Aw feck, and shit, too.
That's my new favorite Irish phrase. I use it when another uphill climb appears, when my pint is empty and when I realize my girl's sunburn has gotten worse, despite my efforts to protect her baby skin from the sun.
Today's walk to Dingle was...difficult. Disheartening at times, emotional at others. Beautifully breathtaking all the time. There's simply no way I can adequately describe what I've seen, felt and experienced, but I'll try to share some of it.
As always, the walk out of any town is up, up and up until my left eardrum is right on the very edge of exploding. When these towns were settled (A very long time ago; Dougie wasn't even born.), being near the water was critical for food, transportation/bartering of goods, and maybe even escape. The designers of these walks take us into a town and then force us to climb to heights that provide glorious views, then make us go up and down several more times for the hell of it before taking us on a steep descent into another town once again. It's how they get their jollies, the sick bastards.
We climbed out of Anascaul for ever. That's what it felt like. Up and up and up. Unlike yesterday, the sun was unrelenting today. Locals say this weather is unheard of. (We brought the FL sun with us.) The temps are high and the sun just won't stop. We sweated like pigs again today, stinking up Ireland so badly, I expected the Arm Pit Bobbies to hunt us down and scrub us right there on the trail. (The dwarf would be their first target. If you could smell him, you'd agree.)
I know I've mentioned the beauty of the hedgerows filled with foxgloves and daisies and all sorts of pretty things, but my descriptions can't do them justice. Frequently today, cows and sheep were on the other side of the hedge, and they always make me smile. One Hereford in particular stole my heart. She was lonely and looking for attention when we stumbled by, exhausted and frustrated with the seemingly endless trail. I wandered off trail to let her sniff my hand while I cooed to her, telling her how pretty she was. Her eyelashes were long and dark, perfectly accenting light brown inquisitive eyes. She was a beaut. She sniffed and then sent her long tongue straight into her nostrils (a trick my son can mimic), but she wouldn't let me pet her. I'm convinced that given thirty (pronounced tirty in these parts), she'd have let me throw my arms around her neck. I hated to go, but we had such a long way to go.
Sadly, there were no pubs at which to find relief during today's grueling tirtheen miles (yes, I spelled it that way on purpose), but there was Minard Castle. Oh dear, where to start with this story?
It matters not, because once it's told you'll be convinced I've lost what few marbles I had.
Have you ever gone someplace for the first time and felt like you've been there before? Have you been to a place unknown to you and had your mind flooded with feelings, emotions and (dare I say?) memories? If you're thinking I'm a wing nut, just stop reading because I'm about to tell you quite a tale. I won't blame you if you don't believe me. I hardly do myself.
About four or five kilometers out of Anascaul, the road began to descend to the sea. Rounding a corner, we were greeted by the remains of a tower house - a castle - perched on a beautifully green cliff. The portion of the castle facing the water is gone, allowing one to peer directly into the inside of what was once surely a home of great comfort to those who were lucky enough to dwell within. Below the castle are big boulders rising out of the sea. It was low tide when we arrived, so I was able to scramble over the slippery rocks to get a better view of the castle, which is now off limits and fenced off because it's no longer safe. (It was attacked in 1650 and structurally damaged. 1650. Stop and think about the enormity of time and all those who have come and gone over the course of those years.)
As I stood alone, looking into the heart of the castle, I heard voices. I looked around. Lauren was standing at the water's edge, lost in thoughts only she could think. The dwarf was perched on a boulder, eating a pear. No one else was in sight. Returning my gaze to the castle's remains, I heard voices again. Picking up snippets of a conversation, just far enough away that the words were not intelligible, but several people were talking. As I strained to understand the words floating on the breeze, I smelled charred meat and another smell for which I have no description. It wasn't entirely foreign to me, but I don't know what it was.
Listening to the distant voices and smelling the cooking meat, I was overcome with emotions both strong and unexpected. I began to cry. (This is where you roll your eyes and say, "I knew she was off her nut.") I felt like I'd come back to a place that I'd loved, but hadn't seen in a very, very long time. I'm reluctant to share too much more because it's so strange.
It was very hard to walk away from Minard Castle. I felt like I'd done it before and it was painful to do it again. As usual, the dwarf led the way, Lauren followed and I brought up the rear. Out of their line of sight, I was free to cry as we ascended from the water, leaving the castle behind. My heart ached in a way I've only experienced a few other times in my life. It was an experience totally unexpected and impossible to explain.
There you have it and there you are. Believe what you will.
I'm emotionally drained and will share the rest of today's walk in another post.
Very cool!!
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