7 to 10 July---Adventures in County Sligo
DAY ONEIt has been a while since I've written and there's good reason for that. I spent last Thursday through Sunday in County Sligo which is in the northwest area of Ireland.
I took the train after classes on Thursday as I've more than had my fill of buses as of late! The ride went pretty smoothly and made me wish that the rail system in the States was as good as it is here.
Three and a half hours later I arrived in Sligo City, only to realize that the hostel where I had a reservation was two stops previous. I wasn't paying attention, or something.
So I hopped back on the train and got off two stops later in a little town called Ballymote. It hit me then just how far off the beaten track this hostel was....
17 kilometers from Ballymote! Talk about poor planning. The only person I can blame is myself and the person who wrote the directions to the hostel. They weren't exactly what one would call
clear.
I managed to hire a taxi to the hostel, but even the driver hadn't heard of the place. This is where I was beginning to get a little, shall we say,
concerned. Imagine if you will, a single American tourist that doesn't know the country all that well and is being driven out into the boonies to a place that the town cabbie hadn't heard of. The evening was dark and gloomy with the persistent rain splashing on the windshield. I was beginning to wonder if I'd fallen into a horror film.
Between the two of us, we managed to find Gyreum (the name of the hostel; don't ask me to pronounce it), and now my concern was heightened into something like alarm.
The hostel appeared desolate. Heavy fog and rain shrouded the hills, obscuring the view and only adding to my sense of misgiving.
I began to wonder what the hell I had gotten myself into this time.
Once inside, I was a little confused as to
who exactly was in charge. I was greeted by two Slovakians and through their broken English I gathered that they weren't the ones in charge. At this point it definitely seemed like a willy-nilly, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants operation.
I should probably give a bit of explanation to the actual structure of the hostel, as it is definitely unique.
Gyreum's construction is loosely based on that of the passage tombs one finds scattered about Ireland. The main, chamber, I guess one could call it, is large and round with a sunken-in circle in the center where an old wood stove rests against a plaster wall that leads up to a loft/skylight area. The plaster wall is lattice-shaped with a solid center. Within this center, large concentric rings follow one another to the middle, reminiscent of the circular rings one finds within authentic passage tombs.
Bedrooms are set off to one side, kind of like the side passages in the tombs, and the kitchen rests opposite them. Since the building is circular, the ceiling slopes down to the earth towards the edges of the building, making moving about the edges difficult for anyone over four feet tall. I was a little concerned for my head when I saw that the head of the bed rested against the exterior wall, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
So here I was, standing in the middle of this great circular room, wondering if it was too late to get the cab back. I was even considering chasing him down at one point, but I decided to 'buck up' and see it through.
After about ten minutes or so (at least it
seemed that long), the Irish guy whom I
assume is the owner appeared. I began to feel a little better about the situation after that, but not a whole lot. I thought of all the things I wanted to do while I was in County Sligo and saw that fly out the window as the only transportation I had were my own to feet, seeing as I haven't quite mastered the ability to transport myself from one place to another as of yet.
My rumbling stomach soon brought another, more pertinent, concern to mind. What was I going to do about food? As it was a self-catering accommodation, it was up to me to figure out my meals. They weren't exactly clear about that on their website. In fact, there were a
great many things they weren't clear about on their website. But anyway...
I inquired the ringleader, Collum, I think his name was, and discovered that the closest thing resembling a market was about three or four kilometers away. Looks like my feet were going to get some practice.
That first night was more than a little unnerving, but I was determined to make the best of it. Perhaps it was because I was exhausted, but I had the best sleep of the trip so far that night. It was the quiet I think. After I got past all my worries and concerns I realized just how
quiet it was there. Quiet and peaceful. One really got the sensation that it was a place where one could find oneself, if one were to go looking.
DAY TWOFriday started off misty and with a light drizzle, but I couldn't let that stop me. I set out on the road after reaffirming the directions to the store. It wasn't such a bad morning for walking actually, not too hot nor too cold. The hills were blanketed with mist, lending a magical aspect to the morning.
I was about halfway there when a plaintive mewling came to my ears. It didn't take long for me to find a wee little kitten shivering on the stone wall that ran along the road. The poor thing was upset, probably due to hunger and loneliness, as its mother was nowhere in sight.
Well, I just couldn't leave it there on the side of the road to die now, could I? I tucked it into my raincoat and it snuggled immediately against me. My next thought was, okay, now what?
Fortunately I saw the Collem, the owner of the hostel, and another gentleman walking down the road behind me. The kitten got really excited at this point and jumped out of my arms, nearly howling now. The farmer scooped of the kitten and said that he'd take it back to his place. Relieved of my tiny burden, I continued on my quest to the grocery.
My host directed me the rest of the way as he was heading to Galway for a film festival that weekend. I gathered that he was some type of director or script writer or something, but wasn't too sure.
The grocery sits at Heapstown Crossroads. Now, there's a reason it's called Heapstown. There's a story behind everything here I'm finding. About a quarter mile up the road lies Heapstown Cairn. It's a gigantic passage tomb that it unexcavated, so it basically looks like a huge pile of rocks. Hence the name. Heap. Stone. You get the picture.
I was going to visit it after I raided the grocery, but the rain started in earnest by then, and having already flirted with pneumonia earlier in the week, I wasn't looking forward to a repeat so soon. I managed my way back up the hill and spent the rest of the afternoon reading. Yeah, kind of boring, I know, but it was very relaxing at the same time. We had a turf fire going and Lucas, one of the Slovakians, made me some tea. He even remembered that I like sugar in mine from the night before, which I thought was pretty amazing.
A nice family from Belfast joined us that night. It seems that they wanted to get away from the city while the Unionist parades were going on, and I can't say as I blame them. From what I gathered from the mother, many of Belfast's residents escape the city around this time of year...those that aren't Unionists anyway.
DAY THREESaturday I decided to make up for my laziness of the day before and see a bit of the countryside. I walked to Castlebaldwin, which, strangely enough doesn't appear to have a castle in it. I'm not sure about Baldwins as they don't seem to have phone books in the public phones here.
As there was a bit of a wider selection as the gas, excuse me, petrol station's's convenience store, I picked up some more food and continued on my way. I didn't realize it at the time but there was another cairn just west of Castlebaldwin called Carrowkeel. I'll have to save that one for another day.
I retraced my steps back towards Gyreum and decided to take a detour to Riverstown. A ten kilometer detour as it turns out, but well worth my time. I saw a lot of the landscape, farm and grazing lands mostly, but one can also see the surrounding hills and even the mountains to the north. I can understand now why Yeats loved this area of Ireland so much. It's wild and rough and has a unique charm all of its own.
Riverstown is a charming little village where it would be very easy to settle down in. One definitely got the sense that everyone knew everyone there. The one thing the town was lacking was socks. The only socks the town offered were the TED hose kind that people wear to prevent deep vein thrombosis and I didn't think that I was at any risk at that point of DVT. Blisters, yes, but not DVT.
Chalk it up to poor planning again, but I had neglected to pack any socks before I left Dublin. I hadn't thought that I would be doing as much hiking as I ended up doing, so I didn't even think about it. At least I had some rather shoes. Shoes that I'm not too fond of at the moment, but that comes later.
There's a circular route that runs from Heapstown to the next crossroads and through Riverstown. Apparently many people walk or bike it, and I can't say that I blame them.
I must say this, however, the gardens here put any I've seen back at home to shame. They are
so lovely. It's obvious that they take pride in them. There are, of course, the expected gardens that are scraggly and weed-strewn, but they seem few and far between. So much color too. There's a veritable rainbow of colors washing across each lawn.
Late in the afternoon I made it back to Gyreum, with a quick stop at Heapstown Cairn. I was going to get up closer than I did, as it was a historic hiking trail, but the VERY LARGE cows changed my mind. They weren't particularly friendly if you get my meaning. It was like they had the racial memory of being tipped in a past incarnation and were eager for revenge. That and the mind-field of steaming cow-pies deterred me from my task. Hot and sore as I was, I wasn't exactly feeling up to it. Ah well.
It wasn't until I got back that I realized how sunburnt I was. I just hadn't thought of sunblock, dolt that I was. I had even forgotten to put the moisturizer with sunblock on that morning as daily showers were out of the question, so I had fallen out of my routine.
Oh, I haven't mentioned the water situation yet, have I....
Let's just say that it was precarious at best. Being situated out in the boondocks as we say, the hostel depended on well water. Apparently there was a problem with the well, as in it was running dry. I know, a crazy thing to happen in Ireland, but it's true, I swear it.
We had to flush the toilets with water from the pond out front, which created several, interesting aromas. Just to be safe, I didn't drink any of the water from the taps either. I didn't want to risk dysentery and the peculiar manure smell of the water wasn't encouraging.
One can imagine the smells emanating from yours truly after my hiking jaunt, but this didn't stop the Slovakians from inviting me to join them with their meal. I don't think either of them
have sinsuses, but they were nice enough to share their meal with me, so I'm not going to wonder. I also think that they believed I was doing some type of fasting ritual, and judging from the food I had, they couldn't be blamed in that judgment.
DAY FOURI had set my alarm on my ipod the night before, knowing in advance that I would need to get up early to start walking towards Ballymote and the train station. I was
not looking forward to the trek as several blisters had made their presence known the night before and my legs were pretty stiff and sore, but seeing as I had little choice I set off after a hearty breakfast of tea, bread and biscuits.
For the first time all weekend I managed to rise before the Slovakians, so the only souls to see me off were the two dogs and two cats that also take up residence at Gyreum. It was nice to be around animals again, but it makes me miss the resident dog at home. Don't worry Izzy, any belly-rubbing was done under force. They hypnotized me with their eyes. Seriously.
I must have really been out of it when I reached Castlebaldwin, because it didn't even occur to me to call for a cab. It should have considering the pain my feet were in, but then there was the question of money as well. As in not wanting to spend any.
It was another ten kilometers to get to Ballymote, but I fortunately only had to walk five. Not long after I past a little Protestant church at the five km mark, a nice older couple stopped and offered me a lift. I must have presented quite a pitiful site:
sunburnt, limping, and carrying a fifteen pound pack on my back that felt like fifty.
Normally I wouldn't haven't considered accepting, but extreme circumstances call for extreme measures.
They kindly brought me to the town center of Ballymote and from there directed me to the train station. My first stop, however, was to the local grocery for refueling, as I'm sure that I had excreted any and all forms of it in sweat. My other goal was band-aids. I had wrapped my heals that morning in anticipation of my trek, but one of them had already burst and I knew that it needed tending to. I didn't even look carefully at the box until after I had gotten to the train station and had eaten my lunch.
It was then that I saw that these particular band-aids required the use of a scissors.
If anyone had been around me at that point, they would have tread carefully around the mad American, for I was laughing my fool head off. It was the only thing I could do at that point. Either that or cry. And of course I didn't have any type of cutting implement with me
and the ticket office was closed. Seeing as I wasn't going to move from my spot against the wall, in the shade mind you, until I saw that train pulling up to the station, I decided to do without the band-aids for a while longer.
Of course wearing my shoes in the proper way was out of the question, but I managed.
One might think that my tale ends with me boarding the train heading for Dublin, oh, but you would be wrong.
The trains, at least the second class compartments, don't have air conditioning, and it was like sitting in a sweat tent without the benefit of a roll in the snow after. Matters weren't helped by some idiot dropping pipes onto the tracks when we were not fifteen minutes from Connolly Station in Dublin. The only saving grace of that delay was that we were in the shadow of Croak Park and there was a hurling match going on. Not that we could enjoy the game at all.
Because they do work on the line between Connolly and Pearse Stations, there was no service between the two. But that short jaunt was nothing compared to the marathon I had just completed. I tell you this though, my tiny bed in my room never looked so good and the minuscule shower never felt so great.
So there you are, sunburn, aches, blisters, and all. A great
character building experience, don't you think?