Ireland

July 2, 2010

After spending the prior evening wading through the convoluted cyber network of Ryanair's website, Joshua and I woke up, packed our bags, and walked with Grandma Vivienne to the bus stop. To be fair, it's been eleven days since this particular incident, and so far, we have yet to encounter a real Ryanair debacle, but we have been forewarned. People have checked bags and never seen them again. Passengers bursting for the toilet have been forced to pay for the airplane bathroom. Ryanair is so cheap, they're trying to take out the seats, leave the hull, and sell standing-room-only tickets. At each airport, we proceed with caution (trepidation): our baggage is thoroughly labeled. Our tickets are pre-printed. We are polite, and immediately obey simple orders and directions. So far, the only snafu presented itself in the form of ominous e-mails that warned us from trying to smuggle over-sized check-on luggage. Threats of fines and lost luggage had us looking for exact measurements, prices, and so forth, but the Ryanair website is a little bit like a porn virus. Dead links, pop ups and web-page time outs abound, and there is no search engine.

Finally, we checked our flight confirmation and discovered that we had already paid for checked bags. I don't know why I would have done this. I'm pretty sure they made me. So far, it's been fine. Our bags are first on the carousel; lines are long but swift; and flights arrive and depart on time. We made it to Ireland, and we've made it to Spain. We remain hopeful that we will make it back to London again.

Anyway. I digress. That morning, the morning of which I speak, we boarded the bus from Sawbridgeworth to Harlow and then from Harlow to Epping. At Epping, we caught the train to Wembley Park, and from there, we hailed a taxi to Trudi's house. Mandy's Aunty Trudi is a favorite among the family, and a trip to London would not be complete without a visit with Ms. Kott. When I was younger, I remember receiving a doll from Mark and Trudi, and I've been smitten ever since. These days, Trudi is 89 years old, but everything is just as it was in visited so many years ago. Her house is immaculate. She's set the table for tea, and she's made reservations for both the taxi and her favorite restaurant, Beefeaters. On our walks from the house to the taxi and from the taxi to the restaurant, I swear her step has spring, and later, when we're sitting in her parlor, she jumps from her seat with none of belabored stretching and moaning that even I have been known to do.

Our journey from Sawbridgeworth to Wembley Park took about four hours, and after a long lunch and some chatting in the parlor, we had to leave in order to make it back to the Naylor-Rolls on time. On the train again, we navigated our way through late afternoon rush hour, and at London Bridge, we parted ways with Grandma Vivienne. From London Bridge, we made our way back to Charlton Station and we walked in the door of the Naylor-Roll residence just in time to wish David and Rosemary a happy wine-tasting. In theory, Joshua and I had planned to show the younger Naylor-Rolls a good time, but in reality, they were so self-sufficient and we were so travel weary that we bonded over pizza and then rolled into bed.

July 3, 2010

Our alarm went off at 5 AM. We ate peaches, brushed our teeth, and hefted our packs onto our backs. Owen padded down the stairs in stocking feet with his hair sticking up to say goodbye. He gave us hugs and proudly announced that this was the earliest he had ever woken up; he'd beaten his previous record by a full fifteen minutes. David and Rosemary valiantly braved their wine tasting headaches to see us off as well, and with a full round of well-wishes and farewells, we were out the door by 5:30.

From Charlton Station, we caught the train to Gatwick Airport from London Bridge. We found Ashlee in line at the Ryanair counter, and we sleepily greeted one another (some of us were sleepier than others: Ashlee had stayed up until 3 AM that morning). Check in went smoothly, and we reconnoitered at a cafe on the other side with cups of tea. The flight was similarly uneventful, apart from a somewhat abrupt landing. Ashlee is terrified of flying, and although she was able to maintain calm throughout the hour and half plane ride by tightly gripping her arm rests, she looked at us with a look of sheer terror when we touched down. If I hadn't found her bug-eyed expression funny, the trumpet sound that came over the loudspeaker next did me in, and we began laughing hysterically (euphorically?).

In the airport, we withdrew euro and I tried to find out how to get to our hostel. Armed with a slip of paper detailing our directions, we boarded a double decker bus bound for Dublin city center. Once we had arrived, I tried to find our next bus, but Joshua and Ashlee wisely took over. My experimental lead in navigating was over before it had even begun, and this is probably a good thing, seeing as I was about to lead us miles and miles away from our desired destination.

From the city center we walked less than half a mile to Isaac's Hostel, a popular accommodation for young travelers and backpackers. Check-in wouldn't be for another few hours, so we deposited our packs in a locker, and headed out to explore the city. To begin we followed Lonely Planet's recommendation for lunch: a hole-in-the-wall cafe called Honest to Goodness. Joshua and Ashlee ordered savory sandwiches on foccocia, and I ordered Portobello mushrooms stuffed with goat cheese and topped in caramelized onions. Everything was organic, and even my side of bread was delicious, drizzled as it was with garlicky pesto and honey.

Satiated, we began our Viking and Medieval walking tour of the city. Once again, we used Lonely Planet as our guide, and we explored five or so miles of the grey, grand city. We walked through the ancient medieval gates of Dublin, past the old Franciscan Churches, through the oldest abbey in Ireland, and past impossibly old tombstones. For our detour, we went in search of the Guinness Brewery. Our tour of the Brewery began on the first floor where we learned about each ingredient: water, barely, hops, and yeast. On the second floor, we discovered the intricacies of malting, drying, and roasting, and on the third floor, we watched the art of cask making. On the fourth, we walked through a hundred years of advertising.

Thoroughly brainwashed, we hiked the last two flights of stairs to Gravity Bar, where we were treated to a 360 degree view of Dublin and the freshest pint of Guinness we will ever have (or so we were told). I snuffled up my foam, drank in the view, and handed of three quarters of my drink to my husband, who lovingly obliged. At six stories high, we could see the handsome spires of a dozen catholic churches, Trinity College, Howth Peninsula, and the sleepy rise of the Wicklow Mountains to the south. Once Joshua and Ashlee had completed their Guinness, I soberly led their buzzed bodies back down to the streets of Dublin and on with the tour.

At Saint Patrick's, we took pictures of yet another formidable and grey edifice of the Catholic religion, and at Trinity College, we leaned through the gates to watch the silent campus. On one of the side streets, we stopped to watch teenagers and adolescents risk life and limb as they skateboarded, roller bladed, and biked up steep ramps, railings, and jumps. Their mullets and rat-tails bounced and whirled as they performed their death-defying tricks. I could have watched for hours, but Joshua and Ashlee spied another cheesy photo opportunity, and we crossed the street to pose with a bronze statue of children jumping and holding hands.

Finished with our tour, we made our way back to Isaac's Hostel where we showered, changed, and claimed a bunk. We stayed in a hostel dorm room once in Arequipa, Peru, but otherwise, this was a first. With three bunk beds, the room can hold six sleeping bodies. This is the cheapest way to travel (other than camping or staying with family and friends), but it's never a good idea to leave your stuff in the room while you’re gone, and just to be safe, we left our packs in the locker. Just before we left, our three other dorm mates arrived.

Before Joshua and I left for our trip, we had friends and family tell us, "do it while you're young!" While I appreciate this sentiment for what it is - a somewhat jealous expression of bon voyage - I also read between the lines. I know that travelling can be expensive. I know that my stories of sickness, heat, long walks, and precarious sleeping situations seem only viable for the firm and fit of back, stomach, and leg. I know too that we have jobs and families and responsibilities that make travelling difficult.

BUT. People do it. Our dorm mates couldn't have been a day under 50, and when we asked them from where they were coming and where they were going, they told us they were open. They're ready to be surprised and go somewhere new. At other hostels, we've seen families with children cooking dinner in the kitchens, washing their clothes, and sleeping in bunks. We run into them hiking, and we see them exploring the streets. I'm convinced that it is possible, and I'm also convinced that if you want something badly enough, you can make it happen. Travelling is not without discomfort or certain compromises, but if you want to do it, you can. You're not too old. If it's money you’re worried about, there are plenty of ways to travel cheaply. If you have kids, bring them with.

The one obstacle is our jobs, and I don't mean to sound preachy, but the truth is, we cling to them like security blankets. I know I'm young, and I'm sure that I'm wrong in a hundred different ways, but I really believe this. If you work somewhere for long enough and you grow accustomed to things like salaries and benefits and insurance, you begin to believe that you could never live richly without them. Ok. I'm about to hop of my soapbox, but let me leave you with two thoughts: first, in the honored words of Dr. Bob, "Think That You Might Be Wrong," and second, who says that only young people can take risks? Sure, a risk might also be a mistake, but it could also be an adventure, and I refuse to believe that we outgrow our need for adventure.

Once we had finished showering and changing, we walked back through the heart of Dublin to find a pub, some grub, and a few pints of beer. We had hoped to catch the soccer match, but the late-evening light of Dublin deceived us: it was already 9:30 by the time we left. At Merrin Row, we found some pubs but none of them seemed to be serving any food. By now we were starving, so we wandered around until I caught site of a little pub off the beaten track. No one was eating, but when I asked if we could all have a serving of fish and chips, the waitress smiled and said, "that's about the only thing you can have here." Within fifteen minutes, our table had three plates of fish and chips and a 10 euro bottle of Pinot Grigio. We wolfed it down, and when we had finished, we wandered back to Merrin Row for a shot of Jameson each (when in Dublin...). At O'Donaghue's, we stood in the smoky crowd and listened as all around us Dubliners chatted in thick accents and drank copious amounts of Guinness and beer.

At midnight, we headed back for the hostel, crawled into bed, and fell asleep to the heavy snores of our slumbering dorm mates.

July 4, 2010

On Independence Day, we woke up at 8 AM, packed our bags, and ate breakfast. Amid the chatter of a dozen different languages, we made our toast and tea in the Hostel kitchen and then headed out to the patio for a misty, solitary meal. On our way to the bus, we stopped at Tesco, a mini-supermarket, where we purchased bread, fruit, cheese, and salt and vinegar chips. Less than 40 minutes later, our bus dropped us of in front of Marlay Park, a suburban stretch of cultivated walking paths, soccer fields, golf-courses, and trees.

With mist in the air and clouds rolling off the Wicklow Mountains, we hefted our packs onto our backs and began our hike. The first few miles passed a stately mansion, a gentle stream, little bridges, and not a few Dubliners on their morning run. On the other side of the park, we crossed a busy road and began hiking up a smaller country lane. As we got higher and higher, fewer and fewer estates lined the road, and eventually, we reached a smaller hiking path. To our left and through the trees, we could see glimpses of Dublin stretching out below us, and within a couple more miles, we could see the whole of the city. At another junction, we took a right and head up past the trees. On the other side, the wind blew hard over a vista of heather-covered hills. It was completely beautiful.

For lunch, we took a little detour and hiked to the top of Fairy Castle, a mountain that looked out over Dublin, Howth Peninsula, and the sea. On the mountain top cairn, we unpacked our bread and cheese and began eating. The lunch would have been completely perfect if Joshua hadn't somehow managed to pee on Ashlee. To be fair, it was a freak accident. The wind was blowing so hard that when Joshua hiked off a good 40 feet on the other side of the cairn and tried to pee into the wind, the stiff breeze dumped it right back on him, over the cairn, and onto Ashlee. Luckily, Ashlee doubles as Mary Poppins, and out of the deep recesses of her bag, she pulled out baby wipes. All’s well that ends well.

Finished with our lunch, we hiked back down fairy castle, over the Moors, through heather, and into a valley lined with thistle, bramble, and vines. We encountered a small village on the road, and we crossed a bridge over a meandering stream. Once again, we began hiking up.

At the top of the next hill, we encountered a couple of Dubliners with heavy packs. They offered us some gummy candy, and we chatted about the upcoming hike. These two were in it for the whole six days, and they planned to traverse the entirety of the Wicklow Mountains, camping as they went. Not quite so badass, we explained that we would be hiking for just three days, and we had already booked cushy accommodations along the way. With our significantly smaller packs and visions of beds and tea in our future, we left them in the heather. Across the next hill, we were greeted by another spectacular view of the round, soft mountains, and the valley where would be staying the night. Ashlee led us fearlessly and speedily down the rocky path, and at a small country road, we turned left. By now, my feet were killing me, and the last two kilometers to Oaklawn B and B went on for ages.

At fourteen miles, we arrived at Oaklawn B and B in Knockree, just outside of Enniskerry. We knocked on the door, took off our stinky shoes, and were ushered into our bedrooms. The innkeeper offered us a "spot of tea" to which we eagerly agreed, and one by one, we took long hot showers.

New people, we hitched a ride with our innkeeper into the town of Enniskerry, where we bought more snacks for the road and ate dinner at Nancy Murphy's Pub. In the name of all things Irish, Ashlee ordered Bangers and Mash, Joshua ordered Lamb on the Bone, and I ordered hearty Irish Stew, which I greedily inhaled while we watched the women's triathlon on widescreen TV. Ashlee and Joshua ordered a couple of pints of Guinness, and an hour and a half later, we were already half asleep with euphoria. At a quarter to 10, we hopped a bus back to the B and B, and we enjoyed a nightcap of tea, gallons of water, and Rummy 500. Happy 4th of July.

July 5, 2010

At 8:15, we woke up to a full Irish breakfast made by Kay, a real Irish woman. Needless to say, it was perfectly delicious. One egg, one sausage, one cooked tomato, one mushroom, toast, and a bowl of fruit each had us all feeling exceptionally optimistic, and we bounced back onto the trail with full tummies, rested feet, and only slightly sore hips.

Back on the Wicklow Way, we hiked through a copse of trees and into a meadow of tall grass. Our trail followed a wide stream shaded on either side by mossy trees, and less than a mile in, we crossed a turnstile footbridge. At the edge of the valley we began hiking up again, and after an hour, we could see all of Knockree and Enniskerry below us. After some photos and a little bit of video, we kept hiking through trees and eventually up over another pass for a view of the next valley and the tallest waterfall in Ireland. The path led us up over the water fall and onto the high Moors. Hiking up and up, we were accompanied by families of snacking sheep on either side, and as we crested the next Moor, Joshua pointed up at our next lunch stop. After 30 minutes of steep, rocky slope and not a little bit of swearing, we reached the top of Djouce Mountain. The views from here were unspeakably spectacular, and we could see for miles on either side. Once again the wind was fierce, and we bundled up before we began to eat.

It was right about this time that Joshua started to get sick. At one point, he almost barfed into the beautiful view, but the moment passed, and we all decided to move on. As we descended Djouce, thick black thunderclouds rolled in and we trundled through a stiff side wind with stinging drizzle. When we met up with the path again, we found a two-plank boardwalk that had been stapled with chicken wire for traction. The boardwalk went on for miles, and we were greeted on either side with dramatic valleys, rolling Moors, and heather as far as the eye could see. Over another crest, we found a large rock monument to the founder of Wicklow Way overlooking Logh Tay. Ashlee took in the idyllic view and declared that the lake looked like Guinness, with dark brown water and a light beige beach like the "tight knit head of a Guinness" (thank you Guinness Brewery). We stopped for photos, and after a little rest, we continued on down a road, over a logging area, and onto the trail again.

Remember when I talked about the gift of gab? Well Ashlee also has the gift; actually, she is really the poster child, and our walks through Ireland's most beautiful countryside were punctuated by every topic of conversation imaginable, and before we knew it, we had hiked another 14 miles.

On a large stump of tree, we stopped to view the valley and what we assumed to be Roundwood, our next rest stop. Then we proceeded to get spectacularly lost. The truth is, the Wicklow Way has wonderful signage, and our Lonely Planet guide is rarely wrong, but we decided to defy the signs anyway. We had seen Roundwood. We had walked a long way. These were our reasons. Two hours later, after climbing over brambles, through trees, across fences, and along strange roads, we finally found a sign pointing to Roundwood. Tired, foot weary, and a little bit pissed, it was here that Joshua dropped to his knees and bellowed, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!"

Perplexed and concerned, Ashlee and I prodded Joshua for words. Eventually, he confessed that he had forgotten his glasses back at the tree stump, miles ago. We reassured him that we would just have to go back, that hopefully they would still be there, and until then, he would just have to wear his sunglasses at night. Thankfully, we reached Skylark's Rest shortly thereafter, and our wonderful innkeeper, Sinead, led us into the brand new, completely empty facility. The building was beautiful, with blonde wood floors and light, airy rooms, and we had the place all to ourselves. We tucked Joshua into bed and Ashlee and I headed out to Roundwood to buy supplies for dinner.

While we took turns washing clothing and bathing, we broke open a bottle of white wine and cooked dinner in the kitchen. I sliced cabbage into thin strips and fried them in a large pan with olive oil, salt, and pepper until they were soft. Next, I added apple juice and mustard, turned down the heat, and let them simmer. In a large casserole dish, I chopped potatoes, carrots, and whole cloves of garlic to roast in the oven, and we boiled the rest of the carrots and potatoes for mash. Ashlee whipped up a fabulous onion and tomato sauce, and we all ate in the weak light of a big bay window. Happy and full, we played another game of Rummy 500, and then rolled into bed.

July 6, 2010

The next morning, we woke up and had a light breakfast of toast, marmalade, and tea. The three of us walked into town to buy food for lunches, and when we got back, Sinead kindly drove us back to the trail. We backtracked for a mile or so, and then Ashlee and I dropped our packs and ran back to the tree stump. Thankfully, Joshua's glasses were where he said they would be, and we were able to return with the gift of sight :)

When we continued on the path, we discovered the correct turn and where we had gone wrong yesterday. We vowed to never again defy signage. Over turnstiles and fields of sheep, we eventually met a road. For about four miles, we walked through small country lines, past quaint country cottages, and over small bridges. When we rejoined the trail, we met two women walking the trail in the opposite direction and chatted about good and bad rest stops along the way. Past another turnstile, we hiked up for more views of the valley from which we had just come, and we met another family eating lunch. A couple miles further, we met a young group of Belgians cooking lunch over their camp stoves, and we exchanged oohs and aahs over the stunning scenery. The next valley provided even more views, and I had a moment of sadness, knowing that today was our last day of hiking. I love being able to see where the path goes; I love knowing that I'll get to see the view from the next mountain; and I love looking back over the path we've just come. There are few other things in life that I find more satisfying: I wake up, I walk, I summit, I see how far I've come, and at night, I feel the evidence of my day’s accomplishments: sore feet, big appetite, and a tired body. The next day, I wake up and do it again, and I love every minute of it.

In Lairgh, we perused the mini-market for dinner supplies and settled on burger, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and tortillas for taco salad and another bottle of wine. On our last two kilometers to Glendalogh Hostel, it became apparent that Joshua was not a very happy bunny. His throat hurt, and he was feeling achy all over. Once we arrived, we tucked Joshua into bed again, showered, and went off to make dinner. After we made sure that Joshua was fed and covered in blankets with enough to drink, Ashlee and I headed back to Lairgh for a drink at the pub. Happily, the pub was playing the match between Uruguay and Holland on a big screen TV, and the two of us polished off another half bottle of wine while we cheered on Uruguay and then Holland when we realized Uruguay was rubbish. By now we were completely tipsy, and we walked back to Glendalogh arm in arm talking about boys and mean girls and body piercings the whole way. Back at Glendalogh, we entered the hotel pub and Ashlee, committed to getting me completely sloshed, ordered another bottle of wine. With our last glasses, our cheeks were rosy and I was having a hard time feeling my finger tips. I went to the bathroom, and when I had returned, Ashlee had made a new friend.

Over the next few hours, our new friend accrued a long list of names. First he was Joey, then he was Patrick, then Ian, and then I think I gave him the last name Von Trapp Laroche. JPIVT Laroche first introduced himself by guessing our origins which - at our state of inebriation - we found endlessly funny. Ashlee, he swore, was European, and I was American, but definitely from south of the Mason Dixon line. Revealing our Yankee identities, we told Mr. Laroche to avoid career pursuits in dialect identification, and then I guessed that he was from the South. I was correct, and as our prize, Mr. Laroche purchased a round of Southern Comforts and paid for our tab.

Now completely good and sloshed, the three of us accompanied the two young bar tenders to the afterhours smoking lounge where Ashlee and I learned how to roll cigarettes and proceeded to smoke an entire bag of tobacco. As we rolled and puffed, we talked to Sammy and Mark, the 19 year old local bartenders about Home Economics, Daniel Day Lewis, and Irish ancestry. At one point, Mr. Laroche told us all what it was like to smoke Peyote, and I smartly replied, "yeah, and then you see the Spanish Conquistador's ships and you think they're heavenly clouds bearing gifts of blonde haired gods when instead you're about to be raped and pillaged for all your worth." I'm not entirely where this little piece of sardonic history came from, but it pretty well ended the conversation, but not before Ashlee loudly chastised me for scaring the locals and then, pausing for dramatic emphasis, told them sagely, "don't ever, ever have sex." I blame the nicotine overdose and two and a half bottles of wine (plus a shot of Southern Comfort) for our wellspring of tact and wisdom.

To sober up, Ashlee and I retreated to the hostel kitchen at 3 AM for a bowl of cleverly microwaved noodles and a couple glasses of water. Unable to standing for much longer, we headed to bed to sleep it off.

July 7, 2010

The next morning, Joshua gently nudged me awake at 10:45 AM, just minutes before check out. I lifted my aching head and barely made it through packing before I had to retreat to the bathroom. My monthly visitor decided this would probably be the best time to make its welcome appearance, and I leaned my head against the cold bathroom sink.

In the lobby, I met the defeated faces of Joshua and Ashlee. We had missed the first bus back to Dublin, and the second wouldn't arrive until 4:30 that afternoon. They had checked with reception and we could leave our packs in the hostel, but our trip to Howth Peninsula would have to be canceled. Instead, we decided to tour the ruins of Glendalogh's 6th century monastery and walk up to the lakes. The monastery was quite beautiful, and once we got to the lakes we could see the whole valley and mountains of heather on either side. Joshua still wasn't feeling well, so Ashlee and I left him to read on a park bench to go for a little run. Back at the hostel, the two of us changed into running shoes and selected a 10 kilometer path around the lakes. We had two hours to complete the circuit, so we decided to make it a walk-run.

The first part of the run led us back through the monastery and up to the lakes. We passed Joshua reading, and then followed the path circumnavigating the larger lake. At the other end, the landscape opened up and we could see the path ascend through dry grass and heather alongside a pretty waterfall. At the base, part of the old monastery sat beside the stream and shallow beach, and we took a couple of pictures and we wandered through the ruins. Almost an hour into our run, we worried that we were too far out and that we wouldn't have enough time to get back, but thinking that the path was only 10 kilometers, we figured it was just as likely that if we turned around we would end up going farther than if we just kept going.

When I say that we ran up the side of a mountain, I do not exaggerate. We ran up for over an hour, and afterwards, when we were safely ensconced in the seats of the bus, we agreed that it was the most difficult but also the most beautiful six mile run we had ever been on. On the top of the mountain, we again ran on a two-plank boardwalk stapled in chicken wire, and we could see forever. The hills were treeless, the skies were blue, and the lakes stretched out below us were sparkling in the sunlight. At ten to 4, we were still high up on the mountain, terrified that we were about to miss our bus. All of a sudden, our path led us to what had to be a thousand steps, and in the span of fifteen minutes, we descended what had taken over an hour and a half to ascend. At 4:15, we arrived back at the hostel, hefted our packs onto our backs, and ran to the bus with enough time to stop and buy two dripping chocolate ice cream cones. Completely exhausted, we slept the whole way back to Dublin.

Back in the city, we walked the short distance to our trendy hostel, Avalon House. We rented a dorm for four, showered, and went in search of food. A short way down the street, we found a vegetarian Indian buffet, and we all ordered small boxes to go. Back at Avalon House, we joined a group of travelers watching the soccer match between Spain and Germany and ate our delicious Indian food on the floor. Even though we were outnumbered, we still cheered for Spain, and when they won, we celebrated that we would be in Spain for the World Cup.

Still tired from our run, I packed my bag for the morning and went to bed at 9:30. Tomorrow we would be going to Spain.