I get goosebumps just thinking about hiking along quiet country lanes, lined on both sides with heady-smelling wildflowers. Fuchsia grows in huge, bushy hedges everywhere. (When we lived in VA, we paid fifteen or twenty bucks per hanging basket.) The pinks and purples of its double flowers never fail to pull me in for a closer look and, as a result, slow my arrival to the next town. Did you know that the fruit of all fuchsia species are edible? I've never tasted it, but some people make it into jam. (Maybe I'll pick some and try to smuggle it back home for a jam-making experiment.)
The only downside to the wildflowers are the gigunda bees that seek their nectar. Those who know me well know that I'm afraid of everything with wings. (Yes, even butterflies terrify me.) More than once, I've run off, screaming and flailing my arms, weaving a crooked path in the attempt to outrun a bee who decided I might be competition. Turns out, Irish bumbles are just as scary as American ones.
In spite of the bees, I know I'll spend too much time appreciating the beauty of whatever grows along my way around the Iveragh Peninsula. Without Lauren or her dwarf to pull me along, I'll probably arrive at my accommodations after dark more than once. Then there are the cows. Lord have mercy, nothing slows me down more than a cow. (Except a dolphin or manatee, but I won't have to worry about that happening on the trail.) I can't tell you how many times Lauren and I were waylaid by cattle last summer while walking the Dingle Peninsula. Just ask her dwarf. More than once, he harumphed and took off, annoyed at our fascination with milkers and their calves. Then there are the horses and donkeys. Don't get me started on donkeys. All I'll say about them (for now), is that when I move to Ireland, my little farm will be graced with at least two. They will be named Owen and Grumpy, which are really the same thing.
Aside from buying train tickets from Dublin to Killarney - a four hour trip - the logistics have been settled. The "economy two door" car I rented to drive to Mayo will probably be smaller than a golf cart. I'll be sure to post a picture on the blog. I hope it doesn't come equipped with clowns because I'm afraid of them, too. Odd, I'm not afraid to walk 135 miles of woods/farmland/mountains alone, nor am I afraid of ghosts, dark cemeteries, or whales, but I'm petrified of clowns and things that fly. Huh. I suppose a shrink would have a field day with that.
I've gone back to working full-time (why, I don't remember), so my training has again taken a back seat. However, I'm putting in miles of running around the resort each day, looking for someone or trying to help resolve guest issues, so that's better than sitting behind a desk for eight hours. However, there's still the issue of hill climbing. These islands are absolutely flat. Endurance will be an issue, but I know that I'll succeed. Just imaging the wildflowers, cows, and donkeys waiting for me at the next village will be all the motivation I need.
Slan.
