Weather from Hevan and Hell

On Tuesday I took a bus that got me into Galway at 11:00 pm. The only places that take people in at that hour are Youth Hostels. The Sleepzone was hoping with the energy of a collage dorm on a Friday night. Not surprising since this was spring break in places like France and Spain. The poolroom was full of French teens. The Internet room was full of female American exchange students talking about hair coloring. The TV room was full of their male counterparts, sprawled out on the couches watching baseball from America. Each and every one of them had a laptop propped on their reclined lap: watching statistics, IM’ing friends back home and sneaking porn I suppose. It was like the new phallic symbol, demonstrating the American virility and computing power.

There is nothing better then a few nights stay in a Hostel to get you used to the idea of impermanence: a bunk with a little floor space to put your things; check out at 10 am so you can check into a different room at 3 pm; bus loads of hung-over kids eating white toast and juice before they head off to the next sight; a rented towel for one Euro. Boy do I feel OLD. I know, I know, there will be some major flogging when I get home given what I said previously.

From Galway I entered the most touristy excursion of my trip. A bus trip and then ferry ride out to Inish Mor, the largest of the fabled Aron Islands. I felt like I was getting on the fast ferry to Seattle from Bremerton. I spotted two women chatting. Something in the back of my mind said they where from the Northwest. Could have been the jackets, or the long narrow classes. It was I like I could smell the Starbucks coffee as soon as I got on the boat. Hungry for human interaction I used the crowded conditions as excuse to sit down beside them and start the traveler’s conversation. “Your from Seattle, so are we.” Turns out one of the pair, Julie, goes to the church I was married in and plays basketball with one of the best men in my wedding.

The weather on the Island “soft, yes very soft,” as they say here. This means drizzly wet. After a slow start I had a great time riding the length of the island taking photos.

At one point I headed up a side road to see the ruins of an ancient fort. The path was too rocky so I propped the bike against a stone wall, an exercise that has become as regular and routine as my heartbeat. As the road ascended it correspondingly got more and more narrow until it disappeared altogether and sprouted a dozen foot paths.

About the size of a mini-mart parking lot the round two story tower sat squat on the hill. As I entered through the opening I felt like I was entering an ancient coliseum. Made of dark stone stacked one upon the other, it consisted of two tiers with steps leading from one to the other. Made of broad flat slabs the steps had just enough horizontal face for the toe of your boot.

As I climbed the steps slowly but surely I had the image of cold and damp monks ascending for vespers. Looking down from the top level I had a different vision. I imagined this as the place that Ireland first fell in love with boxing. I saw brown robed monks sitting on the tiers, fist pounding their knees, sinking their teeth into blood sport. “For f**k sake, knock him out man.”*

*In reality the fort, Dun Eoghanacta, was constructed 2,500 years ago by a Celtic tribe that got there a long time before the Christians had their act together. Maybe ancient Celtic queens used the space to put men through torturous and demeaning tasks like cleaning toilets and watching TV without a remote control.

From the Fort I walked across the stone and bog landscape. Crossing stone walls, some constructed centuries ago, I was headed towards 300 foot cliffs then fell straight into the sea. After an hour as I approached the cliffs, alone, I heard all of your voices from back home telling me to be careful and stay away from the edge. The cliffs are truly amazing; their aura only enhanced by the fact that I had come her alone to witness this remote and wondrous sight. There are rock diving boards jetting out of the cliffs just tempting one to stand out on the edge over the nothingness (you can’t read the blog with your eyes closed). I took a pass but I did notice that the point I was standing on was cut away from underneath about 100 feet below me. The sea was crashing into the shore about 10 feet behind and 300 feet below. I looked to the left and notice another point of the cliff that jutted out in a similar way, but it had a large crack running vertically up the face. I wondered if a similar crack was located below me and how thankful that Ireland does not appear to have earthquakes.

Stepping away from the cliff I returned to the Hostel in time for a wonderful dinner served banquet style. Sitting at a table with my fellow Seattleites, an Australian, and several Dubliners it was nice to have a gourmet meal and good conversation. The later was dominated by the Irish who had spent several days together. It might surprise people who know me, but I found it hard to keep up and get a word in edgewise. After dinner we walked the quiet island road to a pub. On the way back the stars were out in force.

The next morning after being dislodged from the fairly on the “mainland” I was glad to be alone. It was funny, here I run into two people from home, have a social evening and I am thirsting for the solitude of my time on the bike and with the camera. It seems I have crossed a threshold. It used to be that I dreaded the thought of quiet time alone. I have beaten the lion of loneliness. Of all the things I have sought to accomplish on this journey this is the most profound. In the space that was once occupied by a hunger to be in the thick of things I have found a quiet solitude of peace. Last year I heard a quote that was my inspiration for this crazy period of my life “Loneliness is a poverty of spirit, solitude is a richness of spirit.” Here is to the richness.

My first day in the Connemara region was a flat, slow, easy ride in the warm and bright sunshine. It was a nice new place with a bed straight out of restoration hardware, situated at the end of a bay filled with white swans and a setting sun at the far end. After a hot shower I sat in the dinning room, listening to Sean Kean, having a dinner that was good and gluten free. The proprietor even made me gluten free scones. I eat them with loving care. I could not take my eyes off of the view and washed away the residue of the three previous nights in Hostels. I decided I was taking my self out on a date and enjoyed every minute of it.

If Friday’s weather had been created in Heaven then the Saturday was the created in hell. As the day moved on the wind got stronger, the temperature got colder and the rain heavier. The old hag was back with a vengeance.

The main road from Galway to Clifden basically runs East West in a tilted straight line. The main scenic road follows the dips of the coast forming two orbs that hang loosely South of the main road, like the front of a cross-your-heart bra. I took the third road that cuts straight across the breast straight through the bog. The ground is constantly wet and a millennium of flora are compacted in squishy peat that is harvested to heat homes and produce electricity. On a day like this it seems like the loneliest place on Earth.

Soaked to the bone I was glad to reach Clifden and check into a B&B with a shower. I noticed that the shower was also a bathtub. Hot water ran immediately from the tap - we are in business. Only problem was that sometime while I was running the water the hot ran out. Well, it was not the only problem, the water being brown with things floating in it. So my two choices were a lukewarm bath or a cold shower. I chose the cold shower.

I will spend the rest of the week hiking and biking the Connemara area in weather that seems sketchy. In order to get myself in more trouble, and out of necessity, I will be spending more nights in Hostels. I am feeling the pull of home. I am actually starting to think about the world of work. (Keep your eyes open for Executive Director positions available in progressive non-profits back home.) May 1st I go to Germany for two weeks and then return home feeling that the journey is reaching it’s natural end and the next chapter is about to begin.

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