Going Home

My bodhran, my happy dog, and some last views of Traught Beach, near the Doorus House hostel.

I am writing this while I fly from NYC to SLC, on the last leg of my trip! I stayed in Dublin last night but didn’t see much of it. The last three weeks have been pretty easy, and pleasant, but I still have no desire to plan any more outings, bus trips, train trips, etc. for a while, anyway.
I think Ireland soaked in to my bones, it felt like home, even if it was cold and rainy most of the time. I am taking a bit of it back with me in the bodhran, my Irish drum that I bought in Galway, and intend to learn to play. I have been wanting a drum for years, but the right one never seemed to show up- until now. I love the sound of it, the history, and the Celtic connection.
Thoughts, feelings, doubts, victories? All of those- as I recall my beginning attitudes and plans, and how it all changed- but the purpose’, if there was/is one? To experience some of Europe from a non-tourist perspective, to learn about people and places… To write, enjoy, make new friends. To trust the process as much as possible, to learn to go with the flow and not need to have everything planned out. I now think maybe there is a balance between planning and spontaneousness- either that, or it takes the full plunge into total trust, going with whatever happens, no life jacket. I didn’t have the courage to try that, really.
The ‘blind date’ idea from the beginning morphed to an affair with the places I found myself in. At this point, I feel confident enough to go do it again (after a good rest) without any thoughts of someone being there to help me out. It’s better without the restrictions of trying to mesh with another’s needs- unless that person is already a good friend and you already mesh. So to speak.
Flying over Lake Michigan. The familiar landscape of the states is kind of comforting for now. Shifting back, after three months, using US currency feels a bit strange. And driving on the right- after a month of being on the left. And being able to understand everyone’s speech. And recognizing brands.
I didn’t do as much painting as I would have liked- quite a few sketches, but just a few paintings that I may photograph and share. I think next time I will have a different attitude about where I might like to go, like eastern European countries. I guess I feel less limited about possibilities.
I feel inspired by Yeats, unexpectedly. I find myself planning poems at odd times. In general, I feel a lot more content, less restless. That is a good thing. Peaceful.
I still want to see Portugal and northern Spain- and more of France. But also Scandinavia, Poland, Turkey…Australia would be great.
I learned a lot about what not to do, a whole essay on that perhaps…and ways to save even more money. As it is, I think I actually spent less traveling than I would have if I stayed home. Amazing. Traveling a non-peak times would mean cheaper airfare. Now is not a good time, but even now, flying from Dublin helped. Shannon airport in Ireland also has flights to the US, but I haven’t checked their prices yet. Shannon is close to a lot of beautiful parts of Ireland.
I have a new perspective on Irish Americans, like a deeper respect and appreciation. And I see the Spanish speaking parts of Central/South America differently now, as a parallel European settlement but largely from Spain. ‘Mexicans’ are a very complex and interesting group of people, in light of their history.
Doubts? No. I expect to go again. Maybe doubts about being more than three months- not sure how that would pan out, with the supposed restriction without a visa. I haven’t heard of anyone getting in trouble for staying longer, as long as you behave yourself- but just not sure. I was asked when I left how long I had been in Europe- by American customs. That was different, to go through customs in Dublin before getting on the plane.
Victories? Lots of small ones, mostly over my own fears and doubts. Maybe that is what it is really all about. For me, anyway. Every fear that disappears is a victory. I believe I got the travel itch out of my system for a few weeks, anyway- and now ready to focus more on painting and writing. So it is all good.

‘Home’ now, I am wading through jet lag and a virus that I think I acquired before I left- And it is around 100 F., quite a shift from the 60’s and raining. But it feels really nice to be back, with my joyful dog, waiting out the hot part of the day in front of a fan. And learning how to play the Bodhran.

More Galway

As I begin to pack one more time, leaving Monday for Dublin-I think about how much this part of Ireland has affected me. I feel sadness in leaving, maybe because it is a soft and gentle place, peaceful and welcoming. Clean and authentic. County Galway ( I like saying it that way- like we could be saying County Salt Lake) also has the laws that prohibit jet skis and motor boats on public waterways, so maybe that also contributes to the peaceful feel of it.
I was back in Galway yesterday- I had bought an 18" bodhran (irish drum) and an instruction DVD- and then learned from the DVD that I probably needed another 'beater' or special stick to play it with- so had an excuse to return to the city. I walked to the Nogra bus stop where the only bus leaves at 7:10, so was in Galway before the stores were even open. I took a long walk to Salthill, a tourist area just southwest of Galway with beaches and parks, hotels and B&Bs and restaurants all along the prominade. One park is called the Children's Park, and dedicated to a six year old named Celia, one of a multitude who died in the famine. reminders are everywhere!
The bay near Galway is full of swans. I heard that last year some immigrants were catching and cooking them- but were quickly stopped. The swans are fun to watch. When they sleep with their snake neck tucked over their back, they often have one foot up on their back also. Seems tricky, floating and sleeping.
The walk is on the longest promenade in Ireland, and it is beautiful. There are monuments with poetry along the way. Wordsworth was one- I wish I had written it down! This one (also Wordsworth) will do:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

Well, back at the hostel, we now have a full house- about 50; adolescents from Dublin and their keepers. The place is a wreck. It was clean when they got here, and we are waiting for them to leave to clean again, that was the deal. So now it is just one more night of wildness, screaming and shouting. The keepers seem to be deaf.

Carol and I cycled to another side of the peninsula today, and were met by a brown border collie who accompanied us the rest of the way to the pier. Another really pretty place, the whole ride was gorgeous. The pictures are dark, no sunshune, again. Border collie insisted on playing fetch. Of course. I miss my dog!!

Boss Sean and his partner (fiance) (in Europe it seems they call all significant others 'partners') Michelle took Carole and I out for a drink and some music for my birthday. He has been the best host ever.

The Famine and Other Bits

That's how they talk, the English, it's bits of everything. Other bits like working in a hostel- the cleaning up bit is mopping and vacuuming and washing the sheets, not very intense, and the fun bit is in meeting people from everywhere. An elderly couple from New Zealand is here, leaving today to move on northward, another month to go on their four month sojourn. Motorcyclists from England, bicyclists from France...

Ireland. In my mind, a morphing concept. The famine was 150 years ago, but people still carry the scars, even across generations. Today's news still reflects the anger- at the conditions that contributed to the famine. Beyond the religious persecution, there was outright opression. My host, Sean, (30-something) says he has always had the feeling when he eats that he must hurry, that it might be taken away. Sean works the farm, tending cattle in the little walled pastures that have been in his family for many generations. He lived in New York for 13 years, but returned to Ireland when his father became ill.

Reading about the famine, it becomes clear to me that the potato blight was only the lst straw of an already unbearable situation. Tenant farmers were no more than slaves to the landed gentry- creating wealth for the landlords who lived in England. Their own take of the product of their toil was so reduced, that potatoes was all they could afford, or had the wherewithall to raise. They were living in deprivation before the blight which had been a recurring problem for decades, but became more frequent and devastating. Meanwhile all other food produced in Ireland was shipped elsewhere.

The response of the English rulers was denial that there was a problem, then evictions as the farmers became a liability for one reason or another, then 'poorhouses' as they streamed into the cities desperate for food. 20% of the population died or left on 'coffin ships' for Australia, Canada, the U.S.- and more died in the horrible conditions on the ships, or of disease after they arrived. In this area of Galway, 30 % of the population was lost- and even in the city there was a population decrease, while other cirties like Belfast and Dublin had swelled from migrant evictees and starving farmers.

One particular trend that continues to be a sore spot was the practice at the time of some protestant churches to offer help, as in food, if the catholic farmers would just come to the protestant church.

I recall back on Arran Island (Scotland) the stories of the 'clearances' meaning evictions as small produce farms were lumped into bigger sheep farms. I have since read that the tax laws changed at about the same time, to favor larger parcels, and this contributed to the eviction rate.

These are my impressions, and not necesarily fact- but I am most impressed with my own ignorance, somehow buying it that it was a simple matter of a potato disease that caused all the problems. There may well be another side to it, but I think oppressive treatment of the whole popluation of Ireland was a pretty clear fact.

Reading about W.B. Yeats has fit in with my thoughts- he was born in 1869, not long after the famine, and was a major part in the fight for home rule for Ireland, even though he had close connections in and with England.

He had a passion for Irish mythology, for the occult, for Irish freedom (and for certain women). I still wonder how it would be to live a life being so clear as to what it is you are passionate about. I find Yeats inspirational mostly for his ability to find ideas and to persevere on them- something I could learn to do someday?

Aran Islands and Connemara

After two days of adventures I am back at the Hostel. Just catching the bus was an adventure the first day, as one must stand in the road to flag the bus down at Doorus Cross, not being a regular bus stop. Also, it is on a curve, so that the bus driver can only see you at the last minute. And the tall hedges hide the bus so I don't know when it's coming, and had 3 seconds to decide if it was the bus I wanted or not.

After all that, I was one of only two riders all the way out to Doolin. OK, enough about the bus. I had a bit of a walk to find the ticket office for the ferry. The town is way up the hill and out of sight from the pier, but there is a nice golf course in between... I had booked a ticket the day before, as is suggested on their fliers, and now had to find the office to get my ticket- There were at least four ferry companies near the pier...Doolin Ferries, Doolinferry, Doolin Ferry, and The Doolin Ferry Co. I finally tracked down the one, but in the end they all charge the same and there was no big crowd looking to go out on a cold windy day. I thought I had a ride to the big Island, Inis Mor, which has all the 'places of interest' on it, and a side trip on the way back to view the Cliffs of Moher from the sea. Turned out to be wrong on both counts.

The island destination was one of the small ones, Inis Oirr (or Inisheer). A big lopsided rock with lots of cottages, birds, and a few horse-drawn wagons/buggies. Getting there was exciting as the swells were getting bigger and the ferry had to get out between breakers from one direction and swells from another. It was on the way that I met a loud red-haired fellow with a lovely young girl- Paul and his daughter Hayley. They were both friendly and invited me to join them.

We walked the island raods and found most of the landmarks- The ruins of O'Brians' Castle (15th century) the signal tower dating from the Napoleanic wars, and the remains of a 10th century church in an old cemetary.

The ride back was even more rock and rolly. We had watched the captain dash back to the dock to get his rosary just before we took off, so thought maybe things were a bit iffy. It was bad enough that it turned out the side trip to see the cliffs was cancelled. Unloading at the small pier back in Doolin, small children and people with strollers were having an especially bad time with the ramp which was rolling back and forth and pitching with the big waves.

We had acquired another member for the party, a young woman from New York, and the four of us found a pub and had lunch, or drank beer. Paul was interestd in Doorus House, so decided to give me a ride back and check it out. Eventually the plan developed that I would go with them to tour the Connemara the next day, when they would stay at the hostel before heading back to Dublin, and Holland. Haley wanted to watch the Spain-Holland Football game in Holland, which is where Paul is living. Haley is spending a few weeks with him before going home to South Carolina. Like me, Paul had discovered that flights to Ireland tend to be a cheaper way to get between the US and Europe, and so had included a tour of Ireland in his plans for his daughter's visit.

The second adventure was to drive around the area north and west of Galway for a day- the Connemara is a wilder kind of place, with large expanses of land lacking the piled rock fences, and rock houses, that are so endemic most places. The mountains are breathtaking, with interesting and unusual shapes,and sheep were everywhere. We stopped at Aughnanure Castle, near Oughterard. The castle (or old Irish tower house) was part of the O'Flaherty clan's domain in the 1500's before England took over. The castle was fixed up a bit, so walking through gave an impression of the rather austere living conditions with not much space, giant fireplaces, and rudimentary 'plumbing' (a recess built in to a corner of the castle, collecting waste from several floors). Surrounded by rivers, in the woods, I thought it was quite pretty.

Driving through mountains and woods, around large peaceful lakes, I am reminded that very few lakes are open to noisy motorized recreation here. In fact I have yet to see one. I was also admiring piles of peat that had been cut from the turf- and now I am curious about that whole process. It is turf, aged and compacted under the boggy pastures, that somehow transforms itself into fuel. It has been used for many centuries- and is still widely used in stoves- to heat homes. The anaerobic properties of the conditions that create the peat also preserve oragnisms- like the many sacrificial humans that were buried in the bogs over the centuries, and still turn up looking pretty good.

Forests, other-worldly landscapes, a fjord...we followed the coast for a ways, from Clifden through Ballyconnelly and Roundstone, and this landscape is different again, like one huge rock garden next to the sea.

Now I can rest, back at the hostel, between cleaning and check ins- taking it easy on a rainy day.

Galway

The photos- A part of an immense walled garden behind the Doorus House hostel, which was part of the old estate belonging to Yeat's friend the Count Florimund de Basterot. The garden is now a community garden, organized by a Kinvara sustainable living group. The old steps cross a rock wall into the cemetery near Doorus House, where count Basterot and friends are buried. In the cemetery is the remains of an old friary(?) with the steps going up to what is left of the bell tower.

Yesterday I caught a ride into Galway, about an hour away- and spent half a day wandering in the touristy town with lots of young people. Many school-agers were there in groups on tour, and lots of college-aged kids seemed resident. I was in need of a good raincoat, as it was raining yet again, and I had whittled my possessions down perhaps a bit too far. The lady in the info booth pointed across the street, saying there was a Pennys in the mall. What mall? It looked like any other old street lined with small markets. But cleverly tucked in a doorway was an entrance to an inner immense shopping mall, including Burger King and McDonalds. I like that these were hidden. On the lower level is a reproduction or reconstruction of a castle, blended in with the food court. I believe there was a real castle there at some time. Or three, at least, back in the 11th century. The origins of the name Galway (Gaillimh) means 'stony river'. The city was a thriving sea port in the middle ages, but succumbed many times over the centuries to feuds and religious wars, civil wars and famines, as well as fires and tsunamis. It has recovered some in the last century, but probably nothing like its glory days as a shipping port for Spain and France.

There are several streets that are pedestrian only, with lots of interesting shops, more touristy stuff. I checked at the tourist information office about bus tours of the Connemara, the area north and west of Galway. I decided against the rental car idea, again, mostly because of stories I have heard about peoples credit card being charged in the neighborhood of $1500.00 for scratches. The roads around here are so narrow, with no place to escape as not only are there hedges with brambles, there are rock walls- within inches of the edge, and when a bus goes by the other way not even that much. The insurance to cover such things as scratches almost doubles the rental rate.

I took the bus back, and picked up the latest schedule. Bus schedules vary by the day, the season, and subject to change. I can get a bus within a mile of the hostel (3 KM)but only at 7 in the morning, to Galway. At the crossroads 5 KM away is a bus to Galway or Cliffs of Moher every couple of hours, but not after 5.

I have plans now to go to the Cliffs tomorrow, along with a ferry tour to the Aran Islands, and have to catch the 9 o'clock bus from the crossroads.

The Burren and the Poet

The music in Kinvara, at Keogh's, was fabulous. Ten musicians made the tiny room crowded already, and it was standing room only for a while, but it was free, except for the glass of Guiness. A guy named Billie Carr seemed to be the senior member, and it was an informal gathering, a jam session. He played a squeezebox and spoons, others played fiddles, mandolin, guitars, the Irish drum, flute, pipe, and irish bagpipes.

I met a few of the locals there, quite friendly and talkative. I plan to go again tonight, maybe a different place. Saturday night means even more choices.

I took the hostel bike yesterday and explored the closer part of the burren, which is hills of limestone full of ancient building and grave sites, and now a national park. The tallest hill is only about 1000 feet, but the views from there are spectacular. I took some pictures from part way up, then the battery died, but you can get the idea.

Several houses- and a hotel in Kinvara- have new thatched roofs. It seems to be a growing trend, and it really is beautiful. The Merriman Hotel in Kinvara is one of the largest buildings anywhere with a thatched roof.

I am reading a small book on Yeats, who spent a lot of time in this area, and was a visitor in this house (Doorus House) in the 1890's, talking with Lady Gregory about starting a theater company in Dublin. Yeats lived from 1865 to 1939. I think I mentioned earlier about visiting his grave up near Sligo, where he spent a lot of his younger years. It is just coincidence that I find myself on his trail. Or is it?

I am slowly learning the hostel management business, but business is even slower... A few people each night, would be more interesting if it was busy I think. A few hours of cleaning each day, and check ins in the evening- not too strenuous. I am thinking of renting a car for a while, as the bike has issues, or I do with the hard seat it has, and there is much more to see and do that is just out of reach. After practicing riding a bike on the left side of the road, I have a little more confidence I could drive on the left without total brain freeze.

Mostly, this place is really laid back, and I do have lots of time- so far I have nothing else planned and can stay here til I go home if I so wish. I have to admit that the appeal of making more moves to more strange places has lost some of it's luster. For now.

I have booked a flight from Dublin- which is half the price than from any other city in Europe- to return to Utah on July 20. So I'm thinking from now on it is just a matter of learning all I can about Counties Galway and Clare.

Kinvarra

The photos: Ben on the beach, the view from Dan and Pam's living room, Main street in Kinvarra, stone walls and an old building near Doorus.

*****

I have a few minutes, having got off the bus here at Kinvarra, or Kinvara (seems both ways are common) waiting for my next host to pick me up. This is one of those moments, at the edge of experience, when a whole new scenario is about to begin- both the place and the personality of the host are unknowns, yet they are my current destiny.

Back on Streedagh Point, I walked the dunes this morning, still marveling at the simple beauty of it. The grave site on top of a hill, the stone walls built in the time of the famine, a make-work project along the sea. The rabbit warrens like condos in the steep sides of the dunes. The flat open spaces of short grass looking like a huge green on a golf course.

I will miss all that, and more. A beach walk and a rocky pass to a grassy point, all in view of Dan and Pam's living room. Absolutely rediculous!

The scenery on the way down was more of the countryside that reminds me so much of Oregon. If you turned the houses in western oregon into stone cottages, and the fences into stone walls, it would be hard to know which was which. All the blackberries, the damp air, green fields, cows and sheep...Coming through Galway, I had an hour to walk a bit- although dragging a suitcase is inhibiting. I find most people very friendly and easy to talk to, except for the occasional churlish bus driver or ticket agent.

I am just south of Galway, across the bay, actually. The website for the hostel (Doorus House) has an enticing list of things to see and do, not the least of which is the proximity of a ferry to the Aran Islands. Of course it is fitting, having visited Arran Island in Scotland, that I see the Aran Islands in Ireland. Had no idea there were two such places. Also tombs, castles, caves, beaches.

Stay tuned, its not over yet!

******

Now in the Doorus Hostel- nice guy that runs it is trying to decide if it is in fact a viable operation. He planned to lease it from the hostel organization which owns it, but the conditions seem too stringent. The place needs some renovation to be really nice- but no one has the money. Carpets, paint, and other projects just wait.

I was beginning to learn the check-in process, and we had ten people show up last night, which was unusual. Many days are not booked at all, or only a few people. Not very tough duty- cleaning in the morning as soon as everyone leaves, then free for a while at least. Went to Gort for groceries, walked to the beach near here, and planning some trips to the Burren, (a national park) and the Cliffs of Moher.

I am learning that while Kinvarra is a relatively small and unknown town, it has some of the best music- one to three places playing every night of the week, many are jam sessions. I will go into town tonight after we close up this place, and listen to some. And let you know how it was.