Gilding the Lilly

As if having the opportunity to walk the Kerry Way wasn't enough to qualify me as a dirty-rotten spoiled brat, I've tacked on a few days afterwards to transform what was sure to be a grand adventure into a Monumental Escapade of Epic Proportions. MEEP for short.

Do you recall when I blogged about a charming older man we (Doug, Lauren, and yours truly) had the privilege to meet  - the one resembling Yoda in all the greatest of ways? Mr. Kilroy is his name and he is uncle to a Mr. Joe Reid, owner of the Black Oak Inn in Newport, Mayo, Ireland.

Joe was kind enough to try to help me reconnect with Lavelles and introduced me to his uncle, "Padder" as he's affectionately known. I was so taken with him, mesmerized by his appearance and manner of speaking that I neglected to write down anything he said. He could have read me the phone book and I'd have been spellbound. I've kicked myself a thousand times for not taking his picture, but I was afraid to appear rude. (Can believe it? It does happen from time to time.)

Padder suffered a heart attack when he was 92 (he's now 95) and rode to the doctor's office on his bike!! "It was all downhill," Joe had explained. Well, then, it wasn't such an amazing feat, now was it?! Images of the man have floated in and out of my imagination since that awe-inspiring meeting. I suppose I fancy him a surrogate Grandfather, never having met my real ones. Nothing lasts forever and I feel a compelling need to see him again. "I want to see you when I come back to Ireland," I told him last year when we parted. "Will ye bring a spade or a shovel?" he asked. In spite of the devilish twinkle in his eye, the melancholy sentiment stuck with me. Every time I think of Padder, I remember that comment.

So, there you have it. I can't go all the way to the Motherland without seeing the cute old man who captured my heart. Who knows if I'll have the opportunity again and we all know there are no do-overs in life. I won't miss the chance to sit and listen to his buttery brogue again. No way.

I extended my trip by a few days and rather than walk the last day from Kenmare to Killarney, which is by and far a reversal of the first day's walking, I'm going to cancel the last day's hike in favor of getting a cab to Killarney. From there, I'll rent a car and drive 172 miles to Wesport...plus some because I'm sure to get lost without Lauren as my able-minded navigator. I've already spoken to Joe and he's promised to arrange a longer, more planned reunion with Padder...most likely over a few pints. When I've filled my heart again with his adorableness, I'll dash over to Wesport to visit again with Christopher Anthony Lavelle, owner of Lavell's Bar. He's quiet in a way that reminds me of my Dad.

Finally, I'll drive 160 miles to Dublin airport to return the car. I'll drive through the middle parts of Ireland I've never seen and stop off to check out every castle, abbey, and graveyard along the way. MEEP will be a whirlwind of a trip, but I plan to cram as much as possible into each and every day. Like Padder, I'm not getting any younger and I don't want any regrets.

An beoir, le do thoil! Go raibh maith agat! (A beer, please! Thank you!)

Daydreaming

I was going to walk several miles this morning, outfitted with my fully loaded pack, but a nasty front blew in and it's too damn cold out there! I know those of you in the northeast suffering with multiple feet of snow don't want to hear it, but for us - this is cold. It's only 55 degrees and the wind is blowing like hell. I'm staying inside with a nice cuppa. This morning's flavor is chamomile and lavender. I'm on my third cup and still can't feel my toes.

The chilly weather (and my aversion to it) sent my thoughts across the pond to Ireland. My ultimate pipe dream is to buy a small farm there, preferably in Kerry. I'd love to take care of an old stone house and couple of small barns. I've scoured the real estate websites...there are dozens for sale that would be perfect. I want to raise a few heifers and some chickens, have a couple of goats and sheep, and at least one donkey named Owen. Boozy and Bear would love it, too. Doug...well, probably not so much.

From there, my mind turned to Minard Castle in Annascaul, Kerry. It's where I had an inexplicable but exhilarating experience. Unfortunately, we could only spend a short time there because we were walking thirteen miles to Dingle and didn't have wiggle room in the itinerary. Built in the 1600's, it's like something from a dream - at least the kind that I have. Perched on the edge of the sea, it's nestled among boulders worn smooth by the rough waves. The ruins are nothing short of breathtaking. When it was time to go, I reluctantly followed Lauren up a steep hill behind the castle, I looked back frequently, teary-eyed and heartbroken about having to leave. It was then that I looked across the water to the Iveragh Penninsula, although I didn't know it at the time. I was unaware that I was gazing upon what would be the location of my next walking adventure. When I'm there in June. I hope to look across the bay and catch a glimpse of my beloved, majestic castle. I wonder if it's velvety whispers can be heard from such a distance?

Although I'd love to be able to call Minard Castle home, it's not for sale. I check often. There are, however, several castles and towers that are available for purchase. Ballymaquiff Castle, located near Labane in Galway, is one. It reminds me of Minard because it too is a tower house, as opposed to a full-blown castle. It's even older, built in the 14th century. Imagine being so fortunate as to care for something that ancient! Here's a view of the exterior.

It's only about forty feet tall and sits on four acres of land. The two stories are habitable, which I find absolutely amazing. It's charming circular staircases need a little TLC but they are still beautiful.

Like I said, it needs a little work, but then again... don't we all? Here's a hallway...just imagine the glass that used to fill that door's pane. Can you picture it? Now imagine tapestries adorning the stone walls. ("I've come to see the tapestries!" - a line from Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade.)  

At $223k, I think it's a steal, but I really prefer to live in Kerry. Unfortunately, I can't find any castles for sale in Kerry so I may have to rethink my plan. Live in Kerry on a farm or live in Galway in a castle? Life is wrought with difficult choices.

Until then, I'll have to be content visiting Ballycarbery Castle in June. It's a couple miles from Cahersiveen, which is five days walk from Killarney. She's not Minard, but she's a beaut and I look forward to getting to know her. For me, each castle, tower, and ruin has it's own personality, it's own feel. Does that make sense? I'm anxious to discover Ballycarbery's and wonder if it will be as powerful as Minard's. That one knocked me on my ass.

Was It Something I Said?

Why did I wait 47 years to learn to speak Irish? It's lyrical. It's poetic. It's a damn good time. In less than a week, I've learned a few greetings, how to ask someone how they're doing, answer same, ask where someone is from, answer same. I can ask someone their name, which translates as "what is the name that you wear". What a wonderful way to phrase it. I can also ask the time, answer same for the hour, quarter past, half past, and quarter to. If the time is anything else, I can't say it. I can count to twelve! Got forbid I want to order thirteen pints. I can also inquire about the weather and tell you that it's dry, wet, warm, raining, windy, or snowy. I can ask if you'd like tea or coffee or whiskey (esca baja, literally the water of life) and answer same. I can tell you that I like certain things and dislike others. All in all, a successful few days of learnin'.

One of my favorite things to say is thank you; go raibh maith agat. For the first few days, it sounded like "go row my yogurt" to me. It took some time to develop an ear. I'm still working on it. I've also learned some handy phrases like suigh sios agus lig do scith. It means sit down and take a load off.

It's my hope that when I hit Killarney, I'll be semi-conversational in Irish. Certainly, I won't be able to discuss politics or religion, but I don't do that here so I sure as hell won't want to do it there. However, I will be able to exchange pleasantries and - most importantly - ask kindly for a pint. I won't even try to speak it until I hit County Kerry. If I spoke it in Dublin, there wouldn't be many who would understand the dialect, even if they speak the language. There are three main dialects, Ulster (way up north) Connaught (sorta middle), and Munster (south west). I'm learning some Ulster and some Munster, although I'd prefer to learn Muster exclusively. Those who speak Irish in Dublin are probably not familiar with the Muster dialect and I'd make an ass of myself. Better to save the ass-makin' for Kerry.

I'm sad to say that I haven't learned any bad words, but I'm not going until June, so there's hope. If you know any, please feel free to share in the comments section below. Extra points if it's extremely vulgar.

When Lauren and I walked across England, we hired an outfit called The Sherpa Van to pick up our bags each morning and deliver them to our next night's accommodations. Because of that, we only had to carry what we needed for each day's hike (rain gear, first aid supplies, extra socks, emergency blankets, lots of water, hats and gloves, extra layers, and food. Don't be fooled, that's a lotta shit to carry on one's back.) In the van, we sent a suitcase of clean clothes and extra shoes, plus two carry-ons with laptops, chargers, hair stuff, etc. For our 16-day hike, I think I paid 200 lbs for baggage transfers. It was absolutely worth it. They even gave Lauren and I a ride from one town to the next when she was too sick to walk.

I started looking into something similar for my walk of the Kerry Way. No such luck. Although there's no organized service, I could pay each B&B/hostel to send my bags ahead...in a cab. The going rate is about e45/day. That's more than I'll be spending for most night's accommodations and breakfast combined. It's highway robbery.

Since I'm traveling alone and I'm flying home immediately following the walk, I've decided to carry everything I need on my back. The idea of that should make you cringe. Included in that pile of things to carry will be my laptop because I HAVE to blog every day (I already promised you that I would) and I'll want to skype my family. I really don't know how I'm going to 1) fit everything I need in my pack; and 2) carry it twenty miles a day over mountains. Maybe I should look into hiring a pack horse. Lauren's dwarf had this advice: "Go small and be dirty." Those of you who know Owen are not at all surprised by this. I have time to look for odor-resistant fabrics and practice hiking with a full pack.

You'll be pleased to know I've begun training....and not just the drinking of Guinness, either. I logged about fifteen miles last week and just completed another six today. I've a long way to go, but while I'm walking I practice my Irish. While walking the Old Rd today, I was going through everything I know - out loud. I was really getting into it and made a rather large arm gesture as I explained to an imaginary person that I don't like tea but would love a glass of whiskey. While gesturing, I whacked a man passing me on his bike. Then I apologized in Irish. He pedaled faster.

Was it something I said?