roughly 34 hours, bound for Amsterdam, and from there, the States.
I think I'm supposed to say something profound, and maybe something I
say actually will be profound, but first, before all that mushy gushy
stuff, and I warn you, Halmark has offered me a job no less than five
times (har-de-har-har), I need to finish my adventures, my "Canterbury
Tales" as more than one of you has referred to them.
I saw a castle. Beat that. Okay, you've seen a castle as well, but I
walked through it's last remaining wall, climbed up it's narrow,
original stone, spiralling trip-step stairwell. It was cool,
literally, as it was right on the lake, and figuratively, as it was,
you know, built in the 1600s. The castle is called Ross Castle, those
of you who have put google to good use throughout my recounts know
what to do at this point, those that haven't and don't, well, now's a
great time to learn. Situated in the middle of Killarney National
Park, and roughly a 2.3km hike from the entrance, it sits on the edge
of a choppy, cold lake, looking out at tall, misty mountains sheaved
in green foliage. Very picturesque, and, strategically, a smart
location back in the day. The castle was what is called a defence
tower, built for the Ross clan in turbulent times, and the castle is
built vertically. Don't romanticize yourself with graneur images of a
sprawling castle surrounded by a wall which encompasses acres of land,
this was built not for a king, but a family clan, a tribe if you will,
albeit a wealthy one, and those in their employment, servants, guards,
that sort of thing. Unfortunately, there is no photography allowed
inside the castle chambers, as they have tried hard to replicate the
original setup, including furniture and art dating back to the 1600s,
and I guess they're trying to preserve the artwork by prohibiting
flashes mainly; makes sense, right? The castle has served purposes
besides its original, and over the course of 300 years, fell into a
state of drastic disrepair. An Irish-American in either the 50s or
60s, I believe the 60s, purchased it and some 16000 acres of land, but
because restoration would be such a daunting and expensive project, he
dangled it under the nose of the Irish government, promising to
transfer ownership to them if they would restore it, using only the
original methods used, for instance the oak floors and roof have no
nails or rivets in them, only handmade wooden pegs, other floors could
only be constructed from the original stones, pieced together again
like a giant, heavy puzzle. The doors were all studded with rivets
that, once upon a time would have been sharpened to a point to
discourage shouldering said door open, they were also double planked
to prevent entry by axe, and then from inside the chamber, with the
door closed, an oak post, acting as a bolt, was pulled from within one
wall, and inserted into the other wall, further stabilizing the wall
and serving as an exceptionally rigid deadbolt. If intruders made it
into the chambers after getting through all that, there were of course
guards waiting in the room, longbows and swords at the ready. Not to
mention the appropriately named "murdering hole" in the chamber of the
first floor, located direclty above the main entry, which was a hole
large enough to pour boiling substances, jab spears, or shoot arrows
down at the first wave of intruders. I think defence tower is an
appropriate name...
The national park itself was gorgeous, very green, the mountains
offering incredible views, etc etc. There were some swans and ducks
milling about in a syreamlet running towards the lake, and the swans
had two young with them, all gray fluff and black beaks. I bring them
up only because I was reminded of a very old children tale, apparently
a timeless one at that, when a little girl, no more than four, ran to
the edge of the stream yelling "Mommy! Daddy! Look at the ugly
ducklings!"
Killarney itself was another shopping town, expensive food (I found a
place that slathered curry all over fries for a good price, so I stuck
to those), and lots and lots of little tourist shops. On Sunday I
found a pub called the Sandtrap, and parked it for the better part of
the afternoon watching the final round of the Open Championship, the
first Alpine stage of the Tour de France, and Gaelic football,
ireland's national sport and a confusing blend of soccer and rugby.
Four Americans sat next to me at one point, all from California, and
after leaning I was from Texas and making a quick joke about Bush,
they apparently felt guilty or something, and bought my drinks for the
next hour and a half. Nice guys, they were, and I tried multiple times
to assure them I was in no way offended by their joke, was in fact
relieved not to hear someone else ask me "are you in that cult???"
(google David Koresh if you're confused here), but they insisted
they'd be offended if I declined, and therefore got 3 free stouts and
a dram fr 12 year old pot still Irish Whiskey, delicious stiff by the
name of Redbreast, definitely worth having a look for back home.
Now I'm in Cork, and I've taken it very easy for the past two days,
once tomorrow rolls about I won't be getting much rest for the next
week or so, besides what I can sneak in on the plane. I thought about
going out to Blarney Castle today, but it rained a good part of the
day, and I nixxed that idea and watched another stage of the Tour.
So tomorrow I'm off to Dublin, will get there about lunch time, just
in time to face my demons and maybe try one more baguette (third times
a charm right?)...I'll mill about the city for several hours, have one
last traditional Irish meal for, possibly revisiting O'Neils for that
Guinness and Irish Beef stew again, and then I will head to the
airport to spend the night, no use getting a hostel when I'd have to
leave it around 3am, this way I can just snooze at the airport and not
spend that money.
I'm looking forward to getting back to work, after three weeks of
depleting my funds without anything coming jn, I'm ready to be the
bread winner again, not the bread buyer as much. I'll no doubt have
put on five or so pounds since leaving, walking is good exercise, but
pub grub and stout beers are too good here to not enjoy, and once I'm
back I can get back to my diet and exercise routine with ease, and the
pounds should be gone within a week or so. I'm also looking forward to
getting Molly back, apparently in my absence my father has been
training her to eat donut holes and become a waterdog, the waterdog
part I like, but the donut holes...well, i think she and I both like
grapes better.
It's been an incredible trip; incredibly fun, confusing, and
exhausting. My lack of gameplan going into each city has surely meant
that I've probably missed some really cool things, but if I was out
doing those things, would I have met the girls from Sweden who assure
me a couch is always waiting for me should I get a chance to go there?
Would I have gone to a nightclub in Belfast with three Australians and
danced to European Techno with a crowd easily 20 years our seniors?
Would I have been in Belfast for the marches, or would I have shot for
a less violent, emotional time before or after? There are lots of what
ifs, but the fact of the matter is, I did my trip exactly the way I
wanted to do it, I saw the good, the bad, and the ugly of a country.
I never quite did figure out how weak the dollar is compared to both
the Euro and the Pound, though travellers beware: even if it's cheap
in Euro or Pounds, multiply it by like 1.5 to figure roughly how much
you really are spending in dollars, and you'll find that even Subway
or Burger King are expensive. I'm coming back broke, but still under
budget! I rode a mechanical bull in Galway. I met a cute girl from
Wales who walked with me and talked with me for a good hour, and then,
an hour after we parted ways, I ran into her again at a nearby park;
this time I got to meet her boyfriend too, lucky me, or, in Italian,
"che fortuna!"
I saw the harbor where the Titanic set sail, the last dry ground she
ever saw, and the small college where C.S. Lewis studied, along with
the forest behind it where he is believed to have recieved inspiration
for his Chronicles of Narnia series. I had to teach Scottish and
Irish folk how to drink Coors Light (NOT from a champagne glass with
ice!), assuming they must drink it at all, and I walked in cathedrals
older than our nation. I dipped my hand in the Atlantic ocean, and I
now barely hear the Irish accent, my ears have adjusted. So too, have
my eyes, as today I mused over the fact that it was no longer strange
to see the steering wheels on the right sides of cars rather than the
left, however, I still look the wrong way when crossing the street.
I've had great food and bad food, from Haggis to Black Pudding, and
I've slept in beds both comfortable and un (mostly un). I've found
people who snore louder than I ever will, and I met up with great
friends in London, friends who I met a year ago in South America and
only knew for four days, yet who jumped at opportunity to meet up
again. And the funny thing was, nine of us could believe it had been a
year, or that we hadn't known each other before, it was if we had all
known each other for quite some time.
So thanks for staying tuned in, I've immensely enjoyed the feedback
from you all. I've enjoyed writing these posts, more than I thought
that u would, though I'm sure an actual keyboard would make them even
more fun to write ;-)
check in occasionally, I might just start a new blog pertaining to
whatever else in life seems mildly entertaining, I'll start a new
category for it obviously, so you'll have to check for other stuff
I've written, and then one day, hopefully before too long, the lonely
traveler will once again shove things into his backpack and set out on
some random, chaotic, hectic new adventure.
Gratefully,
Bryan, the Lonely Traveller
Standing O.
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