This Little Piggy

I crawled into bed under a heavy quilt, fully dressed in pants, two shirts, and socks. I was still cold so I got up and nicked the quilt from the other bed in the room. Ten hours later, I woke. What an excellent, much needed sleep - and it was one that came without the benefit of pints. The farmhouse had no beer, wine, or spirits. Had the website indicated that....

Anyway, I dressed and left my room. The adorable proprietor was coming out of the kitchen. She said the dining room was full of "damn Germans" and that she'd let me know when she could feed me. I assured her it was no bother and went outside to say good morning to the mountains, the horses, the sheep, and the donkeys. About an hour and a half later, it was my turn.

Although the amusing old lady tried to feed me fried eggs, over and over, I stuck to my guns. Just toast and bacon, please. You may recall from both the Coast to Coast and Dingleberry Forest blogs, that I am partial to a particular breakfast treat that I only allow myself to eat while doing serious distance/hill walking. Obviously, I never eat these at home. Close your eyes and picture this. (Wait, how can you close your eyes and read this? Damn, you're a talented lot!) First you slather brown bread toast with Kerry butter. I mean you layer it on in a thick coat. Then you top it with a rasher or two, which tastes much better than American bacon, and top that with another slice of buttered toast. Then you devour it. I thought I'd coined the phrase "bacon buddy" back in 2012. Turns out some Brit had already thought of that. Oh well, it's the best damned thing to eat straight out of the gate.

My older farmhouse friend was moving a little more slowly today, so when she sat down to have a cuppa after feeding me, I cleared the mess the Germans had left behind and carried it all into the kitchen.

Her: Jesus Christ. What a mess. Just put it on the table. I guess I'll have to wash them.
Me: I'll help you. I don't have far to walk today so I have time to spare.
Her: Jesus, you've...... (something I didn't understand) Go away.

I should have mentioned sooner that she has pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary on nearly every wall. She has pictures of the Pope (not just the current one, but many of his predecessors) all over one kitchen wall. It's really hard to reconcile that with her generous use of "Jesus".

I finished clearing both dining room tables and stacked it all in the kitchen. She chit chatted about ...hell, I don't know what she said. At one point, I heard her call me dear. I thought it was sweet until she said it again and I realized it wasn't dear, it was here. As in get out of. I went to my room to pack.

My little toe on the my left foot has decided it wants to leave its mates. It's not ready to come off yet, but it has decided to jump ship soon. It hurts like a mother. I tried all kinds of ways to relieve the pain of walking in my boot to no avail. Finally, I said screw it and said my goodbyes.

I walked in the wrong direction from the trail to go pick up Owen (Lauren's Dwarf) at the hostel down the road. I took my time, taking pictures of horses, mossy rocks, and streams. I watched the proprietor's son collect two of his horses and load them in a trailer. He was headed for the Gap to drag tourists up and down the pass. When I arrived at the hostel, my trusty friend was suiting up. In a matter of minutes, we were headed back the way I came. Good thing we had to pass by the farm again because I'd left my walking sticks inside the front door. When I returned to the trail, Owen was talking to a young Swiss girl whom he'd met at the hostel the night before. We were walking only to The Stepping Stones in Bridia Valley (maybe 8 miles), but she was hoping to go all the way to Glenbeigh (21 miles). We walked together for a short bit, but she was soon far ahead.

Owen and I chatted about toe nails and how to yank them off, the weather, and such. The weather was perfect; the clouds were low and grey. A slight tinkling of mist began to fall. We were in the middle of a beautiful, green valley with sheer, rocky mountain sides on both sides. I was thoroughly enjoying the view and daydreaming about living there. Suddenly, we saw Vivian standing completely motionless a short ways ahead. Turns out, the poor girl is petrified of sheep! (I guess she didn't do much research on Ireland beforehand. Sheep are literally EVERYWHERE.) I tried not to laugh, because I have some stupid fears (butterflies comes to mind), but to be afraid of a sheep is like being afraid of a noisy rock. Anyway, Owen shooed away the big, bad sheep that wanted to eat her and we walked together again for a short bit. Before long, three Irishmen closed in from the rear and we all stopped to get to know each other. They had walked all the way from Dublin! (I WILL do that someday) They were each into their sixties, but like true Europeans, their gait was much wider than mine and their stamina far greater. We walked together, chatting, for awhile, but I stopped often to take pictures and to mindfully acknowledge and appreciate the beauty around me. Those billy goats just plowed ahead, totally missing the point of the walk. As I was about to lay into them for a missed photo op of a breathtaking view to our left, the three of them stopped to take a picture....of a male sheep trying to get lucky with a female. Boys!

It wasn't long before I was left in the dust. The rest of the pack were each much faster than I. Owen - god love him - would turn to check every so often to make sure I wasn't dead. The walk through the valley was easy and pretty and what most people probably think of when they imagine hiking. The we began to climb up. And up. And up.

Turns out, the only way out of that valley is to climb up and over. It was a very difficult climb for me. Even svelte Vivian was sucking wind - at least according to Owen. She was well rested by the time I made it to the ridge. The going was reminiscent of the Coast to Coast - rocks and boulders and uneven, steep footing. There is no appreciating the terrain in that environment; the only thing to do is look down to keep from falling. There was one perfect moment when the trail was blocked by two gloriously gorgeous donkeys. They were extraordinarily fuzzy. I attempted to pet one. No go. As I made my way around them, they started to rough house as if to show off. The problem was, there wasn't much room for two rambunctious donkeys, Owen, and me. We made it past them unscathed and I managed to get a few good pix of them to boot. Once the donkey show was over (I left out some details about what exactly was going on in case there are any children reading this...), I was forced to listen to my little toe shout bad words. It did so nonstop. I tried not to listen, but it was impossible.

The climb was exhausting, but I finally made it to the ridge and looked back on what we'd accomplished. It was damn impressive. I'd enjoyed it for all of about forty-five seconds before looking down the other side. "Oh shit" was my foremost thought when I saw what I was in for. Huge boulders with a narrow goat's path wandering down a very steep incline. In many places, there was no clear footing, so the only thing to do was use my walking sticks and poke around to find what seemed firm and safe before jumping down. It's a tedious process. It took 90-120 minutes to descend into Bridia Valley. From there, the trail was a dirt road and mostly flat. The views were still breathtaking. After a short bit, we arrived at my next night's accommodation, the proprietors of which run a delicious cafe and sweets shop.

It was by then 2:30 or 3pm, and I'd not eaten since breakfast. I was in need of food and today's special was the perfect choice: A toasted cheese with ham, tomato, and onion. on brown bread. It was the perfect lunch and I washed it down with two pints. As we chatted with the Mister of the House, some other walkers drifted in. One of whom Owen had met at a hostel a few nights earlier, plus an American couple who stopped just for ice cream and two young American kids who were hiking. We all sat outside in the sometimes sunshine/sometimes mist and chatted. The Mister and Missus of the House are both engaging, friendly people. They made me feel at home straight away.

Turns out, they have a horse named Chili Pepper. The Mister whistled and called for her and within moments she came to the fence to say hi. She likes dandelions,so I picked her several handfuls, which she happily devoured. The Mister brought out a fat carrot, which he let me feed to her, too. She smelled heavenly and was quite friendly.., until I stopped feeding her and then she wandered away. She lives outside all year long and has never worn a blanket except for when being ridden. Winter temps in the valley go into the forties, but that's about it. They let her coat grow long for the cold months and she has plenty of good land with lots to eat. She seemed quite happy, but then again..she lives in Kerry!

After a hot shower, I tried to attend to my little toe. I really need a set of nail clippers, but I just don't think that's the sort of thing one asks to borrow from one's inn keepers. I've not read that anywhere, but it just seems to be common sense. (Feel free to share your thoughts.) Whether it's proper or not, I'm in desperate need. The toe nail isn't long, but it's long enough to be part of the problem. Especially when walking downhill, my toe gets jammed into the toe box and after several miles, it's very painful. The toe is swollen, has a blister on the bottom, one on the top, and hurts like the devil. After a filling dinner of vegetarian tagliatelle with all sorts of roasted veggies, pesto, and fresh parmesan, I asked to borrow some scissors. (That didn't seem like such a personal thing to borrow.) The Mister asked if I was going to cut off the offending toe. I told him I was considering it.

The scissors didn't cut it. Hahahahahah, that's funny. It's also true. The nail refused to be cut, so I'm left to bundle it up as best I can. Tomorrow is another long day. I think it's about twelve miles and it begins with a steep, difficult climb right behind the house in which I'm sleeping - which was built in the 1720s!! (The house, that is. The hill was built long before.) It's an amazing old house with very narrow staircases, stone fireplaces, and all sorts of built-in small cupboards and doors located in odd places. I really like this old place. It has so much charm and character.

My bedroom window is open and I'm settled for the night. I really want the fresh air, but I think I've neglected to mention that not a single Irish home/B&B I've slept in has screening on the windows. Whatever wants to come in is free to do so. I've now killed three spiders and just noticed a small moth flitting around near the water closet. I may have to close the darn thing before I have a menagerie of creepy crawlers in here for the night.... but the bleating of sheep and the cool air have convinced me to turn off the lights, leave the window open, and just let it be.

I am grateful for so many things tonight. This cozy bed is just one of them.