Can you believe it? Forty-one days until I'm Ireland bound! That's going to be here before you can say, "You better get serious about training, fat ass!"
I've been doing a better job of hitting the pavement over the past week or two, but I've also been eating like a construction worker with a tape worm. I'm guilty of this sort of thinking:"I just pounded out six miles in this heat, I deserve to inhale a pizza and six pack." Am I alone or do you do this, too? Then I wonder why my pants don't fit! Hmmm. The bottom line is that time is running out. I've gotta put my nose to the grindstone instead of the feed bag.
I pulled out all of my trail clothes and dumped them on the bed to figure out what I'm taking. Just seeing all of those specialty walking socks, quick-drying shirts, gators, and walking sticks lying there made me smile. Memories of walking across England and around the Dingleberry Peninsula with my favorite baby girl flooded my mind. I stood there grinning like a dim wit until Doug came in. He looked at me and then turned around and walked back out. You think he'd be used to this shit by now, right?
That night I had a nightmare about getting lost on the trail. It was getting dark and I simply couldn't figure out where I was. When I pulled out my compass (that I still haven't learned to use), the needles were spinning wildly. I shook it a few times and when that didn't help, I chucked it over a cliff. Then I pulled out my trusty map, but when I opened it up, there was a big hole in the section where I thought I might be. As I starred at it, unable to understand what had happened, I heard chewing. I looked around, expecting to find another walker who I could look to for companionship and help to find my way to the next town. Instead, I found a donkey. He was chewing a big juicy section of map. "Hey!" I shouted, "that's my freakin' map you're eating!" He stopped chewing and waited. "I'm lost, you dumb ass, I need that map!" He laughed and said, "Look who's calling who an ass."
Then I woke up.
I took that as a sign that I harbor some unspoken fear about hiking 135 miles alone. I don't feel afraid or worried, but that dream has me wondering if maybe I should be more concerned? Nah. I'm not gonna worry. I'll be fine as long as I keep my map away from the donkeys.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Friday, May 1, 2015
Seven Weeks!
In seven weeks - seven! - I'll start a journey that's sure to be legendary. Well, maybe not legendary for the rest of mankind, but in terms of my experiences it will be. I don't think anyone will write a song about it and it probably won't make the six o'clock news, but that doesn't make it any less spectacular.
I just purchased my train tickets, which was the last logistical thing that needed to be checked off my To-Do list. I land in Dublin at 9am and plan to catch the 11am train to Killarney. I love train travel...at least in the UK. Lauren tells me that American ones aren't as much fun and since she's had a healthy dose of each, I trust her assessment. (The only US train experience I had was when she and I traveled from Seattle to Vancouver, and that was pretty damn good.) Train travel in England and Ireland is...magical.
I won't continue until you stop rolling your eyes.
Yes, I said magical and that's what I meant. The dramatic change in landscape from city to country is amazing to witness. City buildings thin out as neighborhoods take over and then they fade to make room for cattle and rolling hills. The hills give way to mountains and open sky. The interior of the carriages are typically quiet, except for the trolley making its way up and down the aisle. Another thing I cherish about UK trains...the trolley delivers red wine and beer to my seat. Yep, it's true. That alone is worth hopping aboard.
The ride to Killarney takes about three and a quarter hours. Halfway there, I'll switch trains from a big one to a little one, which sadly is without trolley service. Being a former Girl Scout, I know a thing or two about being prepared. When Lauren and I trained from Dublin to Tralee last year, I bought a couple extra wines before switching. I climbed aboard the second train, clanking as my mini wine bottles banged together in my pack. It was a happy sound.
I'll arrive in Killarney shortly after 2pm, which leaves sufficient time to check in at the Killaran House (located 400 meters from the train station and right in the heart of things) and then head over to Ross Castle. The 15th century tower house sits on the edge of Lough Leane and remains open to the public. Then I'll check out St. Mary's Cathedral because, like other old buildings, I like to wander around ancient churches. After a couple hours of exploring, I'll find a pub close to my B&B, tuck in for a meal and few pints, and then hit the rack by ten.
My first day's hike is fifteen miles to Black Valley. (Sounds inviting...) I'll spend the night at the Shamrock Farmhouse, where I'll also have my evening meal and breakfast the next morning. The first day is always tough. Retraining one's legs to hammer out fifteen miles day after day isn't easy. I'll be asleep early that first night.
Day two is a mere eight miles, so I'll plan to sleep in a bit and take my time along the way. If there are ruins or a castle within a mile or two of the trail, I'll check them out. I don't want to arrive at my accommodations too early, although the Stepping Stone B&B is one of the nicer places I'll be staying along the Kerry Way. I'd rather spend my time walking the Motherland's green hills than sitting in a B&B, no matter how nice it is.
Day three will be a bitch, but it's also the day I reconnect with our hiking buddy, Owen. (You know him as Lauren's Dwarf.) We met our dear friend while walking England's Coast to Coast, where he saved my life during a difficult and terrifying climb. I look forward to trekking seventeen miles with him that day. Seventeen miles. I need to get serious about training.
I walked six miles yesterday...to a pub...and then dehydrated with pints.
Pracice, practice, practice.
Slan.
I just purchased my train tickets, which was the last logistical thing that needed to be checked off my To-Do list. I land in Dublin at 9am and plan to catch the 11am train to Killarney. I love train travel...at least in the UK. Lauren tells me that American ones aren't as much fun and since she's had a healthy dose of each, I trust her assessment. (The only US train experience I had was when she and I traveled from Seattle to Vancouver, and that was pretty damn good.) Train travel in England and Ireland is...magical.
I won't continue until you stop rolling your eyes.
Yes, I said magical and that's what I meant. The dramatic change in landscape from city to country is amazing to witness. City buildings thin out as neighborhoods take over and then they fade to make room for cattle and rolling hills. The hills give way to mountains and open sky. The interior of the carriages are typically quiet, except for the trolley making its way up and down the aisle. Another thing I cherish about UK trains...the trolley delivers red wine and beer to my seat. Yep, it's true. That alone is worth hopping aboard.
The ride to Killarney takes about three and a quarter hours. Halfway there, I'll switch trains from a big one to a little one, which sadly is without trolley service. Being a former Girl Scout, I know a thing or two about being prepared. When Lauren and I trained from Dublin to Tralee last year, I bought a couple extra wines before switching. I climbed aboard the second train, clanking as my mini wine bottles banged together in my pack. It was a happy sound.
I'll arrive in Killarney shortly after 2pm, which leaves sufficient time to check in at the Killaran House (located 400 meters from the train station and right in the heart of things) and then head over to Ross Castle. The 15th century tower house sits on the edge of Lough Leane and remains open to the public. Then I'll check out St. Mary's Cathedral because, like other old buildings, I like to wander around ancient churches. After a couple hours of exploring, I'll find a pub close to my B&B, tuck in for a meal and few pints, and then hit the rack by ten.
My first day's hike is fifteen miles to Black Valley. (Sounds inviting...) I'll spend the night at the Shamrock Farmhouse, where I'll also have my evening meal and breakfast the next morning. The first day is always tough. Retraining one's legs to hammer out fifteen miles day after day isn't easy. I'll be asleep early that first night.
Day two is a mere eight miles, so I'll plan to sleep in a bit and take my time along the way. If there are ruins or a castle within a mile or two of the trail, I'll check them out. I don't want to arrive at my accommodations too early, although the Stepping Stone B&B is one of the nicer places I'll be staying along the Kerry Way. I'd rather spend my time walking the Motherland's green hills than sitting in a B&B, no matter how nice it is.
Day three will be a bitch, but it's also the day I reconnect with our hiking buddy, Owen. (You know him as Lauren's Dwarf.) We met our dear friend while walking England's Coast to Coast, where he saved my life during a difficult and terrifying climb. I look forward to trekking seventeen miles with him that day. Seventeen miles. I need to get serious about training.
I walked six miles yesterday...to a pub...and then dehydrated with pints.
Pracice, practice, practice.
Slan.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Nine Weeks!
Nine weeks from now, I'll leave behind the heat and humidity of our tropical paradise for the lush, cool, green hills of Ireland. It'll be nearly ninety degrees here today and only fifty in County Kerry. That's quite a change, especially when you've fully acclimated to hot, sticky temps.
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.
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.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Countdown
I've been waiting to begin a countdown. Today's the day.
Fourteen weeks!
Sounds like a lot of time, but it's not. I've not yet begun to train in earnest... well, except for the drinking beer part. I think I've almost mastered that. The real work begins this week, but no matter how hard I train, I won't be ready for steep climbs. The Keys are flatter than my mother's pancakes. There's no way to train for mountains and extended climbs, but I'll manage just like I did when we walked across England and then again when we walked the Dingle Way.
Here's an aerial view of the peninsula I'll be waking. Looks like a piece of cake from here, aye?
As far as arrangements go, all that's left to book is the train from Dubin to Killarney. Unfortunately, the Irish Rail website doesn't allow bookings more than three months in advance. I hope I don't forget...please remind me next month to get it done or I'll be up the proverbial creek.
My itinerary for walking the Kerry Way is set in stone, but the rest of the trip will happen however it will. I know as soon as I finish my walking adventure, it's straight to Minard Castle for a reunion. Just me and the ruins and the beach. It's just one peninsula over and I can drive there in less than thirty minutes. I can't wait to be there again...it stole my heart.
When I finally force myself away from Minard, I'll head north to Newport, Mayo. It's about a four hour drive, but it'll take me at least six, probably eight because I'm going to detour to see the Cliffs of Moher. I can't be that close and not stop. And what if there are pubs along the way?
Then there will be handfuls of old churches and ruins that will require detours. That's just of many time during the trip that I'll miss my girl. She shares my love of castles, abbeys, and ruins and she's one damn fine navigator. How am I going to read a map and drive and find pubs? I've located a someone to ride shotgun, but I'm not sure how good of a navigator he'll be....
Fourteen weeks!
Sounds like a lot of time, but it's not. I've not yet begun to train in earnest... well, except for the drinking beer part. I think I've almost mastered that. The real work begins this week, but no matter how hard I train, I won't be ready for steep climbs. The Keys are flatter than my mother's pancakes. There's no way to train for mountains and extended climbs, but I'll manage just like I did when we walked across England and then again when we walked the Dingle Way.
Here's an aerial view of the peninsula I'll be waking. Looks like a piece of cake from here, aye?
As far as arrangements go, all that's left to book is the train from Dubin to Killarney. Unfortunately, the Irish Rail website doesn't allow bookings more than three months in advance. I hope I don't forget...please remind me next month to get it done or I'll be up the proverbial creek.
My itinerary for walking the Kerry Way is set in stone, but the rest of the trip will happen however it will. I know as soon as I finish my walking adventure, it's straight to Minard Castle for a reunion. Just me and the ruins and the beach. It's just one peninsula over and I can drive there in less than thirty minutes. I can't wait to be there again...it stole my heart.
When I finally force myself away from Minard, I'll head north to Newport, Mayo. It's about a four hour drive, but it'll take me at least six, probably eight because I'm going to detour to see the Cliffs of Moher. I can't be that close and not stop. And what if there are pubs along the way?
Then there will be handfuls of old churches and ruins that will require detours. That's just of many time during the trip that I'll miss my girl. She shares my love of castles, abbeys, and ruins and she's one damn fine navigator. How am I going to read a map and drive and find pubs? I've located a someone to ride shotgun, but I'm not sure how good of a navigator he'll be....
Monday, February 23, 2015
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!)
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!)
Thursday, February 19, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
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?
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?
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