A Day of "Rest"

In the same way that I fell asleep last night, I woke to the sound of waves crashing outside my window. My room was cold and I dreaded the thought of leaving my warm, heavy covers, but I'd neglected to eat dinner and so I was ready for some vittles - something other than Advil and coffee. I showered (I think I had frost on my bits the moment I stepped from the bathroom) and headed downstairs. The previous night, my innkeeper asked me I could wait until nine to eat and, of course, I told her I could.

She greeted me warmly as I tucked into a table set for one (that sight always makes me miss my walking partner, my baby girl, so very much). I asked her whether or not she could accommodate me another night if I rearranged my schedule. She was more than happy to do so and told me to stay in the big room. (That room is meant for two or three, but she insisted that I stay there.) It was official. I was having a rest day. No walking. Just relaxation and reading and such.

I ate two pieces of toast, three Advil, and a cup of coffee and then headed back to my room where I was instantly ansty. My routine dictated that I should pack and set off. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I set out to explore Waterville. Five  minutes outside my B&B, I ran into Vivian. (Remember the adorable, young Swiss girl?) She'd been very ill with a high fever and swollen glands the day before, and had taken a day off to sleep. She was attempting to walk to Caherdaniel. We agreed that she would take the main road and then get a lift if she felt worse. We also agreed to meet tomorrow night in Sneem for a pint or three. One of the greatest things about these distance walks is the people you meet and then continue to bump into village after village. (That is of course how we established our friendship with our dear friend, Owen.) An hour later, I'd covered the beach, the churchyard, and the main drag. I went back to my inn to enquire about a fort I'd heart about.

"Oh," said my lovely innkeeper, "it's just two miles south of the village."

Perfect! I thought. Four miles without my pack is nothing and I'll walk slowly. Two-and-half miles later, I'd still not found it, my toe was especially ornery (I guess it thought a day off meant just that) Silly toe.), and a nasty dog blocked the road. All of those things convinced me to turn around and go home. Oh, and when I left the B&B, it was warm and sunny. Fifteen minutes later, I was in a nasty downpour with one hellavu wind. Ireland summers. I am convinced there was sleet, but no one seemed to notice but me.

However, I considered it a highly successful venture, because I met cow after cow after bull after calf after steer after cow after horse after calf.  You get the idea. What a marvelous morning! I cooed and called to so many four-legged beauties and most of them were receptive. (I smell better than I did yesterday.) In spite of not finding the fort, it was a wonderful, rainy walk and I have about forty pictures to prove it.

I headed back into town and stopped at the Chemist's shop for more Compeed (Bandaids on crack. They are amazing.) and a tube of IcyHot. My trick calf that I tore years back feels left out because of all of the attention the little toe is getting, so he decided to pull some crap and demand his turn. I shall slather him with IcyHot and hope for the best. Once done at the Chemist's, I did what any self-respecting Irish lass would do with a free minute on her hands. I tucked into a warm, dry pub.

I sat reading  magazine I'd bought about Irish gardens - in a corner by the fire - when who should stumble in but Mike! Remember the 87-year old with the amazing tenor voice? (If not, visit my FB page and listen to him sing Danny Boy. Be prepared to cry.) He sat down with me and shared a pint before wandering off. I had bowl of soup and brown bread while talking to Pat, another fellow I met yesterday at The Lobster. He was supposed to be fishing, but decided a day of pints sounded more rewarding. Any surprise these are my people?

Eventually, I wandered to the shop at the top of town to buy some cheese, bread, and wine before heading back to my inn. That will be the most perfect dinner as I sit in my room, smelling a peat fire, and watching the ocean crash against the rocky shore. When my innkeeper asked how I enjoyed the fort, I tried to gently explain that her way of measuring distance was slightly off kilter.

"Get in the car," she said.

I did. She drove while I belted out "Jaysus!" every few meters when she barely avoided oncoming traffic or the stone wall on either side of the road. I nearly fouled my britches as she careened around blind bends. Lawdy be, who teaches these people to drive?!

Four-and-a-half miles later, we arrived. The fog had rolled in, blanketing what would have been an impressive view. That was just fine with me. I love, love, love fog. It makes things like forts and castles that much more magical. We got out and wandered around. When we got to the board that explained the site, she honored my request to read it in Irish. The sounds of her native language rolling off of her tongue were very moving. I asked if I could record her, but she said she'd be too self-conscious, so I tucked my phone away and tried to make her voice a permanent memory. What a lovely lady she is, indeed.

Then we drove back. Jaysus.

It's early yet, but I'm in for the night. I have another long walk tomorrow (I think 15 miles). My innkeeper is going to drive me to Caherdaniel (where I'd planned to spend tonight in a hostel...can't say I'm sad to miss that. I'm too old for that shit.). From there, I'll walk to Smeed.

For now, it's a relaxing night of reflection, appreciation, and happiness. I have walked seventy-eight miles in a week (including two side trips). I'm proud of that accomplishment. I only have a few more walking days before I rent a car and do things a little differently. I'm very pleased at what I've been able to do. My toe is slowing me down, but that little bastard can't stop me.

I wish I could share this view, these sounds, and these feelings adequately. I know how very lucky and truly blessed I am.

Slan.