog outside. “He has nowhere to go, can’t I just take him for the night!?” I begged like a desperate child. “If you want to stay, the dog has to go” he confirmed sharply and with no compassion. He looked at my dog like he was a rat or something. I put the dog outside the door where he sat in the rain crying loudly and jumping up against the door.

I sulked all the way to the ROBIN ROOM where I woke up 2 bunk mates in a messy attempt to get ready for bed. My heart sunk that night as I realized that I made two friends that night, one that didn’t want to be my friend anymore because I wouldn’t kiss him, and the second friend I abandoned in the rain with no one to take care of him. Go to sleep, tomorrow will be better. I snuggled the germ filled blankets as fell asleep by repeating in my head “You are not alone, you are not alone”. And I wasn’t alone, I don’t know why or how, but I still went to sleep that night knowing that somehow someone was watching out for me, and that I was going to be just fine.

I dragged myself down to the kitchen the early the next morning, motivated with hopes of a better day. I chatted with some really nice people at the breakfast table who suggested a Ring of Kerry bus tour for the day. I figured considering my compromised state of health I should let the bus take me today and attempt a hike another day.

I ran excitedly out to the bus with my big coffee, big umbrella and waterproof camera. I sat next to a girl from Quebec who would be my companion for the rest of the day. We had Irish coffee, took copious amounts of photos, and talked about everything from the lives we left behind, fashion, our travels, to why is there so many Portuguese here Ireland, to to the differences in our languages and it went on and on and on. Once we got onto the topic of how Ireland seems to have a serious lack of veggies, then started to list the veggies that we miss eating. Like broccoli, asparagus, cauliflower. After I explained to her what cauliflower was, she looked at me and said “”Cauliflower! Cauliflower….it is the most beautiful word I have ever heard”.

For the rest of the 8 hour bus ride we chatted, hopped off, ate, drank, learnt, soaked in the sights, met a few people, met a few sheep, went back in time with our tour bus driver, and learnt to words to Flogging Molly
(Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, still you cannot see, That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me, Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more, But a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before!) and every now and then there would be a bout of silence where she would just say to herself slowly “Cauliflower, it is so beautiful of a word!”.

That night after seeing the best scenery Ireland has to offer, my new friend from Quebec and I chatted more and more and more over a nothing Irish about it Italian dinner. That night after I said goodbye to Quebec, I decided to take a break from the chasing of experience and enlightenment, and went to see the latest Katheryn Hagel flick, and it was just the regular and non Irish themed night that I needed to prepare me for the coming days, that I could never have anticipated, and would never forget.

To be continued…..

Ireland, part 1

Tonight is my last night in Ireland.

I am sitting at the bar in a quiet lounge at my hotel in Dublin nursing my last Guinness of the trip, and reading the last of “Eat Pray Love”. No Irish music tonight, I have an early flight, and tonight is all about solitude, goodbyes, and acceptance. I am also eating a large piece of chocolate cake, something about the baked goods over here, I can’t put my finger on it, but for the first time in about 8 years, I have gained weight. Baked goods, too much Guinness, long lazy meandering day’s weight. I was proud of myself.

As I took the last bite of cake and sunk bag into the lounge chair snuggling the beer and the book, it really sunk in just then, that this is the first time I have really stopped in 2 weeks. I’m feeling a bit of everything, sadness, joy, gratitude, solitude, fear, frustration, hesitation, perseverance, hope, eager filled yearning and awe inspired longing that is brought about by the very thought of the whole experience, inside and out, that has been my few weeks in Ireland. I’m feeling everything EXCEPT that pure concentrated inner peace I’m been rapidly chasing in a very non-peaceful fashion. Only I could travel for 48 hours for the most serene and lovely place I can possibly think of, and turn it into a hot and intense chase of everything fabulous I can possibly think of and cram it into my not-even-close-to-sufficient allowance of freedom for 2 weeks for the year. Only me. (At this time, 12:30pm, 6 hours before my flight, I go back to the bar for another Guinness, which ended up on the visa. What an almost perfect time to run out of money?)

I am greeted with my annoying sidekick A.D.D as I try to sort though the past few weeks and write something of an organized demeanour. My attempt to try and filter through the chaos of my travels feels comparable to gathering my tax documents last spring.

My mind veers swiftly yet forcefully to the planning and ‘to-do’ list that was my life a few weeks ago. Taxes, weddings, contracts, bills, events, technology...”I’m not ready!” I internally scream trying to push it all away.
I shudder as I become consumed once again with my bossy control freak of a mind. I looked around at a few happy Irish men that are practically glowing with inner peace. Show-off’s.
My heart falls and I can feel the flute infused music and green rolling hills trailing off into the past while the order and march of lists slowly seep their way back into my existence like heaving and longing clouds desperate to unload.

I was impressed however, with my ability to completely forget about absolutely everything for that long. And while I was spending a selfish and fabulous few weeks gaily frolicking through the 1600’s, life went on, the world did not sink, or explode or float away, or turn into dust. Does this mean that perhaps, just maybe all this pressure we put on ourselves is not needed? That’s madness...

Well, that’s madness in my existence back home, not around here though. The Irish don’t stress or worry, they sleep in, they drink, they eat, and they surround themselves with beauty, music, and friends. I met many Irish people. I met one man on a street in Galway. I had left Dublin earlier that morning with no plan (As I previously planned, to have no plan). I had said goodbye to my friend, and I was for the very first time alone, free, and just going, anywhere. I arrived in Galway which is on the west coast of Ireland, and is known for its night life, music, youth, shopping, and energy. The city takes its name from the Gaillimh river that formed the western boundary of the earliest settlement, which was called Dún Bhun na Gaillimhe (meaning "fort at the foot of the Gaillimh")

It was pouring rain and I was just at that very moment realizing that my new shoes are not Cobble Street friendly even a little bit. I’m going to break an ankle, I’m wet, and I’m lost. I’m really very very lost. And I packed enough clothes for about 3 months. And I am currently carrying it all with me, with the heels, and an umbrella that is now upside down and inside out and pulling me violently in the other direction, which ever direction that was. My survival defences kicked in and I told myself I can cry later, right now, I need to get somewhere. I am not even sure where I'm going, this could, perhaps have been planned a bit better, but that as well went on the list of things I will allow myself to review later when I am not in this desperate looking conundrum. I approached a scruffy yet youthful man sitting on the steps with a newspaper and cigarette, looking almost more comfortable in the rain than I do on a warm sunny day. (I can already tell, this lucky SOB has all that inner-peace too, they all have it). His face was worn, yet beautiful, and soft.

He looked up at me while I fought with the umbrella, luggage and ridiculously trying to get a map ready for him to look at, and pointed at the tourist friendly “B&B” sign. He didn’t look at the map, he just looked at me, he really looked, from my weather inappropriate shoes, to my mascara ridden and tired pathetic looking face. He did it very slowly, completely smouldering me with his obvious and perfect free spirited laid back aura. I want that.

Another thing to do later (Buy boots, new umbrella, plan my next destination, and find inner peace, check.) The man smiled at me with ease, looking rather amused. “You doin’ alright there, love?” he said in the most comforting and lovely Irish voice. I wanted him to keep talking, I wanted him to call me love again, he made me warm. I smiled back and said “Yes, well, um, I just need to, I need to get here? Do you know the place?” I couldn’t sound like he did; it came out all awkward and touristy, and stupid. I am in an old Irish town, no, not even, a hamlet, of course he knows where it is. He laughed at me “I’m vaguely familiar with the place” he said, squinting his eyes in a playful way and beckoning me to a cab. Of course he’s a cab driver.

I hopped excitedly over the other side of the car. He waved the keys at me and said “Are you going to drive me, then?” Right, driver’s seat, it’s backwards here. I considered coming back with something witty but I was well aware that I was a mess, and this was not going to be a charming and witty conversation. I just looked down and laughed at myself as he carried my luggage to the trunk.
I sank into the seat of the car while he gave me a bit of history on the town, and mentioned a few spots that I should go to tonight. I was barley listening, after a 4 hour train ride, 2 hours of wandering , being drenched, lost, embarrassed, hungry, cold, and not even remembering the last time I had a latté, I was just so happy to be here with this happy and warm Irish man. I felt safe, and finally excited to have reached my next destination. No matter how bad the weather is in Ireland, the people can always warm you with their charm, wit, and plenty of Inner peace to go around.

To be continued.....